by Marta Szemik
And if the nails weren’t enough, they heated their palms, frying each other—an ability gifted from Aseret. They’d burn flesh on touch, scorching the skin or boiling the flesh beneath the blisters, then the sick smell of burning meat . . . The seeker’s iron hold on my shoulders in the Amazon four years ago had similar result. My ghost shivered.
I often wondered why warlocks chose to turn to Aseret to become lifeless. Mira had explained that many had lost their incomes as medicine developed, and humanity no longer needed therapeutic help through herbs and chants. They dwelt for decades, lost in the underworld. Aseret promised immortality if they were to recruit others, and they did; without a return ticket from the underworld, they all became Aseret’s subjects.
We floated into the turgid air of the grand hall. Heat waves rose to some point lost in the height of the granite ceiling. From it, a chandelier, its hundreds of candles all lit, was suspended over a roaring firepit. Along one wall, a river of molten lava flowed before turning to cross the floor beside the fire. The crater I’d almost fallen into with William still gaped. The seekers should have felt lucky they didn’t need to tend to the fire, as it would have been impossible to reach it. I imagined the stench of rotten eggs and dirty socks that emanated and wanted to vomit. The acid taste imprinted on the inside of my mouth, or perhaps I imagined it.
The hall, although identical to what I remembered, seemed grander. New bridges ran over the crater and connected one end of the hall to the other. The crisscross of wooden planks smoldered at some spots from the bubbling lava beneath.
“I don’t like this,” I told my mother.
“Sh, I don’t want him to sense us.” She pointed to the throne at the top of a staircase covered with velvet carpeting that matched the drapes hanging over the entrance points.
Aseret slumped in his seat, the hood of the demon cloak covering his bald head. In his translucent palm, he balanced a sphere similar to the one Eric had left, except this one spat red and orange sparks instead of blue. His gaze wandered toward us, following our movement across the hall. The warlock narrowed his brows, and the sphere rolled to one side, almost falling from its position hovering above his palm. He focused on the sphere again, keeping one eye on the seekers’ training.
I led the way toward the end of the hall, where we passed through the drapes concealing a circular staircase. We hovered down the steps, my shoulder stuck into the wall as we squeezed through. The unsavory sensation of the dungeon’s dim and dank atmosphere was just as I remembered.
“That’s odd.”
“What?” my mother asked.
“Where are the prisoners?” The corridor of countless openings held no prisoners. I recalled the cell openings covered with magical spells floating like fog, preventing escape. My gaze focused on the third cell, where I’d been imprisoned. The side walls had been destroyed by our escape. Aseret’s minions hadn’t fixed them yet.
“I’ve never been here before.” My mother’s gaze warily scanned every corner of every cell. “You know how you get a gut feeling as a human?”
“Yeah?” I checked the square compartments from left to right as we drifted along the corridor.
“Well, I’d always had that feeling to not come here. I think we should leave.”
“No one’s here, Mom. We’ll leave as soon as we check for Miranda’s body.”
I pulled her along with the breeze that seemed to be guiding me. We checked each cell, just in case, but found them all empty. Not even a trace of a prisoner. No bones. No ashes. No dust.
“Your gut means to tell you this is the place to be.” I smirked. A wave of excitement flew through me. The anticipation of danger would have pumped my blood faster if I had a body; instead, only waves and vibrations floated along my ghost’s silhouette.
“Stop that,” my mother cautioned. “You’re showing your ghostly form.”
I looked at my translucent arms, then focused.
We reached the end of the tunnel. A stone wall, identical to all the walls in the caverns, marked a dead end.
“Now can we leave?” my mother asked, looking anxiously behind us.
“Can you feel the breeze?”
She nodded. “I thought I had some help floating.”
“We’ve been drifting toward the end. Care to see what’s on the other side of the wall?” I grinned like a little kid, hoping my mom wouldn’t argue.
My mother’s apprehensive expression turned into a smirk of anticipation. We were more alike now than ever before, and she looked as if she was getting her spark back—one she’d forgotten.
I took her hand and forced my spirit through the wall. Part of me hoped we’d end up embedded in the rock, but I knew we wouldn’t. Whatever lay beyond the stone wall had to be a big secret, and it wouldn’t be soil.
The moment we decided to go ahead, the breeze pulled us in like a vacuum. My body whooshed through the stone barrier into a barren room. The air was filled with the stale scent of black roses, a scent that conjured a faint memory from the past.
“I can’t see anything.” I tightened my grip on my mother’s hand.
“Hold on a minute.” She let go, and I waited, suddenly feeling alone, until the sound of a match being lit preceded a flare of oval light on the other side of the room.
“I found it in the cupboard.” She shook the box of matches.
“How did you do that?” I asked. “You’re a ghost.”
She smiled. “Years of practice.” Her translucent features shimmered in the glow as it faded, then flickered out.
My mother hit another match against the box. She held its flame as she carried it across the room, shielding it with the other hand. Shadows of objects she passed—a jar, a chair, a broom, a table—danced on the walls until she reached a candle. The match went out before she touched the wick. She lit a third match and held it close to the wick until the flame transferred. Soon the squared room was illuminated by the light of over twenty candles of different sizes.
None of the four walls had a door or any entrance. The jarred ingredients, hanging herbs, and bundled feathers bore an eerie resemblance to those in Xela’s cave, but it was colder here.
“How does she get in here?” my mother asked.
“She’s a ghost, Mom.”
“She wasn’t always a ghost.”
The room breathed gloom and despair, hatred and pain. I walked over to the centered table to examine a leather-bound book with the symbol of the sphere embossed on its front. Spells.
A familiar blade rested beside the book. Miranda, when I’d thought she was the good witch Alex, had used a dagger to carve stones in one of the cells to open the wall for our escape. “There must be a hidden entrance through the rock,” I said.
“I won’t ask how you know this, but there are no bodies here. We should leave.”
I looked at her ghost. “Mom, you’re shaking.”
“We need to leave. Now!”
But it was too late. A loud cackle vibrated the walls as Miranda entered her lair. Dust fell of the earthen ceiling. She walked instead of hovering and stalked around the perimeter of the room, eyes on us. Miranda was poised to pounce, as if we were her prey. Walking was unnatural for a spirit and took more energy, but Miranda didn’t look like she lacked any strength. Tangled hair, saliva hanging on her lower lip, crusty nails, sunken, shadowed eyes burning with hate, this witch was identical to the witch I’d seen in Xander’s cave and thought was Xela. Except this time, I knew where Xela was.
Remembering Miranda’s host body when she’d switched our souls and the rage that burst through me when I’d awakened in the woods, my ghostly form shook.
Miranda threw her head back and cackled, and I realized, both my mother and I were now visible.
I remained still, promising myself that this time, she would end up dead, in both realms.
Rocks scraped, one against another, as the wall behind us slid to the side. I whirled, but it felt like it took hours before I faced Aseret’s expressionless
eyes. A scar on the right side of his neck, just beneath the cloak’s hood, matched the one on the left. He stood, hands tucked into the opposite sleeves of his cloak, and regarded me for a moment. Then he smirked. “I thought I’d felt your prresence, up above, but I didn’t think you werre dead. Hmm, to whom should I pay my ressspects?” Before I could respond, he added, “Neverr mind. We could have worked together, but your soul will give me more than you ever could.”
“Is that why she’s a ghost? So you can use her?” I pointed to the witch, who continued to circle around us, watching us with cunning eyes. “Clever of you. Hide her body so she’s trapped to serve you,” I taunted.
“Stupid girl!” Miranda hissed. “There is no body! Why do you think I had to steal Xela’s?”
My mother cautiously pulled at hoop in my jeans. We backed away, my mom keeping herself protectively in front of me. I wondered how much we should actually fear; after all, we were already ghosts. But Mom’s face showed we had plenty to worry about.
“You’re lying,” I said. “He’s using you.” This was my chance to get more information from the wicked witch. I wouldn’t give up, even if my instinct told me to run.
“My body burned centuries ago,” Miranda retorted. “Hannah should have told you. She’s the one who sent me down the fire pit. I’d been stuck in the hereafter until Aseret freed me through Xela.”
Was she telling me the truth? If so, how could we ever return our bodies to their rightful souls?
She laughed, almost choking on her spit. “You are stuck here. And I’ll ensure Aseret makes good use of your essence.”
“You will not touch me.” I remembered Xela’s warning and wished my voice didn’t shake.
“How is William doing? Last time I saw him, he was doing very, very well,” she mocked. “He must be mourning your death. Poor boy. Perhaps I should find your body and make him feel all better again. I’m sure I can make him feel way better than you could.”
“He’d know it’s not me,” I said.
“Ah yes, the petty ruby ring. I can work around that.” She smirked, closing in.
“Run! Now!” My mother pushed my ghost toward the back wall. Miranda reached for me, but my mother blocked her. Somehow, her ghost had enough energy to stop the witch. The last thing I saw was Aseret’s shocked expression fading into its usual emotionless mask. My mother’s painful cry echoed in my ear as I thought about my home and let my spirit be carried to the Amazon.
Chapter 8
As much as I wanted to turn back to help my mother, I couldn’t. We’d both be doomed. My mother had saved me. I’d killed her as an infant, and now her spirit would suffer endless tortures because of me. My invisible insides twisted with guit.
I will be the one to save her, I promised. I have to be.
Feeling hopeless, I slumped on the top of the climbing wall in the Amazonian cabin. I peered down at Xela in the kitchen, stirring dinner, the ruby glinting on her right finger. Though I knew it was a fake, it seemed to glow. Hmm . . . could the ring trick Miranda again?
With Xander’s help, Crystal and Ayer pieced together a jigsaw puzzle spread out on the floor in the hallway. Lying on their stomachs, feet swinging lazily in the air, all three looked like kids. William leaned over the dining room table, drafting a map with my father and Atram. They were sketching the vampire territories and marking those in need of training and hypnosis.
I wasn’t surprised to see Willow in the lab, continuing her work with the serums behind the glass wall. Her bravery and dedication in bringing peace and her devotion to her family reminded me of William. Though she had no supernatural skills, she blended into this world as if she was meant to be here. She never feared for herself, only for others. In her own human way, she possessed supernatural powers she wasn’t aware of.
Xela kept her distance from Xander though her eyes smiled and I knew her thoughts were with him. William, preoccupied, couldn’t read her face the way I did. She swung her hips as she stirred the goulash. The witch looked like she had lost herself in her own world when no one was paying attention. I imagined the aroma of sweet onions and peppers wafting through the house, mixing with the scents of the forest.
Xander looked up. “Do you smell roses?” His gaze flew toward Xela. He frowned, focusing his energy on the witch.
Mira perked up and inhaled. “Nope.” She shook her head, letting her eyes fall to the book on her lap—too quickly.
Stay calm, Mira. Don’t blow it.
“You’re lying. Why would you lie about smelling roses?” Xander sat up, looking from Mira to Xela.
“I . . . have a stuffed nose.” Mira kept her eyes fixed on her book.
He’s gonna know! I warned, but she couldn’t hear me.
Xander’s gaze remained on Xela and her hand circling over the pot as she happily sprinkled parsley and garlic into the mixture. Had happiness released the witch’s floral aroma? Xela put her head into the steam, inhaled, then added another ingredient.
Even I began to smell her soul’s potent rosy essence! How am I smelling this?
My attention darted to the children.
Don’t worry, Mama, we’re on it. My son’s voice in my head startled me.
Ayer’s body slumped on the floor, his head resting on his arm as he pretended to sleep. His soul rushed out of the house. I’d never seen his soul leave his body, but it seemed natural for my son to be in this state.
Be careful! I called after him.
Before I could ask Crystal what he was up to, her brother returned to his body and continued to fake sleep. Crystal nodded in her brother’s direction, then answered, “I picked flowers in the forest.” The exchange had taken seconds. No one noticed.
“When did you go to the forest?” William asked.
“Training with Uncle Eric.” She shrugged, then tapped Ayer’s shoulder to wake him up. They returned to their puzzle.
Thank you. I smiled.
The children winked. In their faces was a maturity I hadn’t seen before. Their bodies were still those of three-year-olds, but the twins were wiser than many adults.
You’re welcome, they said together.
Did Uncle Eric teach you to speak to me in your mind?
Yes, Mama. We can hear you, too. Crystal smiled my way.
William looked from our daughter to where I sat, then back to her again. “What’s so captivating?” he asked her.
“I’m drawing a picture of Mama,” she said.
“May I see?” He braced his hands against the table to stand, but she stopped him by freezing his feet with blue light.
“Not weady yet.” She smiled.
“All right, I promise not to look until you’re done.”
Crystal took the light off William’s feet.
Xander had risen and now strolled toward Xela. “Where did you get this recipe?” He inhaled as he approached the pot.
William’s gaze followed them.
He’ll recognize her.
But my husband’s gaze went back to his iPad, and he murmured about referencing the vampire locations he’d marked with my father. He’d been obsessed with the device for several weeks, creating what he called a supernatural app.
“From Mrs. G.” Xela stuffed a spoonful into his mouth. Sauce dripped on his chin, and she wiped it away with her thumb, then pulled her hand away as if she’d been burned.
You are playing with fire, Xela.
As if she’d heard me, she took a step back and wiped her hand on her apron.
Xander dipped a piece of bread in the goulash, then popped it into his mouth. “I don’t remember hers tasting this—”
Xela began to stir with haste, keeping her gaze on the bubbling pot.
“Better not say it’s not good,” Mira warned.
“It is good. It’s just . . . different.”
Xela stopped stirring abruptly, as if a memory had slammed into her. “I added a few more spices,” she said, her lie easy for me to read on my face.
Unfortunately, so
could William. He’d observed the exchange between Xela and Xander, and his temper flared. “Xander, step away from my wife,” he growled.
All eyes focused on the couple by the stove. The electricity between them sizzled. I’d heard Willow’s test tube smash to the floor in the lab and she peeked from behind the glass wall into the kitchen. No one moved.
My best friend took a step back, wary. He shivered as if trying to shake off overpowering thoughts. “I didn’t do anything.” His hands flew up in defense.
William bared his fangs, the way he did whenever Xander crossed the line of our friendship. He understood Xander and I had a connection no one could explain, but William had his limits as well. On more than one occasion, I had cleaned up the house after their rampage of testosterone. After a while, I made them clean up their own mess. Today, I found their tiff both amusing and frustrating. I understood William’s pain and appreciated his trust, his understanding, and his forgiveness.
“It’s not what you did,” William said. “It’s how you looked at her.”
“Like how?” Xander said in confusion, obviously unaware of how he’d acted around Xela, whom to most people in the house was still me.
“He didn’t do anything, William.” Mira rushed to his side and pushed his shoulder to make him sit down. Her biceps flexed. My husband sat reluctantly. She pointed to her brother. “You. Outside. Now.”
I left Mira to lecture about Xander crossing the line and stayed to see Xela handle William’s jealousy.
“Willow, will you watch the children, please?” Xela wiped her hands on her jeans, the way I would have.
“Of course.” Willow emptied the broken glass into the trash.
“You guys better stop wandering too much.” Xela winked to the children. “Come with me.” She took William’s hand.
Confused, he obliged. I’d hush him with kisses and puppy eyes, but perhaps Xela didn’t want William’s affection. Maybe she’d keep her promise.
I followed Xela and William as she led him to our tree house. They climbed up the kapok tree toward the blooming canopy as I floated alongside the trunk, passing our orchids. The pollen was denser near the top, covering the branches in yellow dust that drifted from one limb to another with the push of a light breeze. The sun made for a perfect spring day.
