Wraith

by Phaedra Weldon

  “Demonic?” I straightened up. “I am not demonic.”

  “No, but I think Trench-Coat might be—or at least he’s Abysmal-plane goo—and if he’s sort of given you this new ability, then it could have tainted you. Especially if he’s a Symbiont.”

  Okay, I’d heard that word before. It’d been in biology in college. Symbionts were organisms that lived on or with another in a mutually beneficial relationship. But I doubted Rhonda was talking in a biological sense. “Want to eh-ja-ma-cate me on this?”

  “I’m not sure if I can explain this better than your mom. Remember the different planes, thinking of them as concentric circles? Center is physical, then mental, then astral, and then we have the Ethereal and Abysmal? Symbionts are created on the Ethereal plane, made up of scattered thoughts and emotions, mostly of those that were exorcised on the astral or even the Ethereal.”

  Ew. Mixed parts. “Do they make themselves or are they made?”

  Steve spoke up. “They’re created, conjured if you want a more brash term. Phantasms are well-known for using Symbionts as servants in the physical world.”

  “Servants? As in do its bidding sort of thing?”

  “In a manner of speaking. The ones created for symbiosis, living within a host, are less physical and are made to be dependent on their hosts. Phantasms sometimes use the Symbionts as either channels for gaining more power in the physical plane or they use them as windows. The Symbiont grants the host all manner of things, from long life to health and sometimes wealth, but the Phantasm that created the Symbiont exacts a price.”

  Rhonda spoke up. “But sometimes they create Symbionts to use as trackers.”

  “Trackers? Like in they’re used to track something?”

  “Yes.” Steve pursed his lips as he shrugged. “As to what that something is, only the Phantasm that controls the Symbiont knows. It could be a bogey, sprite, willow, ghost, Shade, spook, spectre.” He looked at me. “Even a living being.”

  I caught myself staring at Steve as I stood in Mom’s shop. I also felt a chill come from behind and wrap itself around my shoulders. My arm burned where Trench-Coat had touched it, and I cradled it closer to my chest. “You think this Trench-Coat was trying to take me as a host for some Phantasm?” I frowned. “What’s a Phantasm?”

  Rhonda shook her head. “Not a host for a Phantasm—though that would be a fascinating piece of research. I think he was trying to—well--eat you.”

  Gah. That’s gross.

  “Phantasms are the kings of the Abysmal plane. Made up of nightmares and the things that scare us. They rarely leave their plane of existence because that’s their place of power. But sometimes they take a walk on the wild side, to lend aid to their own.” She sighed. “Or sometimes to recall a misbehaving servant.”

  “And you think Trench-Coat is a Symbiont sent or created by a Phantasm? And he’s after me?”

  She thumbed pages in the large book and stopped several sections to the left of the Wraith image. “I don’t think you’re his main goal, or his target. I do think you interrupted something, and that’s why he noticed you. You saw him taking a soul. Phantasms don’t take or feed on souls directly, they do it through their Symbionts. Symbionts can take souls for their own needs when their masters are sated. Those Symbionts without hosts, which I suspect TC is, can sometimes flourish in the Abysmal, and the astral, and sometimes the physical, though that’s rare. They have to be given power by their Phantasmic creator, and those are the ones used as trackers.”

  I shuffled my feet. I was getting uncomfortable, and my toes were cold in my boots. “Trench-Coat could be a tracker. He’s one of these rare buggers.”

  “I think so. And he took Tanaka’s soul either because he was instructed to do so by a master, or because he’s building power.”

  “Well, Tanaka did tell him to tell his master he didn’t have whatever it was he was looking for. So, that master could be a Phantasm?” And if so, what the hell had Tanaka gotten into?

  Rhonda nodded, though absently as she’d pushed her face into the book again.

  I rubbed my nose. “So I interrupted something, kinda like a witness at a murder, and TC tried to take me out?” I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

  Rhonda looked up. “Yes. Following the rules of the planes, he had to kill Tanaka in order to take his soul. Take him out of his physical body,” Rhonda said. Her voice lowered, as did the room’s temperature. I wanted to start a fire in the fireplace in the tea shop. “A Symbiont cannot touch the living without the host’s permission. And of course Tanaka wasn’t going to give permission, so TC killed him. When the soul tried to flee, he snatched it. But when he touched you…”

  Rhonda’s words lingered in the air—when he touched you…I looked wide-eyed at both of them. “I wasn’t dead. I was an astral image of myself.”

  Steve nodded. “You were still attached to your body. So when he touched you, something happened. Even though TC’s been given a certain level of independence from a host, he’s still at his roots a Symbiont. So by touching you, we think he instigated a sort of Symbiosis. A sharing of power.”

  “Sharing of power?” I pulled off my coat, hung it over my arm, and pulled down the sleeve of my sweater. The mark was still there, a dark pink against my skin. Henna. Was it possible? I mean, I’d seen Trench-Coat as half-physical. He’d cast a shadow that night, but he’d left no footprint. And now…

  And now I could become solid. Had I taken that power from him? Was it permanent? And more importantly, what had he taken from me?

  I said this last out loud.

  Rhonda looked worried. “I think at that moment, your mind was filled with the need to be solid and run like hell. And he had been in the middle of feeding, so to speak. I have a sneaky suspicion you got his ability to become corporeal, and he took your health.”

  The thirst. My hunger. Maddox’s sugar findings. Oh son of a bitch.

  Steve moved forward. “Hey, Zoë, sit down before you fall down. Have you eaten this evening?”

  I shook my head and moved to one of the tables in the botanica. Rhonda turned on the gas fireplace and made me a cup of tea. Steve actually brought me a plate with a piece of lemon cake on it. He was getting really good at physical manipulation. But then again, we were in his house.

  “Where’s Tim?”

  “With Nona and Jemmy.” Rhonda and Steve sat down at the table. “Look, your mom and I sort of came up with this theory yesterday, and after the doctor’s appointment, and you seeing the doctor’s dead son, she went over to Jemmy’s for more research. We’re not really sure of all this yet. This is all theory.”

  Steve snorted. “Like Jemmy Shultz is an expert in the afterlife?”

  I gave the ghost a half smile. Steve didn’t particularly care for Miss Shultz any more than Rhonda did. Which explained to me why Steve was here and Tim was with Mom.

  I’d forgotten about Joseph Maddox. Standing there beside his oblivious father. I asked Steve about what I’d seen. What did it mean?

  Steve clasped his hands together on the table. “It sounds like he’s trapped. If his father has set up a shrine in his office like she described, my guess is Joseph is stuck between worlds because his father is holding him there. I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t been in your body at that moment, you would have heard him.”

  “He seemed really anxious to tell me something.” I chewed on my upper lip. “Maybe I need to travel over there and see what he wants?”

  “Uh”—Rhonda moved away from her book—“maybe—but not right now. I honestly don’t know how far you’re going to change.”

  I sipped at the tea. It was sweet and a bit spicy. “So you think I’m being changed, by something from the Abysmal plane.”

  Both of them nodded.

  Shit.

  Damn. I’d been called twisted before—but now it seemed more poignant. “So—Mitsuri had sensed this about me and she’d lit the dragon’s tongue. She was protecting Hirokumi because of what happened to Tanaka.�
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  “I think maybe Mitsuri is a good guy.” Rhonda shifted where she sat.

  “Good guys have faces, Rhonda. This chick was one of those blurred sponsor ads on MTV.”

  “True”—Rhonda crossed her arms over her chest—“but good guys don’t always wear white.”

  I gave her my own version of sardonic as I looked at her all-black getup. “Yah think?” I sighed. I had to concentrate on what I’d seen, on the dead Tanaka, and on Trench-Coat. Mainly because if I thought about what might or might not be happening to me, I might go screaming into the night naked.

  Okay, maybe not so dramatic. But I’d at least hide in the closet again.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s a safe bet that Hirokumi is refusing to help Lieutenant Frasier capture Tanaka’s killer because he knows the killer isn’t capture-able in any known sense. And maybe he’s protecting Daniel in that way.” I was losing ground here on the reality check. I snapped my fingers.

  Rhonda nodded. “The lieutenant could really get hurt if Trench-Coat noticed him. As a Symbiont, he couldn’t touch him. But apparently he could kill him.”

  Ooh. Not good. Didn’t want something oogy to happen to Daniel.

  Mental note: protect Daniel.

  Right.

  Somehow I just knew I was going to end up rescuing his cute ass before this was all over with.

  I set my tea on the table. “Then I’m a little backed up on how Trench-Coat fits in with Reverend Rollins.”

  “Ah…” Rhonda nodded. “Did you talk to Lieutenant Frasier?”

  That made me think of Daniel’s phone call, and I gave her and Steve the skinny on what had happened that afternoon.

  Mom’s little helper shook her head. “Thanks for not giving Bruno’s name away, Zoë.”

  I nodded. “No problem. But this puts us back to square one. If the police aren’t going to check into Rollins, then Tanaka’s death will probably go unsolved. I mean, they’re right. There really isn’t any good, solid, hard evidence.”

  It was a few minutes before I realized I was being stared at by Steve and Rhonda.

  I straightened up and wondered if I had cake on my face or something. “What?”

  “I’m not believing this.” Rhonda opened her arms wide, her palms facing up. “If the police can’t investigate Rollins, the case is done? You’re giving up? Hello?”

  Okay. I was feeling a bit out of step here. Usually I’m really good at keeping up on conversations, jokes, trends, that sort of thing. But from the looks on their faces I’d missed something. “I’m not sure I—”

  “Zoë.” Steve set his clasped hands on the table. He looked so solid, so alive, he looked touchable. “Why don’t you investigate the good Reverend? Who’s to stop you?”

  Indeed.

  I had missed something. I’d missed my brain somewhere back at the bar. Left it there. Or maybe I’d misplaced it in my car? “But Rhonda keeps saying I need to be cautious because we don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “Yeah, she’s right.” Rhonda nodded. She grinned. “But you normally don’t listen to me or Nona anyway.”

  It was a brilliant idea that should have come to me. Why not go spy on the old Reverend myself? I could travel, and no one would see me. Of course, I’m not sure that if I found anything out, Daniel could use it.

  But—he might know of a way to exploit it.

  Mom came in the back door just then, followed by Jemmy Shultz. She stopped when she saw us gathered around the counter. Tim phased in behind her, saw me, and started motioning at me to do…something.

  I frowned at him. Dance? Jig? Run?

  “It’s here!” hissed Miss Shultz.

  After that things happened fast. I stood up to greet Mom. Tim yelled at Steve to stop her. Mom yelled at me to stand still. Rhonda let out a stream of very colorful metaphors. And Miss Shultz pulled something from her carpet bag as she took three steps toward me.

  Within seconds my one summer of martial arts training snapped to the forefront. I grabbed Miss Shultz’s arm, ducked low, twisted it around and came up behind her with it, kicked out the back of her knees, and had Jemmy Shultz on her face on the floor.

  Not a bad piece of work if I do say so myself.

  That’s when I saw the large silver cross she had clasped in her hand.

  “Let her go, Zoë.”

  A cross? The woman had come at me with a cross? Crap—I thought she’d had a gun. Mom was going to be pissed.

  “Let. Her. Go.”

  Yep. Mom sounded pissed. I let go of Miss Shultz and stood. And I would have offered to help the cross-wielding nut up—except when I turned I beheld my mother aiming her Colt .45 level with my chest.

  “Mom?”

  “Move, demon, or I’ll blow a hole through you and my shop.” Gulp.

  14

  “MOM…”

  “Hush!”

  “This is stupid. I’m not a demon.”

  “If you don’t be quiet, there’s a roll of duct tape behind the counter.”

  I waited. Sat still. What else could I do? I had a gun pressed against my neck.

  Miss Shultz, her dignity—which I’d obviously robbed her of when I tossed her on her ass—restored, continued her kneeling prayers in front of me. She wore one of her usual blue flower print housedresses, which billowed up around her middle. I had a great view of her braided, polished steel hair.

  I sat completely still in one of the wooden chairs. I had a cross around my neck that felt as if it were made of lead. It was getting hard to breathe, with it pressing against my chest.

  I’d already been doused with holy water from a small flask Miss Shultz kept in her carpet bag. I felt ridiculous. And the gun was just way over the top.

  “Nona—there’s no need for the gun. Zoë’s fine. She’s not possessed by a Wraith.” Rhonda sounded as exasperated as I felt. “No, I apparently am a Wraith.”

  Mom whacked me with the gun barrel. “YOW!”

  “My daughter is not a Wraith,” she hissed.

  I wanted to rub my head where she’d knocked it, but I was too afraid she’d shoot me. The woman was upset.

  Insane.

  Mental note: clear Mom’s house of all guns.

  Finally, Miss Shultz struggled to her feet. I saw that the dress barely covered her knees, which themselves were covered by knee-high hose. Yuck. At least she wore real shoes and not slippers. She motioned to my mom with a wave of her hand. I thought I caught a whiff of Ben-Gay. “She’s fine. No possession.”

  Mom moved the gun away. I removed the lead-weight cross, handed it to Mom (okay, more like shoved it at her), then reached up and rubbed the sore spot on my head. “I told you that.”

  “So she’s not a Wraith?” Mom seemed anxious as she moved away and handed the cross back.

  “That I don’t know.” Miss Shultz moved to her bag where it sat on the counter. Steve and Tim sat on stools behind the register. They’d been oddly quiet ever since Mom and Priestess Shultzie came in. She dropped the cross inside the bag, and in my imagination I heard a cat scream from inside.

  Well…it was a really big bag.

  “All I can say is that she doesn’t possess a spirit inside that isn’t her own.”

  I glanced over at Rhonda, who arched her eyebrows at me. Could crazy lady be talking about possessing a Symbiont? I really hadn’t given her that much credit in the knowledge department.

  “What should we do?”

  “Well.” Miss Shultz shot me a scary look. I knew it. She hated me. Always had. Didn’t know why—it was just a feeling. “My suggestion is you keep her locked up till the next full moon. Drugged preferably. And if you see any more of these spirits you saw about her, then call me. I have a priest friend—lives in Biloxi—and he’d be here within a day for a good old-fashioned exorcism.”

  I blinked at her, then looked at Mom, willing her to turn and look at me. Locked up? Drugged? Till the next full moon? Are these people insane?

  I looked at the door and tried to g
uesstimate how quick it’d take me to clear the distance and get to my car. I was hungry. Well, actually ravenous. And überthirsty.

  And very pissed off.

  Mom thanked Miss Shultz profusely and showed her out the front door and down the steps. We all sat in stunned silence for a few beats—it felt as if the past half hour had been some weird, trippy mushroom-induced dream.

  When Mom came back in, everyone tried to speak at once. Except me. I stood, moved around the counter, retrieved my purse, and headed for the door.

  Mom moved in front of me. Everyone else’s voices stopped. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “You are not locking me up, and if you come near me with a drug, I’ll report you to somebody. I have a job to do.”

  “You should stay here, Zoë.”

  “Here?” I pointed to the floor with my right index finger. “With you? Do you realize how humiliated I feel? To have had my mother hold me at gunpoint while some crazed woman with a cross and pond water did her stupid mojo over me?”

  “Yes, I do. And if you…” She paused and looked at everyone in the shop. “All of you, will listen two seconds, I can explain.”

  I pulled my bag over my shoulder and crossed my arms over my chest. “You got one.”

  “As nutty as that woman is, she’s well-read. And she knows the lore of the dead better than anyone.” She looked over at Rhonda. “No offense, love, but she does.” Mom looked back up at me. “I had to question her—pick her brain. And in order to do that I had to give her some story. I told her you were possessed and had been throwing things about the shop. And that you spit pea soup.”

  My jaw dropped. Took a second to pull it off the floor. “You told her I spit pea soup?”

  “Look, it worked.” Mom moved away from me and started doing that weird once-over she always did at the end of the day, going from shelf to shelf, examining the merchandise and straightening it when she saw something out of position. Mom always swore she knew if something was missing.

  The woman also had eyes in the back of her head too. Of that I was sure.