I still couldn’t see, but I could sure feel—especially when the marauding phantom slammed into me again, this time knocking me onto my back. Frigid water seized every available piece of cloth. The ghost made another low, rumbling growl—this sounding more like a chuckle.
Great. A furious, killer haunt with a sense of humor.
I felt it swoop back off and guessed it had gone to the place it had probably died so it could recharge.
Wiping water out of my eyes, I sat up and met the gaze of a being who’d been my constant companion—or albatross—since I was nine years old. The moonlight reflected off the long, ridiculous sleeves of her white evening gown. Yeah, evening gown. The physical elements of this dimension couldn’t touch her, so the water didn’t hamper the extended, billowy skirt. One amused brown eye shone from between three-foot strands of slithery black hair.
I shot her a glare before whipping my attention back to the night visitor fuming over the water.
“You need a good magician, or maybe a priest to get rid of this thing, Bergdis,” Phro drawled in a slow, sultry voice laced with molasses-thick humor.
She knew I hated that name. I’d insisted on the shortened version forever. People tripped over the real deal, and who could blame them? It was a mouthful. Bergdis meant spirit protection. My parents, whoever they had been, must have been sadists. If not, they couldn’t have known what tagging me with that name would do. The spirits took it literally. They were always there. Everywhere. Barely hidden behind the dimensional veil between this world and the next. All I had to do was peel at the layers—just a little—and I’d see them.
My middle name meant warrior. And, as if the strangest name ever wasn’t enough of a burden to carry, my physical stature didn’t exactly blend me in, either. At a little over six feet tall, I towered over most other women and could out-lift most bodybuilders. Add the glowing hair, the light amber eyes and I was a verified walking, talking freak. A freak with spirits dogging my every step.
“She’s right. You can’t banish this thing yourself.”
At the sound of Fred’s voice, I groaned. I so did not need their bickering help tonight. I needed to concentrate. Come up with a better plan than, uh…watching the specter.
“Beri, you’re out of your element alone on this one. I told you a partner is needed. One with some magical abilities other than seeing into dimensions and being able to rip apart things with your bare hands.” He squatted next to me, tussled, sandy-colored hair over his eyes and his boyishly handsome face twisted with concern. “Can’t rip what you can’t grab.”
Normally, I had to do a little dimensional surgery to call on Fred. But lately, he’d been hanging around all the time. Fred Rawlings was my actual spirit guide—around me from birth, companion to a young girl who spent most of her early life trekking through strange foster homes. He’d explained to me that while most people couldn’t see them, everyone had a spirit guide—an experienced soul who chose to chaperone a person on this life’s journey. Once I died, Fred would either move on to someone else or decide to reincarnate himself to experience another life.
According to him, all souls had many lessons to learn.
And right now, all of us needed to learn to pay attention to the problem.
I picked up the binoculars only to have them slammed into the already-sore rings around my eyes as the thing lunged again. “Shit! Why didn’t you guys warn me it was coming back?”
“Better get out of here,” Fred whispered, leaning in too close. Unlike Phro, whose scent was fairly pleasant, Fred had the misfortune to die in his father’s rotting corn fields during a thunderstorm. Black flakes reappeared daily on his blue chambray shirt and early fifties-style Levi jeans, no matter how often he picked at the charred areas. With the faint smell of charcoal and the morbid burn marks on his clothes, Fred represented a constant reminder to go inside during lightning storms.
“Beri, your sister was right.” He turned to watch the ghost as it shot into the sky, then came back to glide over the water. “Something is going on out there—something big enough to stretch fingers into my side of the dimensional barriers.”
I frowned, my gaze not straying from the ghost. I hurriedly pulled my now-sopping pack off my back and frantically searched inside for rock salt. I’d sprinkle the damned stuff on myself. Fumbling with the canister, I spoke under my breath. “How is that possible?”
Phro perched on her knees on my other side. “He doesn’t know. None of us do. But we’ve been trying to knock some sense in your head for weeks now. If I’d known you’d listen to your sister, I would have dragged her ass to this gods forsaken place myself.”
Fred leaned over me, blocking my vision of the oncoming ghost. I ducked low, watched it slow and swirl about in one place as if it knew the stuff in my container was bad. I held up the salt as if in a toast.
Fred growled at Phro. “Maybe if you realized knocking sense wasn’t to be taken literally, Beri would have listened.”
“She’s tough. She can take it. Pipe down, virgin.”
He sucked in an angry breath. “You know? Sometimes I wish I could—”
“What?” Phro broke in, her taunting laughter grating even to my ears. She slowly shifted her legs, tilting her head. “Knock sense into me? You can’t.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know.” She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. It contrasted sharply with the skimpy white dress she wore tonight. The plump curves of her breasts drew the eye and she knew it. I was pretty sure she dressed in next–to-nothing to bother Fred. Her name-calling hadn’t been a joke. He was still miffed about dying in that state.
He rolled his eyes. “If your compassion was even half the size of your ego, world hunger would be a problem of the past.”
I held up my hands, salt scattering over the top of the open canister. “Stop! Goddess, you two. Is this really the time and place for this crap? I’m about to get sucked into the ocean when that thing starts singing. I could die here.”
“You’re always in danger of death on these hunts.” Phro’s lip curled into a snarl. “You don’t research enough beforehand. Maybe if you’d stop hiding like a scared ninny, face what happened with that fire elemental and go back into society where they have real libraries…”
“Shut. Up.” I dumped salt over my head, knowing it would cling to my wet hat and clothes. And just as I’d thought, the ghost stopped its approach.
But then…it started to sing.
Both Fred and Phro slapped hands over their ears and turned disbelieving eyes to the horrible sound.
“You’re sure no fucking siren!” Phro yelled.
I rolled my eyes, spit most of the salt out of my mouth, and crunched on what was left. “That’s it, piss it off more.” In that instant the horrible sound crawled into my heart and lodged what felt like a big, thick fish hook. Slicing pain came with the tugging. “Oh crap,” I muttered as I was slowly pulled to my feet.
“Told you,” Phro snapped, hands still over her ears. “You need someone with some magic skills. This is really going to piss me off. Me, the Goddess of Love. Banished to this damned Earth plane, spending the last nineteen years of my precious life following around the only live person who can see me just to watch her march into the water and drown over a bad Louis Armstrong impression.”
“Focus on the problem here,” I bit out between gritted teeth. I clamped every muscle in my body, but I still took a step toward the water. “Not good. Not good.”
“Well what did you expect to do when you found it, huh? Capture it in your little tin of salt?” Phro dropped her hands and began to stomp around. “I’m so sick of having to save your butt.”
This angered me enough to help me fight. I stopped moving, and with Herculean effort, managed to turn toward her and sneer. “Since when do you save anything? You are the biggest, nosiest, most pain-in-the-ass creature—one who never lets me have any sort of normal, private life—”
�
��Uh, ladies…” Fred stepped between us and pointed.
The ghost had lost patience. It grew large, turning into this enormous boat-sized mass of swirling, hissing mist. Its song got louder and louder until the very sound shook the earth.
I began to walk faster, against my will. “Any ideas?” I had to admit, if only to myself, that I was getting scared. I was usually a little more equipped for these situations. However, I’d not only been curious and worried about possible future drowning victims, but I’d also been annoyed by the constant phone calls from Elsa. I never used to be a coward. Not until I’d awakened in a still-warm pool of blood. Someone else’s blood.
Someone dead by my own hands.
My spirit guides still bickered behind me. Seemed I had to get out of this one alone. As usual.
I dug my feet into the soft earth, water now up to my knees. Grunting with effort, I covered my ears, knowing the song was too loud yet hoping I could muffle it a bit. The low, growly notes thankfully lessened—not enough to stop me from moving entirely, but enough to allow more brain function. There was a sharp tug in my chest. I stumbled and went down on one knee, which, of course, sent my entire lower body under water. My lips quivered with cold.
“That’s it!” I put both hands down and burrowed my fingers into the earth, securing myself to this plane. “I’m still alive here, Louis, not you!” I pulled in energy from the earth herself, using it to boost my strength. After forcing my body to turn, I crawled my way back to the pack still stuck in some of the sturdy, tall grass. Pushing through the magic was like trudging through sludge. It pulled back on my legs, sent pain careening through my veins. I gritted my teeth, clenched my hands into one piece of soft ground after another, and concentrated on each move.
The feel of wet canvass on my filthy hands was so damned welcome. I searched blindly for the plastic bottle of vinegar I kept inside before flipping off the cap and raising the bottle to my lips. I’d drink the damned stuff.
With my free hand, I pulled my ankh from beneath my T-shirt and wrapped my fist around it. This was my anchor, my spirit protection. Maybe if I focused while chugging the vinegar…
I swallowed several bitter gulps and promptly gagged. Lurching forward nearly face-down in the marsh, I gasped as my eyes watered and my stomach complained with much pain and cramping.
“It worked.” Phro’s voice wavered.
I shook my head, still gagging. “No.” I gasped. “Too easy. It’s never that easy. Besides, I still have the pain.” Actually, it had worsened. Felt like a broadsword was slicing my belly in two. Water sloshed over my hands as I curled them into fists.
Fred dropped to his knees, and I looked up to see real panic on his face. “It’s not the ghost, Beri.”
I stared into his eyes, focused, then looked over my shoulder but didn’t see the ghost. I’d made it let go of me, but I could sense it was still out there. Not as strong, though. I’d have to hope that was enough to keep it from hurting anyone else, because the pain slammed into my chest again and this time my world came to a shuddering halt. No, it wasn’t the ghost.
“It’s Elsa.” It was all I could get out as I ran for my Jeep.
The hospital room reeked of pine cleaner—like they’d dumped an entire bottle of the noxious crap on the floor without diluting it. Loud voices trickled in from the hall. The place was in an uproar with a thick crowd of people from the emergency room that had spilled into all the hallways.
The air of frantic anxiety pricked the hair on my arms. So many angry people demanding answers out there. But they were nothing like the ones no one else could see.
I usually avoided hospitals. Hospitals and cemeteries were the two places where the despair of the recently passed sometimes grew strong enough to help them jump dimensional layers.
Phro and Fred stood guard at the door, keeping the curious and the desperate spirits out. The halls had been a gauntlet of hopeless, translucent faces, all turning my way once they realized I could see them. I couldn’t possibly help them all—and right now Elsa was my only concern.
I sat in the empty chair next to Elsa’s bed after nodding at Jed Grant, my sister’s partner. His khaki pants and long-sleeved white shirt seemed out of place on him. He was so square and broad-chested—his arms stuck out from his sides. He had thick legs, thick arms, a thick neck and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on that entire body. He was like the human version of a pit bull.
Jed had partnered with Elsa four years now and I knew three solid things about him. One, he worked out like a fiend because, as he’d once said he had the body-type that turned to fat if he even thought about a Twinkie. Two, he was honest. And three, he was completely and utterly in love with my sister, though they’d never dated.
Picking some dried mud from the knee of my jeans, I finally took a deep breath and looked at Elsa, heart lodging in my throat. Her tall frame looked so small in the hospital bed. I ran my fingers over her cheeks, feeling cool skin and trying to erase the frozen mask of fear twisting her pretty features. Her open mouth put deep, unnatural grooves in her chin and though her eyes remained tightly shut, the crease over her brows was so taut it nearly touched her eyelashes.
“What happened?” I didn’t take my gaze from her face, knowing Jed didn’t expect me to. I swallowed the wail gathering force in my throat, cold terror stiffening my lungs and raking down my spine as I searched for and didn’t find her soul. Elsa was closer to death than anybody realized. “Tell me everything you know. Now.”
Jed blinked and shifted in the small wooden chair. It creaked and moaned as if it were about to give. He rasped a hand over his whisker-covered jaw, his Italian heritage apparent in the dark shadows of his face. “I don’t have much. Elsa called a few hours ago and said she’d found someone she thought could help us. We’ve been working on this case because a sister of one of the first coma victims came to us about signs of a struggle in her sibling’s kitchen.”
“Did Elsa say who she found?”
He shook his head. “Only that the person is a witch. She didn’t sound too happy about it.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” I murmured the words, turning back to tuck a strand of soft, blonde hair behind my sister’s ear. That last case we worked on together had left emotional marks on Elsa, just like it had on me. Neither of us would ever completely trust magically-inclined people, like witches or wizards, again. “She didn’t say anything else?”
“Not much. She was supposed to meet me with the details.” His voice caught and he cleared his throat. “A patrolman found her, recognized her and phoned me after he called it in. Her car was pulled over to the side of the road. She was just propped up in the driver’s seat.” He picked up one of Elsa’s hands. “It didn’t look like there was a struggle. Not like the others. No tears on the seats, no broken glass. No marks on her hands or fingernails. Elsa would have fought and fought hard. She could kick butt, ya know?”
“She still can. She’s not dead.”
“No,” he said, stroking Elsa’s fingers. “She’s not dead.”
“So what are you going to do next?”
“Go over her car. Try and find the witch. Retrace Elsa’s steps since yesterday, if I can. I’m going by the station first. Want to come with me?”
I didn’t. The best thing I could do would be to let him go about his search while I quietly went about mine. “I’m going to stay here with Elsa a little while longer.”
“That’s good.” He stood. Clearing his throat again, he walked to the door then stopped, not turning to look at us. “No, it’s not. Nothing’s really good, is it?”
After he left, I lifted Elsa’s hand, hating the feel of her ice cold fingers. I rubbed them with my own, circulating blood to the best of my abilities. Glancing over my shoulder, I met Fred’s eyes. “Can you find Bea?”
He nodded and vanished into the spirit realm. Bea was Elsa’s spirit guide—a sturdy, no-nonsense protector who had never once been out of Elsa’s presence, as far as I knew. The only reason Fred e
ver left me was because of my spare—Phro. At least that’s what I assumed.
“Bea would be here if she could.” Phro had come forward to touch Elsa’s shoulder. The spirit had a soft spot for the only kid who’d ever welcomed me into her home. “We have to find that witch.”
“We’ll go to Elsa’s house first. She writes everything in her journal.” I stood and bent to kiss Elsa’s cheek. “I’ll get you back,” I whispered. “Promise.”
Fred reappeared in the hall after I quietly shut the door behind us. “Bea is missing.”
“That’s not possible.” I stopped, not caring that people around me had quit speaking to watch the dirty, crazy woman talk to air. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know.” Fred’s voice shook and there was a fine trembling in his hands. I didn’t blame him for being scared. “But—” He broke off.
“What?”
“Bea isn’t the only one. When I said whatever it is had fingers in our world, I was wrong. It’s more than fingers. Way more.”
Time seemed to slow, a dull ring sounded in my ears as I struggled to come to terms with the ramifications of his statement. As far as they knew—as Fred and Phro had explained it to me—once a person died, harm could no longer come to them. They were free to move about in the spirit realm or to choose to come back to earth as guides. No one ever disappeared.
Ice skittered over my skin. I pushed through the silent crowd and into another busy hallway.
The pine scent was worse here, but I was thankful since it helped dispel the odor of old blood that tainted this part of the hospital. With the emergency areas so full, the hospital staff had wheeled in what looked like the victims of a multi-car accident. I saw blood-covered bandages, tear-slicked cheeks and damaged skin already turning mottled shades of yellow and blue.
Harsh moans assaulted my ears and before I could figure out how to get through, the dead finally noticed my presence. Here, the strength of their anguish and confusion blurred the dimensional layers. Here, I couldn’t keep the walls strong—didn’t have to actually peel them away to see the spirits beyond.
Dweller on the Threshold Page 2
