by Stec, Susan
"Well, alrighty then," I say. "But I feel the need to make sure, and I'm probably not done doing that yet."
Don't you sass me while usin' my granddaughter as a dress, Nan says, finger leaving a smoke trail as she waves it around. I may look transparent, but I have depth, and a great delivery. You want me to show you? Why, I could summon you up a real nice playdate and maybe a few soul suckers for my amusement.
I can't help but laugh. I love this woman already. "Although embracing a childhood I'm not destined to enjoy sounds fabulous, I don't think that's necessary, ma'am. But I'll be praying we can summon up a dragon later."
Nan nods so sharply her face elongates two feet in front of her ghostly form.
I love Gracie's reaction. This host loves life. My giggle is cut short by acrid words from a dark area by the next turn off.
"Oh, joy. My little girl is wearing a witch and playing with a ghost!"
I whip my head in the direction the burbling voice. "Go away."
"Come tell mother all about it," the throaty voice says.
She's wearing someone, a man this time, and he sounds odd. His words have a watery sound.
You didn't tell me your mother sees spirits. Nan's words mentally chide.
"I didn't know," I push back mentally.
Shame, because that's going to change things.
I'm frozen in A Midsummer Night's Dream moment. "We're Pucked," I say out loud, and follow it with a sigh.
I won't let you down, child. Nan's voice rolls around in my head like a whisper riding a drafty sewer tunnel. Your wendigo died in a fire, and I think you killed my granddaughter. We'll stick to that.
Twenty
Gaire
"They should be in the sewer by now," I tell myself and enter the storm drain next to the pond basin.
The darkness is soothing, but my concern for Luna is driving my sanity over the edge and into my own darkness. I can't get the image of CeCe on the carpet with the doppelganger on top of her out of my mind. What if the being is wearing another human? What if it tries to kill Gracie this time?
Taking a token out of my pocket, I wish myself to the sewer system close to Purgatory. Seconds later the coin turns to dust, and before I can blow it from my palm I'm assaulted with the exuberance of a biker-bar crowd and a pulsing purple light. I'm Down Under.
The bar burps a few patrons out its front door.
I duck around a connecting tunnel-joint about fifty feet from Purgatory.
Although the noise is loud, it doesn't last long. The door shuts and leaves only inebriated sewer squabble. Two berserkers and a troll chortle and jibe their way past the opening of the sewer junction. None of them notice me.
"Did you follow me to Michigan, Mother?"
Gracie's voice catches my attention. I burrow deeper into the darkness, a wary eye on the three Purgatory patrons who head in the opposite direction.
"I am your guardian," a male voice says as I creep closer and hug shadows. "It's my job to follow you."
I can't see either of them unless I chose to lean out into the tunnel.
"Jeeze, Mother, could you have picked a riper cadaver? How long have you been wearing this guy?" Luna says. "He's already missing an eye, only a bloody dark hole where his eyeball used to be. Why don't you dump him? Poor thing."
There's a stretch of quiet. I think about moving closer, but Luna and her mother laugh.
"Oh, I do love this spirit you've found," the male voice says, inappropriately effeminate.
Evidently, Nan is amusing Luna's mother, and a bit of mommy is bleeding into her host. I silently chuckle.
I take the risk, lean out briefly. They don't seem to be moving closer. I can hear them well, so I relax a bit.
"Are you going to turn me and Gaire in for hooking up?" Gracie asks.
So much for relaxing. I hold my breath, mind spinning with sudden realization; Luna's mother knows I'm alive, and creatures of darkness be damned, I wonder what else she knows?
"No," the manly voice says.
I grit my teeth, spine tingling—a warning from within. I slowly let out the breath I had been holding.
"Why?" Luna asks through Gracie.
The host Luna's mother is wearing smells like road kill. While that doesn't bother me or most Down Under creatures, I'm betting it bothers Gracie. This makes me smile.
"I'm your guardian," the manly voice burbles. "Naturally—purely to stroke my own ego—I would revel in your success. Especially in lieu of the fact I will not be held accountable when the elders find out you assisted Gaire in the death of a Down Under creature, above the sewer, and in broad daylight."
"I did not assist in Vuur's death. Jane and I were helping Gaire try to save the real CeCe from being raped by a serial murder."
"A match made in the sewer," her mother's man-voice cuts Gracie off, "a doppelganger with a conscience and a wendigo who tries to save damsels in distress. Well, young lady, it doesn't matter." Her mother swings the cadaver's arms. Stench rides a tunnel breeze. "You can get on with your save-the-world crusade. You have my blessing."
"Nope, not buying it," Gracie says. "Why are you letting me try to build a relationship with a wendigo who has a price on his head? Not to mention find the doppelganger who tried to kill my last host and snuff the..."
"Excuse me?" Luna's mother says.
Wait, did Luna just tell her mother we are going to hunt a doppelganger and kill it? I can barely hold the need to be by Gracie's side.
Then Luna's mother growls. "Dead woman! Stay out of this! I'm speaking to my daughter."
There's more silence. I mildly relax and wait patiently, sensing no movement, and then Luna's mother breaks the quiet with a cold stoic voice.
"Did you just tell me you intend to hunt down one of your own kind and try to kill it?"
The tension in the air is heavy.
"That disgusting creature is killing women for no reason," Gracie hisses. "He is not even wearing them!"
Mom's same stoic voice answers at a moderate volume. "Killing humans, for whatever the reason, is not a crime in the little red eyes of your elders." The cadaver's voice is phlegmy as it escalates. "Killing another doppelganger is!"
There's a long silence. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.
"Old woman," Luna's guardian finally says, "you can do your summoning spell with the host my daughter is wearing. It's true, I cannot say in all honesty that I am one-hundred percent sure the dragon-shifter is dead. I can tell you he did not come out of the house after the dark-haired man who drove up in the black car. And now I know the brazen trollop my daughter was wearing shot him—thank you for that image—and that he was one of us. I should not have stayed near the house until the fire department put out the flames."
I cover my mouth and swallow hard to hold back my rising tension.
"Truth be told, I can care less if you want to further your relationship with the wendigo. Doppelgangers are not held responsible for others' actions, meaning you have no moral obligation to turn your wendigo playmate in to his tribe, pack, whatever they call it.
"And furthermore, if you choose to search for the doppelganger, which I strongly advise against, you are within your rights to do so. Now if you take it upon yourself to try to destroy one of our brethren—one who has done you no personal harm—I will have to report it as I see it. And I will be there to see it."
"But he's killing innocent women. He's not nice," Gracie says.
I swell with pride—me, a blood-thirsty murdering cannibal.
"You and this wendigo are an abomination to your breeds."
I go cold with anger at the guardian's words.
"There is no mercy, empathy, or heroism in our kind or his! Nothing good can come of this humanitarian rampage you are both on."
"I'm proud of the way I feel, Mother!"
"Yes, I know you are," she says. "Wendigo! Show yourself!"
TWENTY ONE
Gracie
I whip around as Gaire steps into the sewer about fifteen yards do
wn the tunnel. What was he thinking? "I told you to stay put!" I shout.
But my damn doppelganger essence betrays me and quivers at the site of his muscular body stuffed into a gray, Army tee and even tighter blue jeans. He's not wearing a belt, and as his arms rise in exaggerated exasperation I see his navel and a strip of blond hair running below and above. I long to rub my nose there.
They never listen, do they, dear? Nan says.
"No, they don't," my mother agrees.
I hardly register the conversation. Gaire's eyes are sparkling anger and it's making me deliciously dizzy.
Nope, sure don't, Nan adds, and often try to finagle total control of everything.
Mom nods in agreement. The body she's wearing smells so bad, poor Gracie is gagging. Talk about a buzz kill.
"I'll be damned if I stay in front of a warm fire," Gaire says, "while you tiptoe around the sewer with only a ghost for support."
"You're damned already," my mother says. "You're a wendigo."
Sad but true, Nan adds. But I seem to be growing fond of the devil.
I'm about to slap the both of them.
"How long have you been lurking in the shadows?" I ask a bit too loud and with a fair share of mind your own business.
"The whole time," my mother answers for Gaire.
I huff frustration.
Imagine that, Nan says. You would think--being like your mamma and such--that you'd be able to sense the creature you been sleepin'—"
I try to cup my hand over the ghost's mouth and only grab air, when my fingers slide right through her face, and I almost land on my ass, but bounce off the sewer wall instead.
Mother giggles. I have never heard her giggle.
She still has some growin' to do, Nan says to the rotting flesh my mother is covered in.
I take another swipe at her and the ghost's body gusts out of my reach. The dress she is wearing mingles with her arms and neck and head, and she's a discombobulated ball of gray.
Mom laughs the cadaver's left cheek right off his face.
"Where did you find the dead guy?" I ask Mother as Gaire steps behind me and puts both arms around my waist.
"A car accident on Seminole Boulevard." Mother shakes the horrid head of her host and tries to lift both arms. But one is hanging oddly by his side, now totally useless, and just flops around when Mom moves. The dead guy's left leg is bare all the way from his bloody knee to his thigh and a windshield wiper blade is sticking out of it.
"I thought I'd give your suggestion a try," my mother says. "I didn't kill this one. He evidently killed himself along with three others—alcohol can be as lethal as Jane's Smith & Wesson in the hands of the wrong human. The real guy still had a heartbeat when I left the site. I even called for help with his cellphone." Mom uses the guy's good hand to flash us an iPhone.
"Look at you tryin' t'be someone betta, eh?" I sound like my last host. "And are you tellin' me you used a cellphone, too? Sheesh."
"How about I text your answer," my mother snarks. "Do I have your number?"
Gaire chuckles.
I want to push my elbow into his ribs, but Nan distracts me. She's floating down the sewer.
"Where are you going?" I shout after her.
A doppelganger dressed in a human just walked into the bar down there, Nan says. I thought maybe I should check that out. You coming?
My mother and I freeze.
"What?" Gaire tightens his grip, placing his chin on my scalp.
I can feel his head move from side to side. He's searching the area.
"My daughter's ghost just told us a doppelganger has walked into Purgatory wearing a human."
"Nan wants me to follow her down there to have a look," I say.
Gaire suggests, "Why don't we let the ghost go see if she can find out who or what this doppelganger is wearing?"
The cadaver my mother is dressed in finally winks out. It floats down her smoky body, and black sparkly confetti pools around her feet for a few seconds before disappearing completely. There's always a draft down here, and the stench of the cadaver dissipates as the sewer sucks the vapors away.
"Oh, great Goddess of olfaction, thank you!" Gracie says.
Gaire laughs. My mother glares.
I smelt a skunk easier to stand near, I did, Nan says and dashes down the sewer toward the bar.
Mom warbles a chuckle.
Ten or twelve really uncomfortable moments later, my mother is saying, "That ghost of yours is a keeper, dear. And the host you're wearing is doable. At least she isn't proudly displaying and overabundance of cleavage."
I take it y'all are talkin' about the prostitute, Jane, your last host, and the doppelganger in the bar's obsession? Nan's voice arrives before her ghostly image does.
Eyes searching for the ghost, I ask, "Is he dressed in her?"
Gaire tightens his grip. "Nan's back?" Gaire asks my mother.
"Yes," she says a bit snooty. "You can let my daughter go. She will not attempt leaving without us."
I'm surprised my mother answered him. "Oh, yes, I, will if he's wearing Jane!"
Don't cut off your head to spite your face, child.
Mother laughs.
"Who is the doppelganger dressed in?" Gaire asks, not easing his hold on me.
Nan sighs and a bit of ectoplasmic goo wafts out her mouth. The doppelganger is dressed in the dark-haired shifter you call Vuur, and he more than mentioned your last host.
I gasp.
Mom yelps, and this surprises me more than Nan's reveal.
"Someone tell me what the damn ghost is saying!" Gaire hisses frustration.
I try to wiggle out of Gaire's grasp. "The doppelganger is talking about Jane—"
"And wearing Vuur," Mother finishes.
Gaire drops his arms and turns toward Purgatory.
"You are so not going into that bar!" I grab the back of Gaire's jeans, and watch his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.
My voice cracks as I ask Nan, "Is Jane dead?"
No, but she might be soon enough if y'all don't do somethin' to stop him.
"Well?" Gaire is looking into my eyes.
"Wait!" I shush him, and turn back to Nan. "What do you mean?"
The doppelganger was knockin' the drinks down, laughing and talking up a berserker at a corner table in the back of the bar. He told the guy he was going to kill Jane and asked if he wanted to film it. The whole bar full of patrons' heard all that from the Vuur guy's lips.
"We need a plan," my mother says.
Gaire throws up his hands, slaps them against the sewer wall and growls, "What the fuck?"
I quickly answer Gaire's frustration. "The doppelganger, wearing Vuur, told a berserker in Purgatory that he was going to kill Jane." I ask Mother. "What do you mean 'we'?"
"Just what I said. I intend to help. We need a plan."
Before I can rebuke her offer, Gaire says, "Have any ideas?"
I want to kiss him and slap him at the same time. It's disconcerting.
I love when family comes together during a time of crisis. Nan's hands are clutched in front of her flowered dress, half way into her stomach.
I swing what I know will be a useless slap in her direction. The ghost bolts straight up and plasters herself along the top of the sewer. And I can't help but laugh.
Mother clears her throat. "Are you two going to stop playing like fledglings so I can answer the wendigo's question?"
We both hold our own hands—only Nan's are inside each other—and stand quietly.
Mom turns to Gaire. "As a matter of fact, I do have an idea."
My mother looks horrid in her natural form. She is bigger, thicker, and almost solid in consistency—gel instead of smoke—and darker than me. Her eyes are large and bright red above a lippy mouth, over-filled with jagged teeth. All of this kind of roils gel-like on a lumpy, bumpy face. Two long arms with long knotty fingers hang to the bottom of her sooty form and drape over two small feet that I've only seen once or twice.
&nbs
p; She stares at me for a human heartbeat before saying, "I think we should double up on Jane, quickly. Capture the original little slut, and tie her up somewhere until we kill the doppelganger dressed in Vuur."
TWENTY TWO
Gracie
"If anyone is going to double up on Jane, it will be me," I say, "because I don't trust you, Mother."
"Don't be silly," Mother says. "You can't shed Gracie because you won't be able to see Nan."
"And you know this how?" I hood my eyes and glare at her.
She's right, dear, Nan says, I can only communicate with you if you're wearing my daughter.
"Mom can," I challenge.
Yes, that's true, but we would have to be sitting at my kitchen table. I can't leave the two-story without Gracie. The real Gracie, if you're not wearing her double, child.
I'm not ready to give up. "Maybe if we all take a big breath and blow, Mother will go away."
"Young lady, you're going to have to trust me," Mother says. "Nan is indispensable at the moment. We may need her ability to warn us of human possession again. Neither you or I are capable of sensing that." She turns to Gaire. "Are you?"
"You know I'm not," Gaire says. "I had no idea what Luna was when I met her."
"See," Mom tells me, "you need my help."
That's what mothers are for, Nan adds.
"Meh, I don't think so," I tell her. "We got this. You can go hunt another ripe one."
"Hold on," Gaire says. "This isn't a bad idea. Think about it."
"I did think about it," I sputter. Yeah, right, for all of three seconds. "Mother's hosts always end up dead."
Gaire rolls his eyes. "Not if your mother can double up on her, and we find a safe place to keep the real Jane hostage, until you and I help your mother kill the doppelganger wearing Vuur.
Y'all can use my house, Nan says. The basement is haunted. I have a lot of friends down there. They'll help me keep your friend safe.
"We need to move fast," Mother says. "The doppelganger selected Vuur for a reason. Your father hired him to assassinate you, Rogaire, and you almost killed him. And he selected Jane to entice you." My mother's red, beady eyes pause on me. "So, I have no doubt it knows exactly how the both of you are going to react. He did not go into Purgatory wearing Vuur to drink casually, or to buddy up with a berserker. He went into that bar to be sure the both of you hear that he plans to kill your last host, using the wendigo's nightmare."
