by Natasha Deen
“This is Paul’s fault,” Mrs. Pierson said as the car gained speed. “Him and his obsessions.”
Her tone suggested she was talking more to herself than me. I was happy to stay quiet and keep my attention on the sky for a winged creature, lights, or anything else that would give us a clue where Rori was.
“I’m sorry the boy is dead—”
I jerked my attention from the window to her.
“—and I’m sorry about what happened to the Popov family—”
Okay, she was talking about Serge.
“—but Paul’s been obsessed with it. With the kid. Let him rest. What’s to be gained by brooding on what wasn’t done to help him?”
Probably the chance to make sure no kid ever had to live in the hell on earth that Serge had, but I didn’t say that.
“Paul’s missing dinners, Rori’s parent-teacher interviews, the fall assembly, bath time, bedtime story. He misses so many things, already. I’m not saying he shouldn’t be volunteering at the distress lines—” She took a breath, tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I get it, I do. We moved from Vancouver so Rori would have a small-town life and we land in the middle of a family scandal that’s got the media frothing. But how is that a reason to bail on your family? To forget about your daughter because you’re caught up in some privileged middle-class mid-life crisis—” Her breath hissed with frustration and resentment.
So that was the gist of the argument. How much time he was—or wasn’t—spending with his family. And Rori, being a kid, blamed herself for her parents’ fighting. What I didn’t get was Rori running away. Nell babysat her, and from everything I’d heard she was a really good kid. Sweet. Shy. Not the kind to take off from her house in the middle of the night.
I tried to think like Nancy and come up with good cop questions that would help us find Rori. “When did you notice she was missing?”
“She went to bed at eight. I went on the deck, trying to get some air. Paul followed.” She took a breath. “God, I’m so tired of fighting with him. We started arguing—”
I figured she was gearing up for another round of husband bashing, but I didn’t have time for that. “And Rori. When did you notice she was gone?”
“I went to check on her around nine-forty-five and realized she wasn’t in bed.” Her voice went tight with fear.
“Mrs. Pierson, where did you look for Rori?”
“Everywhere,” she said.
Adults. The most unhelpful group in the world. “Where is everywhere?”
“The house, the yard. Paul started down the block, I phoned Frank.” She gulped for breath. “Then I came to you.”
The speedometer ticked higher. I stopped talking, started concentrating on staying alive. I’ve never been the kind to pray, but I found myself wishing, hoping, and praying that no one else was on the road. The streets had a skiff of ice and frost and Mrs. Pierson’s driving had us sliding on the road top. I didn’t want to add to the body count—and especially, I didn’t want to add my body to the count.
A few minutes later, we swung onto her street. Mrs. Pierson was a stay-at-home mom. Her husband’s practice wasn’t gigantic, but he was a doctor with a miraculous talent for investment banking, which explained the gigantic house and the four-car garage in the acreages of Woods Way. The family home bordered an undeveloped tract of forest and field, which equalled a lot of land for a little kid to get lost in.
I stepped out of the car and into the red and blue glow of the flashing police lights. Whatever criticism Mrs. Pierson had about her husband, he’d rallied the town. Calls for Rori sounded down the road and the beams of light from phones and flashlights bobbed in the cold night.
I left Mrs. Pierson to find her husband and headed to the house. As I walked up the driveway, a pair of headlights swung my way and put me in their spotlight. I moved toward the car as Nell cut the engine and got out. The interior lit up, showed Serge unbuckling his seat belt and climbing from the passenger side. I didn’t blame him. Dead or not, I’d buckle up if Nell was driving.
“Any luck?” She jogged up to me.
“We just got here. Nell, this doesn’t make sense. From everything you’ve said Rori’s not a runaway kind of kid.”
“No, but she’s not good with noise or fighting, either. Her favourite TV channel is the one where they just show different pictures from around the world.”
“In other words, her parents screaming at each other would have her looking for refuge. And all these people roaming around, yelling her name, is more likely to scare her—”
“Than make her realize they’re here to help.” No one was near us, but Nell came up close. “Serge said she may still be alive?”
“Yes, but who knows for how long that’ll last—” I stopped, looked up as I heard the beating of wings. A ferrier flew above us, his speed slow and steady.
“What?” Nell lifted her head to match my gaze.
“Craig, looking for Rori.”
She squinted into the dark, but Serge and I were the only ones in town who could see him.
“Help me out. I’m a super-shy six-year-old who wouldn’t take off from home, but I’ve run outside because I can’t stand my parents fighting.”
“They would’ve—should’ve—heard the door beep,” said Nell. “The alarm system is set up to make a sound every time a door or window opens.”
“Unless the door was already open,” I said as Serge joined us. “Mrs. Pierson went on the deck to get some air, Mr. Pierson followed her. If they left the door open, then she snuck out—”
“—and got herself lost. You guys check out the backyard,” said Serge, “I’ll check the front lawn and the neighbours’ lawns, too.”
We ran for the backyard and swept the lights from our cells around the space. It was a manicured lawn with skeletons of trees, bushes, and the dead stems of flowers. A playset stood to the left. The night wind pushed the swing with an invisible hand.
High in one of the trees, revealed by the bare branches, was a tree house. It sat to the right of a water wall that flowed into a stagnant pond. Trampled grass said the search party had already come and gone from here. In the distance, I heard their calls for Rori. They grew fainter as the party moved farther away from the property. “I’ll check inside the playhouse,” I told Nell.
“They would have done that,” she said.
“They may have looked inside, but she might be hiding under a blanket or table or something.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a weak argument, but it was the best idea I had. I gripped the sides of the ladder. The wood was cold and slick from the frost. It forced me to go slow, which had me cursing under my breath.
Way under.
I may have supernatural abilities, but seeing the dead was nothing compared to Dad’s talent of knowing if I was cussing. That was a strict no-no in his books and would get me grounded till the day the sun burned itself out.
Finally, head in the doorway, I pulled out my phone and scanned the interior with my flashlight.
I’d hoped for a bumpy blanket or a chest—something that a kid could hide under, but the tree house held only cushions, small stools, and a table. Ignoring the twist of my heart, I stepped down the rungs. And almost wiped out.
And that’s when I knew where Rori was.
Chapter Three
I hooked my arm in one of the rungs, then turned the flashlight to the pond. There was a small space between the stone wall and the fence. And I hoped the gap also held Rori. I went down the ladder, then did a slip and slide to the wall. I was right. In between it and the fence, was Rori’s motionless body. “Nell! I’ve got her! Call nine-one-one!” When I didn’t get a response, I screamed, “Nell!”
“Doing it, right now!”
Dealing with the dead was one thing. Dealing with a dying child was another, and I wasn’t equipped for any of it. The space wa
s too narrow for me to get in and the beam of the flashlight showed blood in her hair. Even if I could get to her, I didn’t know if I could touch her.
I did the only thing I could.
“Go in there,” I told Serge, my breath fogging the air. “Check and see how she’s doing.”
“Mags, I don’t know about the solid-not-solid thing—”
“You’re good at it. You don’t fall through the ground, you don’t float in the air. You know how to manipulate the space around you. Do it. Get to her, Serge.”
He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then moved through the rock and fence to kneel beside her. “There’s blood—”
“I think she was trying to get to her tree house and she fell.” My breath and the words came out thick as I tried not to cry. “She must have gotten confused, crawled in there.”
“—I don’t feel a heartbeat,” he said. “I don’t see any breath.”
The tears came despite my best efforts, but I held to the hope that her ferrier hadn’t arrived. “Remember the night on the bridge? How you reached into the reverend’s chest? Do it again, try to massage her heart.”
“Maggie, no! That was totally different! I didn’t care about controlling the electricity. This is different! I could kill her!”
“Please, Serge, you have to try.”
Hesitant, he did his holy roller impression, and slipped his hand into her chest. The point where his energy met hers glowed white. “I can feel her heart, but I don’t know—”
“Hurry.” Craig’s voice came behind me. “She doesn’t have much time left.” He put his arm around me and lent me his warmth and calm. Then he did the solid-not-solid thing and moved to crouch beside Serge.
“But—”
“You can do it,” said Craig. “You’re already connected with her. Remember, you’re universal energy, electricity, and her body runs on it. Just breathe, reach in, and imagine her heart restarting.”
I felt, rather than saw, Nell come close.
Serge took a breath. “I can do this,” he muttered to himself. “I can do this. I’m imagining her heart—”
“Pink, healthy,” said Craig.
“Pink, healthy,” repeated Serge. The light that connected him and Rori turned green, then pink, then white.
“Beating normally.”
“Beating—”
“There. Stop.” Craig leaned forward. “I can hear it. That’s all you need.”
Serge pulled his hand free, crawled out from behind the wall, and cleaned her blood off his hand. “I don’t know how doctors do it.”
“The paramedics are coming and so is—” Nell stopped as Mr. and Mrs. Pierson’s screams for Rori shredded the night. “—I texted Mrs. P. Obviously, she got the message.”
We moved to the side as Rori’s parents raced our way. I stopped Mrs. Pierson as she tried to grab and pull her daughter by her feet. “She has a head injury. I don’t think we should move her.”
“Rori, Rori.”
The hair on my arms prickled. There was something in the way she called her daughter that was familiar—and creepy—but I didn’t know why.
The paramedics came, and I gave them space.
I pushed free of the gathering crowd, Craig, Nell, and Serge behind me. Watching Mrs. Pierson twist herself inside out to save and protect her daughter was a bitter reminder of my absent mother. And being jealous of a six-year-old who’d almost died added a layer of pathetic to my life I didn’t need.
I wanted to bail on the whole thing, give the Piersons and myself some privacy, but taking off would’ve looked weird. Normal kids would’ve watched, wanted to know what was happening. The paramedics would have to check Rori for concussions, cuts, and bruises. They’d probably take her blood pressure and temperature before taking her to the hospital. Which meant I had to feign interest in the scene for the next fifteen minutes.
I stepped back, pretending to give the adults room. When we were out of grownup earshot but still close enough to look like part of the group, Nell punched Craig softly on the arm. “So, Mr. Destiny, what was with telling Serge to save Rori? Did you break some supernatural protocol in letting her live?”
Craig shook his head. “If they wanted her, I couldn’t have stopped it.” His breath fogged the air. “I don’t like taking kids, no ferrier does.”
“But sometimes it’s their destiny, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Humans make destiny sound like this great thing,” he said, “but the ancient Greeks had it right. Destiny is brutal.”
Nell turned her attention from him, looked back at the crowd gathered around Rori. “My dad’s on call at the hospital tonight. If she gets him, she’s going to be fine. She’ll be the old lady you collect in ninety years.”
If Craig responded, I didn’t hear it. If the conversation continued, I didn’t notice. My focus was on the pond behind the crowd and the silver light emanating from it. The water had changed consistency and looked more like liquid mercury. Boiling silver. From its thick depths, something slowly rose.
Chapter Four
“Is anyone else seeing what I’m seeing?” I nodded at the pond.
“Whoa, I am now,” said Serge.
Craig said nothing. He shifted his weight to his heels and loosely folded his arms across his chest. I figured if a boiling lake of mercury didn’t stress him out, there probably wasn’t much to fear.
“I sense woo-woo.” Nell craned her head toward the water. “What supernatural stuff am I not seeing?”
Serge described the scene while I watched The Thing from the Silver Lagoon rise to the surface and step on to the ground. It was still covered with the metallic pond water, so how it managed to walk a straight line was beyond me.
I squinted at the red-orange outline edging The Thing.
“It’s coming to us,” said Serge.
Nell pulled an elastic off her wrist and wrapped her thick blond hair in a bun. “Just tell me where to kick.”
“Thanks Princess of Power, but your ninja skills are no use.”
“I’m short but mighty.”
“Yeah, and this thing is made up of energy, not solid matter. You’ll just be kicking air.”
“Oh.” Disappointed, she pulled her hair free of the elastic. “Right.”
The blob kept coming, and with each step, it burned off the supernatural pond liquid.
Craig stiffened and lifted his gaze to the sky. He cocked his head, listened. “I’m being called.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He stepped backward. “I better see what’s going on.”
“Now?” I squeaked the question. I’m all about girl power and I live with the dead, so I don’t scare easy, but an unidentified thing coming toward us, covered in silvery mercury with a red-orange outline, equalled me wanting as much help as I could get. “If you’re not in trouble for helping Rori, why are they calling you?”
He took a step back, morphed into his ferrier form. Because I had supernatural abilities, and because Serge was a ghost, we were the only one who saw the transformation. Which was a good thing for the non-supernatural-seeing townsfolk. Craig in ferrier form was the stuff of nightmares—horns, pointed tale, scales, wings, red eyes, and sharp, white teeth the length of my hand.
“I’m about to find out.” He smiled and took to the sky.
Cursing under my breath, I turned back to watching the blob.
By the time it reached us, it wasn’t an it, but a guy, around our age. Blond hair, blue eyes, slim frame.
“Hey,” I said. He seemed familiar, seemed like someone I should know, but I couldn’t place him.
He responded with a head nod.
“I’m Maggie, this is Nell, Serge.”
“I don’t see anything,” whispered Nell.
I ignored her.
I cut her a glance from the corner of my eye.
“What?” She gave me a wide gaze. “We’re probably the first people he’s meant since...you know. We should be polite.”
“How do you know it’s a he?”
She flipped back her hair. “You have your supernatural abilities, Johnson. I have mine.”
I rolled my eyes but pointed to my right.
She waved.
He waved back.
“Is he waving back?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Nell, go stand behind him—across from me. Go stand across from me.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise, to the adults, it’ll look like we’re having a conversation with the air. And that’s going to get us into therapy or tested for drugs. I’ll come out of it okay, but they’ll never let you see the light of day, again.”
“Ha ha. If only your fashion sense was as sharp as your wit.” She paused, tapped the side of her mouth with her finger. “Oh. Wait. It is.”
I ignored the jab. “If you stand across from me, it’ll look like I’m talking to you.”
“Oh.” She flipped her hair back and took her spot.
The ghost watched as she came to a stop behind him. Then he turned, gave me a confused shrug.
“Do we know him?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Serge. “We do…I just don’t know…”
This seemed like a problem that was easily solved. “Who are you?”
He pointed at himself, then looked over his shoulder.
Great. Either he was a smartass or had suffered some kind of head trauma when he died.
“Yes,” I said. “You. I’m talking to you.”
He opened his mouth, moved his lips. No sound came out. The ghost frowned, tried again to talk, but nothing came out.
“What’s he saying?” asked Nell.
“Nothing.” I wished Craig were here. “Can you talk?”
