I shake off headache-inducing thoughts like that and turn my attention to Kyran. He’s opened a spiral notebook and spread its pages between Malachi and me. The arrangement of hieroglyphs looks like some kind of organization flow chart, but of what I’m not sure. Hopefully he does.
“This is my map of players, the people that match Timothy’s bedtime stories and what I can figure out from his dad’s book.” He points to the top of the chart, to a grouping of three symbols: an eye, some kind of stair looking thing, and a seated pharaoh. “This, of course, is Osiris. All I had to do was Google that one to figure it out. He’s god of the afterlife, commonly, but also the god of transition, resurrection, and regeneration—which sounds a lot less threatening.”
Kyran moves to the next grouping, a series of scales, and explains they’re the forty-two judges who sit in the Hall of Judgment. Next he points to two sets of groupings side by side. One is a guy standing in a flat boat, which looks just like the boat from the cover of Mr. Bridger’s book. The second set is more complex. The images look like a crude feather, a circle on a flat base, a foot floating over water, and another seated pharaoh.
“I’m still a little confused about these two,” Kyran admits. “Both are mentioned in the book, the ferryman, Aken, and Mahaf, the guy who wakes the ferryman, but only Aken is in Timothy’s stories. That makes me think Aken is Timothy’s dad—or now I guess he’s Timothy. Mahaf…I’m not sure.”
I’m not sure either. “We can ask Timothy later. What are the rest of the hieroglyphs?” I point to the next one in line specifically, an amalgamation of weird animals.
Kyran shakes his head. “This, I’m really hoping is related to Griffin’s fluid reality idea, because these things look more funny than scary.”
“What is it supposed to be?” Malachi asks.
“Devourers,” Kyran explains. He looks up at me, then Malachi. “Please tell me that’s not what they really look like.”
I stare at the creature with its crocodile face, leopard front and rhino…or maybe a hippo…back end, and shake my head. “I wish they did. I wouldn’t be so terrified of facing one of them if they looked like a kid’s show reject. The Egyptians were scared of that thing?”
Kyran shrugs. “It’s made up of the predators they feared most, but it was the idea of ceasing to exist that really terrified them. What the monster looks like isn’t nearly as important as the idea.”
He seems glad, though, that the Devourers don’t look like the hieroglyph. If he could actually see them, he wouldn’t feel so relieved.
“What’s kind of weird, though,” Kyran says, “is that some of the stories said there was only one Devourer, called Ammut or some other variation, and she was a woman. Is there like a head Devourer?” He glances over at me, expecting an explanation.
I shrug. “I can’t tell what sex they are, but the Devourer who killed Archer said something about having masters. Malachi can hear them, though, so maybe he knows more.”
Malachi shrugs as well. “They just sound like raspy, sick devils who want to kill me. No clue if they’re male or female, and no one else has mentioned the masters”
Disappointed by our lack of helpfulness, he puts the question aside for now. “Anyway, these two are the Ba and Ka, which Timothy already explained as the spirit and soul. I’ll come back to those in a minute,” he says. Then he moves his finger down to the last group of hieroglyphs on the chart, which is situated directly below the Ka rather than between both of them. “This one, I don’t have a name for…but I think I know what it means, partially.”
“And what do you think it means?” I ask. I know I sound a little testy, but I am really tired and still need to take a nap before we attempt the séance tonight.
Tapping his finger against the hieroglyph group, it shifts my gaze from him to the image. I don’t know what to make of it. It’s a grouping of five symbols in a straight line. Kyran is pointing at only two, which I’m guessing means the other three he still has no clue about. One of the two he’s focusing on looks like strands of rope pulled together in an upside down teardrop shape. The strands are bound at the top and on either side, then bound together at the bottom with short, loose tails. Next to it are two bent arms pointing upward. That part, at least, seems familiar, though it takes me a minute to remember why.
“Aren’t those the arms from the Ka hieroglyph?” When Kyran nods, I ask, “What’s the loop thing with it?”
Kyran’s brows pull together, but not in uncertainty. I can’t imagine how he’s figured out half of this stuff. He has, though. I’m certain of it and so is he. The remnant of spiritual energy left behind after touching the Robert’s book seems to confirm it. “That symbol, the Sa, on its own is one of protection. One of the oldest—so old its origins aren’t really known for sure. The other three in the line, I’ve got nothing for yet.” He pauses for a moment. “Put together, I think they all represent the last person involved in this afterlife business. I think this whole hieroglyph group stands for the person meant to protect the Ka before it joins the Ba and goes to face judgment.”
“Which means…” Malachi begins but doesn’t continue.
Leveling his gaze at me, Kyran says, “Which means it’s you, Echo.”
“What?” I demand. “No way. That’s crazy. One person to keep an eye on a whole world of ghosts? For a limited number of years? Next thing you’re going to tell me is I’m immortal.”
Kyran laughs. “I doubt that. Probably more like how it works with Timothy and his dad, but not inherited.”
“Echo is different, though,” Malachi argues. “Even if there have been and will be other Ka protectors or whatever, there’s something about her that’s attracting the attention of all the Devourers, and something she, specifically, is supposed to do to stop them. How does that work?”
Holding up his hands, Kyran leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe the book will explain things, but that symbol only comes up in the part of the book that describes the process of getting to the Field of Reeds.”
Of course the book won’t explain things. Just like everything else, it only teases. Here’s a little hint about something super important you’re supposed to do or learn, but you have to figure the rest out on your own because the universe hates you and needs a good laugh watching you blunder around.
“There hasn’t been any mention of the Devourers ever escaping the Hall of Judgment so far,” Kyran says, “but when the book was describing the final death of the soul, it mentioned that Ammut was sometimes fooled by spells from the Book of the Dead. Similarly, there are names and spells that will help you get through the gates that lead to the Field of Reeds.”
Malachi frowns. “How does that help us? When we get pulled in by Timothy, we’re already in the Field of Reeds.”
Excitement creeps into Kyran’s expression. “Yeah, but what if there are also spells to open the doors from the other side, to shove those soul-eating bastards back into the Hall and seal them in there again?” He taps the folder full of the printed pages of Timothy’s book. “If I can just figure out how to read the rest of it, I think it will tell us how to trap them back in there.”
“But we still need the Key,” I say in disappointment. “We still need to find Timothy’s dad and risk his soul. There’s no way around that, is there?”
Kyran’s optimism falters. “Not that I’ve found yet.”
For several long minutes, all three of us sit in silence. I can’t stand the thought of Timothy having to go through losing his dad a second time. He’ll never have him back in the living world, but visiting his soul at night is better than nothing. He’s just a little boy. He needs that.
“Did the book say anything else about that Ka protector spirit? Anything I might be able to use?” I’m not sure at all that I believe his theory of the hieroglyph having anything to do with me, but I won’t dismiss it out of hand.
Shuffling through his folder, Kyran tugs out a single sheet of paper. It’s completely unreadable to
me. I do manage to pick out the symbols from his chart, but nothing else around it. “What does it say?” I ask.
Pointing to several distinct symbols, Kyran says, “I haven’t figured them all out yet, but I recognize a few of these. Control, ruler, seeing, one that’s kind of like hearing but different than usual, traveler, speaker, possessor of magic…”
“Magic?” I ask derisively. “Seriously?”
Kyran eyes me. “Magic means a great many things, none of which you should discount.”
“I’m not,” I argue. I wear his aunt’s salt headband and bracelets religiously and have a box of candles, herbs, and incense sitting in my bedroom. “What I’m scoffing at is the idea that I have any special powers like that.”
“You can see ghosts,” Kyran argues.
“And touch them in the Field of Reeds,” Malachi adds.
I huff in irritation. “Yeah, but those are different.”
“How?” Kyran’s expression is challenging. He points at the copies of Timothy’s book. “Everything in this thing is talking about the spiritual plane and the people who run it. To them it was magic. What it really is, I have no idea. What I do know is that you’re part of it.”
Well…how can I argue with that?
Malachi leans back in his chair and spears his hands through his hair, yawning a moment later. “Anything else?” he asks a few seconds later. Kyran shakes his head. Pushing back from the table, Malachi stands. “I’m taking a nap then. Gonna be another long night, even if everything goes the way it should. Wake me up when you guys are ready to head to Echo’s.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, and disappears into his bedroom less than a minute later. Kyran and I are left at the table, a silence settling over us that is on the verge of being awkward. The pressure to say something builds until I hear myself say, “Malachi broke up with me.”
“Yeah,” he says, “he told me.”
“When?” I ask.
“After he picked me up from the airport.” Kyran glances up at me. Maybe it should surprise me to see the sadness in his eyes, but it doesn’t. Despite what he might want, he shares his best friend’s pain. “I really am sorry,” he says.
Tears well but I blink them away quickly. “I know. Thanks.”
His fingers twitch, hesitating before reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. Instead of the teasing, flirting touches from earlier, this is pure comfort from someone caught between compassion, desire, and guilt. I don’t know how to react to all of that at once. My own guilt and shame, not to mention desire, only confuse everything even more. The best I can do is silently squeeze his hand back and decide being an adult kind of sucks.
23: Forced
(Griffin)
Working with Echo has challenged me in many ways. Participating in a séance doesn’t happen to be one of them. On more than one occasion I’ve been sent to investigate fraudulent practices of self-proclaimed mediums bilking clients out of enough money to attract federal attention. Even with those experiences, as I watch Kyran correct small errors and add to what Echo had planned, I realize I’ve never been a part of a real séance.
In addition to two salt circles to protect against ghosts entering the séance and to hold the one actually called, Kyran is drawing an intricate circle of protection on the floor. I’m so absorbed in watching him, I don’t realize Dad has arrived until he claps me on the shoulder.
“Find anything on Francis?” he asks.
I spent the day interviewing his friends, hospital staff who had cared for him after the accident, a psychologist he’d seen for a short time, the pastor of his church, anyone I could think of who might be able to explain his threats against Echo. “Not a damn thing,” I admit. “You make any progress with the Egyptologist?”
Dad’s expression darkens. “She’s gotten a fair amount of straight translation done, but all she wants to do as far as analysis is tell me what’s wrong with the information it contains. She’s spent her life studying this stuff, but she doesn’t actually believe a word of it. She thinks she’s being asked to authenticate the text, since I can’t exactly tell her the truth, and she’s convinced it’s a hoax.”
“Is there anyone else?”
“Not on short notice,” he says.
I shake my head. Honestly, I understand regular people’s unwillingness to accept fantasy as fact, but keeping an open mind certainly wouldn’t kill anyone. Probably. “Well, it sounds like you might have better luck going to Kyran for analysis. If you can get him her translations it would help speed him along, but he’s making a lot of progress on his own.”
Dad frowns. “Madeline’s letter…could this be what she was referring to? There’s no reasonable explanation for half of what that kid has figured out.”
“You think he might be an interpreter?” I ask.
Shrugging, he says, “He’s something. I’m just not sure what yet.”
Neither am I.
Dad gestures toward where Echo and Kyran are setting up. “Where’s Malachi?”
“Disabling the smoke detectors.” When he gives me a questioning look, I say, “Echo’s planning to burn sage and lavender to cleanse the area.”
Sighing, he shakes his head and walks past me to take a seat on a chair pulled out of the kitchen for him. Zara wanders in from her room a few minutes later and sits on the floor well away from the circles. Holden joins her a moment later, worried about how this will go. So is Malachi, but it’s not the only thing he’s feeling when he comes back in and dumps a handful of 9-volt batteries on the coffee table. His gaze darts between the others in the room and where Echo and Kyran are working. Guilt and regret twist his features. There’s an air of finality surrounding him, and I realize why he offered to take care of the smoke detectors rather than stay close to Echo.
It’s a good thing that they’ve finally settled things between them, but I wish they had waited until tomorrow. Echo doesn’t need any other distractions tonight. I glance toward the circles and study her. Her fidgeting makes her nerves clear, but beneath that there is a sense of deep focus. Perhaps Malachi’s timing was a blessing after all.
“Okay,” Echo says, “I think we’re ready to get started.”
Dad sits up in his chair to pay attention, as do Zara and Holden. If either of them are put out by not being in the circle, they’re hiding it pretty well. Both are more anxious than offended. Everyone is. Walking toward Echo, I’m careful to step over the first circle of salt and take my place next to her on the floor between the two circles. Kyran is already seated on her other side, and Malachi joins us after lighting the sage and lavender. Once we’re all settled, Zara silently walks the perimeter of the circle to check the salt lines and light a candle at each of the four cardinal directions. Echo wasn’t sure which, if any, of the precautions people recommended would work, so she incorporated as many as she could just to be careful. She had almost balked at the Ouija board sitting in the center of the inner circle along with Francis’s photo, but no one wanted to risk her directly interacting with a malevolent spirit through her usual means of automatic writing. She isn’t the only one concerned about protection.
Inhaling slowly, Echo centers her thoughts. Everyone else in the circle follows her lead, including Malachi. She opens her eyes, but hesitates a moment before speaking. “I…ask…for protection,” Echo begins haltingly, “for myself and those in the circle with me.” She glances over at Kyran for approval, waiting for his nod before continuing. “We seek to contact the spirit of Kurt Francis.”
Given Echo’s connection with the spirit world, I don’t think I’m the only one who expected an immediate response. Kyran’s brows rise in surprise as the silence, both physical and spiritual, continues to dominate the space. Echo repeats her plea after several minutes, adding that she only wants to understand and help Francis. We wait several more minutes.
Nothing.
Confusion and fear cause Echo to pull in on herself. She looks over at Kyran in search of help. “Am I doing somethin
g wrong?”
Slowly, Kyran shakes his head. “No. Everything is how it should be. You should have gotten a response if…”
“If what?” Echo asks, fearing the answer will blame her in some way.
“If…his spirit is still…here,” Kyran says, punctuating his last word by holding both hands above the floor to indicate the physical world.
Malachi is immediately confused. “Of course his spirit is still here. Who else would be harassing Echo and trying to kill her?”
Frowning, Kyran doesn’t have an answer, but he’s certain about Francis…almost certain. Even with as much as Kyran knows about the occult, I hesitate taking him at his word. It’s not his logic I doubt. Like Malachi, I can’t come up with any other possible perpetrators for the attacks. I’m only half-listening to the discussion around me, focused on my own thoughts, when a strange sensation assaults me.
Immediacy, urgency, desperation all crowd into my thoughts. I don’t recognize the source. Everyone in the room is familiar to me. This is foreign, troubling but insistent. No one else seems to be experiencing anything out of the ordinary. Ordinary for me and for the rest of them is relative, but this is not something I’m used to facing, particularly when I glance around the room and see only people who should be here.
“What’s going on?” Dad asks.
It takes me a moment to focus on an answer. He’s confused, which means he’s not experiencing anything unusual. That says something, but I’m not sure what. “I think…there’s someone else here.” I’m not sure if that’s right, but my words catch everyone’s attention. All eyes are suddenly on me. “Echo,” I ask, facing her, “who else is here?”
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 20
