Shadows of Old Ghosts

by Stephanie Zayatz

  The edge of her vision was turning white and she felt lightheaded. “Put me down,” she whispered, barely loud enough for Jirel to hear. She wanted to add that she was about to pass out, but she couldn’t manage.

  “Hang on,” he said.

  Her head slumped forward and she collapsed into him. His stomach leapt into his throat and he tilted her head back; she was breathing, but barely. Her skin was the color of paper and her eyes had gone back into her skull. Whatever that thing was, the shade, it had done something to her that was not normal.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, glancing around like some answer would come to him. She was right, if he took her to the hospital there would be too many questions he’d be unable to answer and the chances were high that they would have no idea what to do with her. This was not a normal wound and neither was her reaction to it—coughing up blood was a clear indication of that. There was only one person he could think to take her to who might understand. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and hoisted Aviira up into his arms, pulled the front door shut behind him. Then he headed for the stairwell and prayed that he wouldn’t run into anyone on the way to his car.

  ***

  Moira ran across the yard to help Jirel lift Aviira out of his back seat. He hadn’t thought to call, but she seemed to have been expecting him anyway.

  “What happened?” she asked as she pressed a fresh towel against Aviira’s chest and held it there as Jirel carried her inside draped across his arms.

  “A shade, Moira, there was a fucking shade in her apartment.”

  Moira cursed under her breath. “You? Are you all right?”

  “It looked straight up at me and disappeared,” Jirel said. “It must have been there just for her.” Moira held the door open for him and then hurried him into the kitchen.

  “There, on the table,” she said. Jirel laid her down on the long wooden table.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered. “A hospital would have been out of the question. Moira, she—she coughed up blood all over the floor—”

  The woman looked up at him with wide, serious eyes that calmed him. “You did right,” she said. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Jirel nodded uneasily. Moira peeled back the towel on Aviira’s chest gingerly. Aviira stirred, a whimper slipping from her throat.

  “Easy now,” Moira said to her as she brushed the hair back off her too-pale face. She ripped back the corners of Aviira’s shirt and used the towel to gently wipe away some of the blood and take a better look at the damage. Her eyes narrowed for a second and Jirel sensed that she was confused—when he looked closer he could understand why: Aviira’s skin was nearly completely black.

  After using her finger to wipe aside some of the blood, Moira sighed with relief. “It’s a tattoo,” she said. “I thought—oh, doesn’t matter.” There was a thick, long chain around Aviira’s neck that she gently pulled over her head. A heavy ring was attached to it. “Here,” she said to Jirel, holding it out to him. “Hang onto that. Out in the sitting room you’ll find a closet with towels and a first aid kit. Go, quickly.”

  While he turned and followed her instructions, she went to a curio cabinet on the other side of the room and opened it, fingering through several bottles before selecting one made of blue glass and bringing it back to the table. Jirel came back into the room with the towels and the first aid kit she had requested. Moira pawed expertly through the medical equipment and came out with a handful of sterile gauze. She ripped a long strip and soaked it with the liquid she had pulled from the cabinet. It smelled strongly astringent.

  “You’ll want to hold her shoulders down,” she said to Jirel. “If she’s still in there, this will hurt like hell.”

  He faltered. “What?”

  “Just do it, Jirel.”

  He took in a breath and went to Aviira’s head and steadied her by the shoulders. Moira wiped away the excess blood and then pressed the wet gauze onto one of the bigger gashes.

  Aviira’s whole body jerked and she flailed, nearly knocking Moira’s hand away. Jirel held her down harder, and Moira climbed up onto the table and straddled Aviira’s hips to help hold her steady while she dabbed at the wounds with the medicine. Jirel watched Aviira’s face; whatever Moira was steeping into her skin looked to be causing her excruciating pain. Every time Moira moved to the next gash she flailed and fought to breathe, but she was making no sound.

  “Come on, girl,” Moira whispered. “I know you’re in there.”

  The way she made it sound like there could be another option made ice water slip into Jirel’s stomach. Moira poured more of the medicine from the jar onto a fresh strip of gauze and used a finger to hold open one of the claw marks, then stuffed the gauze inside.

  Finally, Aviira seemed to come to. Her eyes fluttered and she let out a pained howl. Her fingers clawed at the tabletop, desperate to get away from the pain. Jirel reached for her hand and she squeezed it hard, whether she knew what she was doing or not.

  “That’s it,” Moira whispered. She lifted part of the gauze away to show Jirel. “You see that?” Where there should have been blood, there was only what looked like tar oozing out of the wound like pus. It was the same stuff they had seen sitting on top of the wounds that had killed Hazel.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “That’s poison,” she said quietly. “Dark poison. That’s what made her puke up that blood. Someone was trying to kill her and it probably would have done it too, if you hadn’t been there to scare it off.” She wiped away the black ooze and reached for fresh gauze to apply more astringent.

  When she started on the next set of gashes, Aviira’s head started turning from side to side. There were tears in the corners of her eyes from the pain and she was holding onto Jirel’s hands so tightly he was losing feeling in his fingers. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please…”

  “I know it hurts,” Moira said to her. “But it has to come out. Hold on just a bit more for me.” She raised her eyes to Jirel. “That’s good,” she whispered. He nodded and squeezed Aviira’s hands tighter. She was fighting the procedure less with every application and seemed to come back to herself more and more. Moira continued to wipe away the black pus until the wounds produced only bright red blood.

  Aviira was staring up at the ceiling and breathing shallowly by the time Moira had finished. She had the weak, washed-out look of someone who had just broken a bad fever, but appeared to at least be back in her head and conscious again. She didn’t release Jirel’s hands. Moira touched the side of her face and sighed, offering her a little smile.

  “I told you there was a fire spirit in there,” she said. “Not too many people can walk away from a hit off a shade. You’re lucky Jirel walked in when he did or you would have ended up in a different situation.”

  Aviira didn’t appear to be quite as positive about the whole thing.

  “Now what?” Jirel asked quietly.

  After climbing gently off of Aviira, Moira inspected the wounds for a moment. The bleeding had stopped. “You’ll want stitches on some of these,” she said. She surveyed the scene and let out a quick sigh. “I could use a drink after this. You?”

  A fleeting look crossed her face as if she might have laughed if she had the strength. “I never turn down a free drink.”

  “There’s a girl,” Moira said quietly. She collected the used gauze. “You stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

  Aviira released Jirel’s hands finally as Moira left the room, almost as if she had just realized that she was still holding them. Jirel moved around to her shoulder. Now that his hands were free, he realized that they were still shaking.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. “You scared me.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “Fuck this case.”

  A relieved laugh escaped him. “Agreed.”

  “There was a lily in the kitchen,” she said.

  His face got still. “What?”

  “She came for me,” Aviira whispered. “Th
e calling card was there too. I saw it and all of a sudden that fucker was on top of me. You saw it, didn’t you?”

  He nodded, reeling from the implications.

  Aviira’s hand went to her chest suddenly, like she was reaching for something that should have been there. Jirel reached into his pocket and held out the chain to her. Visible relief touched her face as she took it and slipped it back over her head.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “Family piece?”

  She nodded and leaned back again. He waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. Jirel lifted his right hand and twirled the thick silver ring she’d seen him fiddle with before.

  “Mine too.”

  A strange smile touched her face. “I figured.”

  Moira returned a moment later with three shot glasses, a bottle of whiskey, and a plastic package. She had a pillow tucked under her arm. She set the glassware on the counter and helped lift Aviira’s head to put the pillow under it.

  “Did I bleed all over your car?” Aviira asked.

  “I didn’t really take the time to look,” Jirel replied.

  “My guess is yes, if this scene is any indication.” Moira came back to the table and liberally poured out three shots. “I know this is rather unconventional medical care,” she said quietly. “But something tells me you’re not exactly a fan of hospitals even in a normal situation.”

  “Not particularly,” Aviira said. She propped herself onto one elbow, which earned a stern look from Moira. She winced despite herself. “You’re not going to—sew me up with thread, are you?”

  “I could if you’d like, but I wasn’t planning on it.” She held out a drink for Aviira. She only managed a small sip that fought her on the way down. Moira seemed to be watching her closely before she handed the second shot glass to Jirel. “And one for you. She’s going to live, you can stop shaking now.”

  Aviira exchanged a glance with him but said nothing.

  “Think you can sit up long enough for me to get that shirt off?” Moira asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Jirel helped lift her up just long enough for Moira to peel her shirt off, leaving her tank top underneath. Aviira made a sound like she was going to dry heave from the pain as Moira rotated her arm back to slip the shirt off.

  “Sorry about the shirt,” Moira said quietly. “And you scared the shit out of me with that tattoo. I thought you’d already gone necrotic.”

  Jirel dared a look as he helped her sit back again. She had a huge tattoo of a raven that took up almost her entire chest, wings spread from shoulder to shoulder and blended in artfully with the pieces that made up her half sleeves. A couple of things made sense suddenly: first, her weird quirk about wearing button-up shirts, and second, her reaction to the decapitated raven that had been left for them at the cabin.

  “Jesus, Vira,” he whispered. Her eyes met his and he shook his head. “If I’d known, I would have taken that dead raven thing a little bit more seriously. Obviously Loretta was targeting you. I wish you’d mentioned something.”

  She made a face that conveyed an “oh well” sentiment. “Too late now,” she murmured, and took another sip of her drink. “I probably brought it on myself by bringing her those goddamn flowers.” Her eyes fell on Moira again as she opened the plastic packaging she’d carried into the room with her and realized she was preparing a syringe of something. “What’s that?”

  “Lidocaine,” Moira murmured. “I know stitches probably seems like nothing in comparison to what you just went through, but why aggravate the pain.” She stood up and leaned over Aviira. “In any case I apologize.”

  Aviira flinched despite herself as Moira injected several locations with the drug. For being such a tiny needle it certainly felt a lot worse, but the whole area numbed up quickly, which was a pleasant relief.

  “You always keep a supply of lidocaine just hanging around?”

  “You really think I make my living chasing down spirits and performing exorcisms? I’ve been an unofficial health clinic for the Society for ten years. Any time someone on our side ends up with an injury that’s too messy to bring to a hospital, they come to me. Just like you did tonight.”

  “You got something back there that will take the edge off?”

  Moira gave a small laugh. “I have the basics, but I’m still no pharmacy.” She checked the areas one last time and then retrieved the first aid kit that Jirel had brought from the closet, which looked remarkably professional, if not very old.

  “Standard issue during the war,” Moira said when she saw Aviira’s eyes lingering on it.

  There was a quiet beat. Aviira frowned and said, “What war?”

  “The second world war,” Moira said. “I got lucky enough to be stationed on Hawaii, which was quite the treat up until that December. After that I shipped over to Manila.” She was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes I’d like to tell all those anti-Ancient twats that we bleed and die just the same as everyone else and I’d like them to tell me the difference between two corpses.”

  Aviira looked at Jirel; he didn’t appear alarmed in the slightest by this story, which meant he must have already known it. “I’m sorry, I know I hit my head earlier…but just how old are you?”

  Moira pulled a chair over to the table and sat on the back of it so that she could lean over Aviira with the surgical suture kit she had prepared. Jirel sat in a chair on the other side of the table.

  “My mother always told me she had hoped I would be a new century baby. Can you feel that?”

  Aviira glanced down and could just see Moira working on the first row of stitches. She hadn’t even noticed. She shook her head.

  Moira continued. “But, just to prove her wrong, I came at ten minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve, 1899.”

  “How long are you going to live?”

  “Not sure,” Moira said quietly. “Until the universe is done needing me, I suppose. Same as us all.”

  There was a long silence. Aviira saw Jirel look away.

  “So,” Moira said after a while. “You’ve pissed off someone capable of conjuring a shade. I hope you know who it is and you’re going to arrest them.”

  “We are now,” Jirel said.

  “You have to get to her,” Aviira said quietly as she looked over at him. “You have to arrest her.”

  He swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “Jirel.”

  “I’m serious. You want me to walk up to Loretta’s house alone and bring her in? If she’s capable of doing this sort of stuff there’s no way I’m confronting her myself.” He paused and didn’t waver under her critical stare. “In the morning you’ll be fine.”

  He saw Moira raise her eyes to him in a rather dubious way, but she kept her mouth shut. He knew it was a long shot too that Aviira would be up and walking in the morning, let alone getting back on the case, but he wasn’t sure what else to say to her.

  “Xander put a protective order on her, remember? If she goes anywhere tonight, we’ll know about it.”

  “Yeah, but considering what just happened I don’t think that’s an issue for her.”

  “Her—ghost, shade, whatever—just attacked a Society detective, something that up till now she’s never dared to do before. She’s going to know that we know about it. She left you the goddamn flower, Vira, that’s practically her signature.”

  “All the more reason to get her into custody before she takes off,” Aviira said.

  He frowned. “How do you propose we do that?”

  “I dunno,” she said, shaking her head as a strong wave of exhaustion hit her. “Call Jayne and ask her for a favor. She and Corin can reel her in. I’m not afraid of Loretta, Jirel. I’m afraid of that goddamn shade. She has to be in custody before she can conjure it again, send it after me to finish the job.”

  Jirel’s jaw tightened up and he sighed.

  “If it’s any peace of mind, there’s nothing crossing the threshold of this house,” Moira said q
uietly as she focused on her work.

  “There, see?” Jirel said. “You’re safe here until we can get to her.”

  Aviira was quiet and finally sighed, the only indication that she was giving in; in truth she was suddenly feeling too weak to bother. The feeling had been creeping up on her for the last minute or two. Her eyelids felt heavy. Jirel exchanged a quick glance with Moira. The seer finished with the stitching of the largest gashes and went to prepare some bandages to cover the others.

  “How’s the pain?” Moira asked her.

  “Pretty shitty.”

  “I imagine so,” she said quietly. “I can give you something that should help you sleep, but I don’t have much in the way of serious painkillers.”

  Aviira shook her head even though it was getting difficult to hold her eyes open. “I’ll be fine.”

  Jirel looked over at her, not sure if he’d heard a slur on her words or it was just the way she was lying on the table. Moira tapped him on the arm. “If you’ll help me get her up to the bedroom, I can at least get her a new shirt and get her cleaned up.”

  The two of them pulled her into a seated position, and Moira made her sit there for a moment while her balance returned. Her eyes closed practically of their own accord as the whole room swam. She couldn’t tell if she was sitting still or not.

  “Fuck me,” she mumbled. She was beginning to think her brain had been taken out of her skull, rolled in dirty sand and thumbtacks, and thrown back in upside down.

  “I’m sure he’d be happy to once you’re feeling better,” Moira said softly.

  Jirel shot her a look, even though Aviira did not seem to have heard. “Shh.”

  “Do me a favor, Jirel,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Take that glass out of her hand.”

  “What?” He glanced over at Aviira just in time to watch her eyes roll back in her head. He caught the glass in one hand as she slumped forward onto him. “Jesus.”