“Timothy!” I plead, begging Malachi to find and protect him.
“I can’t,” he growls, “not over you.”
I want to argue, but the crimson light flaring from his mark says it’s not even a choice for him anymore. Praying that Timothy is out of harm’s way, I throw my arms over my head and wait for the rush of Devourers to fall into the trap. The more that pass by, the more crushing Malachi’s presence feels as my fear for Timothy ratchets up. I can barely breathe and am on the verge of panicking when the air feels as if it’s been sucked from the space.
“Now, Echo!” Timothy screams.
Malachi is up off me in a second and all but flings me back to my feet. I’m trying to stop my head from spinning as he and Timothy shove the doors closed. They slam against the frame, shaking me clear down to my bones, and I fumble trying to get the Key from my pocket. I have no idea how a stone is supposed to lock a door with no lock, but I yank it out of my jeans and slam it against the door.
Light fans out from the Key, seeping into the grain and spreading over the entire surface. As it does, the memories flash through my mind again. I grasp at the memory of Archer, but it slips through my fingertips and I feel my knees buckle. Malachi catches me before I fall completely, a second before Timothy slams into me from the side. I start to ask him if he’s okay, but he claps a hand over my mouth and stares past me at the gate.
I don’t know what he’s listening for until a gut-churning howl of fury splits the air and forces all of our hands to our ears. It’s so loud, it hurts. I fear my eardrums are going to burst before it cuts off with a final scream of defiance. Then, I’m falling backward when the gate opens behind me without warning. White lights flood past me. I have no idea what is going on and pull Timothy beneath me on instinct. He squirms out right away and laughs.
“We did it, Echo! Look!”
When taking myself into the spirit realm this time, I purposely set my expectations to reflect the Field of Reeds. How else was I going to find the gate? The greyish, bleak landscape I encountered on my first visit is gone. In its place is a lush forest of tall trees and heavy undergrowth. It only strikes me then that Timothy’s version of the spiritual realm looks nothing like what you might find in Egypt. In fact, it looks an awful lot like the trail to the Gennet Poplar Griffin took me to.
With the exception of the spirits flying around us.
As they settle in after being held by Timothy and then used as bait to lure the Devourers into the hall, I breathe a sigh of relief and decide I should get up out of the dirt. A hand extends to me, and it isn’t Malachi’s. I look up without taking the offered hand and stare at the Egyptian god. All I can do is gape at his beauty in awe. He must figure I’m in shock or something, because he reaches down with both hands and lifts me easily to my feet.
Stupidly, I ask, “Are you Osiris?”
“That is one of the many names I have been called.”
You’d think that with my close association with ghosts, I might have seriously contemplated before now whether or not I actually believed in any sort of god, Egyptian or otherwise. Now, as I consider his answer…one of many names…I’m suddenly very concerned with who he actually is. “Are you…God?”
Osiris, or whoever he is, chuckles. “I rule over the spirit realm, but I am not God in the sense you mean. I am simply a caretaker, as you are.”
There are vast, vast differences between him and me, but I don’t feel the need to point them out. I have more important things to discuss. “What is this place really? Griffin said it matches each person’s expectations, so Timothy sees you as Osiris and this as the Field of Reeds, but what is it? Heaven? Elysium? The Otherworld?”
Osiris considers my question. “In some ways, it is all of those places, but in others it is not.” When my mouth pulls down in a frown, he holds up a hand to fend off my irritated response. “I do not put off your questions lightly, but it is difficult to explain the reality of this place—if that can even be done—and you do not have enough time for such a discussion.”
“What do you mean?” Malachi asks as he walks up dusting dirt and debris from his clothes. “Is this thing done? Devourers locked up? No more being chased around by them in here?”
Nodding, Osiris looks away when Timothy steps out from behind Malachi and smiles at him shyly. He kneels and gestures for my little friend to approach. “Thank you for your bravery,” he tells Timothy. “It is not usual for one so young to be charged with such great responsibilities.”
“Is my dad okay?” Timothy asks.
Compassion spreads through Osiris’s expression. “I do not know what happens beyond this place, or to souls who meet an end as he did. Regardless, I believe wherever or whatever that may be, his sacrifice will not be forgotten. I know you will miss him, young Ferryman, but honor your memories of him and keep him alive in your heart.”
Tearfully, Timothy nods. He doesn’t resist when Osiris pulls him into a gentle embrace. Without turning away from Timothy, Osiris meets Malachi’s gaze. “In answer to your second question, yes, the Devourers are once again contained. We will do everything we can to keep this from happening again.”
Looking back down at Timothy, he holds him at arm’s length as says, “We wouldn’t have been able to contain them without the Feather. Thank you for releasing it back to me.”
Timothy nods and seems relieved to be done with it. Expecting I will be next, I extend my hand and unfurl my fingers to offer up the Key. Osiris surprises me by shaking his head.
“Please keep the Key, Echo. You will likely need it again before your talents as a protector of memory fully develop.” He holds up a hand again to forestall the mass of questions about to spill out of my mouth. “This realm is not your main sphere of responsibility, but you are welcome here. I can answer some of your questions, but you must return now, before it is too late. The tainted soul of Lucy Coulter risks much more than she understands if the Devourers get their way in this. Your friends can only protect you for so long. Go now, Echo. We will meet again.”
Holding the Feather carefully, he nods and steps back through the doors. They close behind him automatically and for a second or two, we all just stare at them. Malachi is the first to snap out of it. “What the hell is he talking about?”
Ignoring him for just a moment, I squat down next to Timothy. “I’m going to send you home, okay? I know you want to talk, but I can’t stay here right now. I’ll come visit you later.”
“But…”
Before he can ask his question, I think of his mother and his home and send him to safety. Malachi is not happy when I stand and face him, but I speak before he can. “How did you make that shield and those bolts of energy?”
“Mr. Bridger said the symbols on my mark aren’t just for show and clued me in on how to use them,” he says impatiently. “Is that really the most important thing right now?”
“It is if you want to protect me against Lucy Coulter,” I say as I take his hand and prepare to send us back to the world of the living. “She’s trying to kill me right now, and Kyran can only hold her off for so long.”
Malachi drags a hand down his face and groans, but he knows as well as I do there’s nothing either of us can do to change things. “Take us home,” he growls.
One battle down, one to go.
36: Soundless Screams
(Echo)
The apartment is weirdly still and quiet when I open my eyes in the living world. I expected chaos. I didn’t expect darkness. Confusion is thick in my mind as I try to figure out what’s going on. Kyran’s body is wrapped around mine. I can barely see anything the way he’s trying to shield me. What I can see is a whirling mass of dark spiritual energy. It takes me a second to realize that it’s still outside the salt circle, but that won’t last long.
Angry spirits can interact with physical objects. Lucy Coulter certainly qualifies, even without whatever added power the Devourers gave her. I watch her spin around the outside of the circle, the speed and
fury backing the movement creating a force that is slowly blowing the salt away. More than one section of the circle is so thin I know she’ll be able to break through in a matter of seconds.
That’s when the panic finally hits me.
“Malachi? Where’s Malachi?” I demand.
I try to pull away from Kyran, but he yanks me back, hooking my leg to keep it inside the chalk circle of protection. “No idea,” he grunts. “Can’t see anything outside this wall.”
“She’s going to get in,” I squeak.
“Any ideas on not dying?”
I don’t get a chance to answer before the salt circle breaks and everything goes to hell. Kyran flattens me beneath him as Lucy’s energy blasts over the top of us. The chalk protection circle is doing something to keep her from reaching us, but I know it won’t last long. Her frantic energy is quickly scouring the chalk from the floor. Each pass she makes gets closer, raking us with her cold hatred.
Pressed against the floor, I’m the first to see the outer edge of the chalk line break. I know what will come next, and who will take the brunt of it. Kyran is bigger than me, stronger, but he isn’t expecting me to suddenly push up from the floor. Caught off guard, I’m able to shove him off me, to the side, away from where Lucy is diving at me. Focused fury makes her form more stable, and for the first time I meet her hate-filled gaze.
I have no defense against her. Wherever Malachi is, he won’t get here soon enough. I act on the first thought that snaps into my mind and shield myself with my arms. I don’t even remember I have the Key of Life in my hand until it roars to life and starts searing my hand. The pain, as much as my terror, rip the scream from my lips as blackness envelopes me.
Bracing myself against the pain, I don’t immediately understand why I don’t feel anything. The thought crosses my mind that I’m already dead and simply can’t feel it, but my hand still feels as if it’s on fire. Daring to open one eye, I snap it closed immediately as the disgusting, oily dark form presses in around me.
As terrified as I am, sounds of movement from outside this death cocoon scares me even more. Kyran can’t fight her. He can’t save me. Refusing to let him be injured or killed for my sake, I force my eyes open and realize that even though it feels as if she’s suffocating me, she still isn’t touching me. Barely more than a hair’s breadth of distance is between us. Her hands claw uselessly, unable to reach me past…past the white hot Key in my hand.
I’m trying to grasp the significance of that when she’s suddenly blasted away from me. She goes flying through the bar that separates the living room from the kitchen, thankfully not causing any sound or damage, but as soon as she gets control she’s barreling back toward us again. “Stand back,” Malachi growls.
It makes sense to do what he says. I can feel something happening with his mark, and I assume he’s going to throw up a shield at any second. It will only delay the inevitable, though. Lucy isn’t a Devourer. Not yet. Malachi can push her back, but I know without asking that he won’t be able to destroy her as he did the Devourer who murdered Archer. Lucy is my problem, my responsibility. I have to be the one to end this. Right before Malachi’s shield springs to life…I step outside of its protection.
I don’t know why the Key wants her memories. I don’t know if it will stop her from killing me. Terrified, I still hold up the Key in front of my chest and let her slam into me. This time she doesn’t stop. Her black soul swarms around and through me. Holding the key seems to act as a catalyst. Her memories come at me in a barrage. Unlike when Archer purposely tried to do that same thing and nearly killed me, these memories hit me under the protection of the Key. The only pain I feel is from this woman’s hatred.
Memory after memory blasts through my mind, of her losing Martin, of her anger at the injustice of his death, fury at being left alone, jealousy over his friendship with Kurt Francis when he was alive, her mounting despise for her husband’s friend when he tried to comfort her and then even more so when he gave up and left her alone, of her receiving the letter and feeling vindicated in all her poisonous feelings and desire for revenge.
I sink to my knees under the sheer force of the destructive emotions the memories cause. Everything she felt tears at me, not because I see her as evil, but because I have known too many of those emotions and desires as well. Memories flash through me of friends and family begging her to move on, to let it go, let him go, keep living and stop blaming everyone else for what happened. Her blame and anger was focused outward instead of the inward track mine took, but I understand how hard those feelings are to ignore, how easy it is to let them consume you.
Everything I felt just days earlier all rushes in to mingle with her memories, to work at convincing me she’s right. She should have her revenge. I should stop fighting her. Give up. Let the pain and anger and fury win. Let the darkness consume us both. It would be so easy. Let the Key fall. Give in to the pain that haunts me every second. It would be an end. An end to so much of the pain and guilt I carry with me everywhere I go.
The key flares white hot, and if I had been capable of commanding my body in that moment, I would have dropped it. Instinct makes me grip it tighter and my own memories are drawn out, fighting against Lucy’s. Not a flood this time. Just one. The only one I need.
I focus on the memory of Kyran brushing away my tears. His voice whispers through the darkness I was consumed with in that moment and in the darkness I am more physically fighting in this moment. All the bad in the world doesn’t take away from the good. Not unless you let it. I didn’t believe him then. The darkness tightening around my body and soul doesn’t believe it either. It doesn’t feel like a choice when you’re being crushed by those feelings. It doesn’t feel as though there is any escape.
Locked inside your own pain, shame, guilt, and self-hatred, the good of the world…the light…is nowhere to be found. It’s gone. Forever. Hopeless. You’re blind to the beauty you once had and that still remains. It feels as if it’s too late to find it again, that you’re too damaged and broken to recognize goodness and love.
It’s never too late, Kyran’s voice whispers from the memory.
Lucy’s fury rebels against that claim. Her fingers close around my throat, her grip substantial enough that I know she’ll be able to do real damage. Breaths come in gasps, but I can’t give up. Kyran’s words become my own as I shove the memory deeper into her mind.
Even if you can’t see the good anymore, I can. In you, and in what you’re doing. I’ll help you see it, too, if you’ll let me.
Pain sears through my mind as she slams memory after memory into me. Pain, loneliness, anger, doubt, hatred, vengeance…they all wash over me in a debilitating haze. It’s a struggle to hold onto Kyran’s words, onto the fact that I no longer doubt him. Shoving away her vicious memories, I throw them away rather than push them into the Key as I did with the other ghosts.
Life is pain, in many ways. There is no escaping it. Life is also love and friendship and goodness. One is meaningless without the other, yet the bleak and hurtful memories we give so much more power to, power to control and crush. When the darkness closes in, the light is difficult to find. It’s still there, though. You just have to be willing to search for it. Maybe Lucy isn’t willing, or capable, but I am.
Clutching the Key with both hands, I push it farther into her inky soul, to the heart of what is left of her humanity. Evil winds through her soul like a sickness. Whatever the Devourers did to her or offered to her, is working at a rapid pace to strip her of everything she once loved or cared about, but it hasn’t won yet. Deep in the center of all her hatred is a bundle of guarded memories. The sharing isn’t voluntary this time.
I rip the memories from their cage. I try to push them into her mind, force her to remember, to admit this isn’t the person she should be. I want so desperately for her to listen to me and make the right choice. She rages against me and tries to lock the memories back up. They fuel her, twisted as they are into a rationale for her murde
r of Kurt, Noel, and if she gets her way…me. I push and push and beg her to listen to me until I am forced to see the truth…that she has already made her choice.
That realization opens my mind to the only course of action left. I hate it and want so badly for there to be an alternative, but there is nothing left. Tears form in my eyes as I begin dragging the memories back toward the Key. Lucy fights like a crazed animal, clawing at them in desperation, but the more she fights, the faster the memories are drawn in. I relive dozens of moments between Lucy and Martin Coulter, days where they were happy together, in love, excited about the future. These memories are the reason she was so easily changed after her husband’s death, but they could have been the reason she opened her heart to seek and give comfort to Kurt Francis rather than killing a good man.
It feels cruel to strip the memories away from her, to take the last few shreds of humanity left of her soul, but there is no other way. The Devourers have tainted her too deeply for words to ever work. Reason means nothing in the face of a lawless need for revenge and death. So I tear them from her grasp and push them into the Key. The moment they are torn away, her raging turns to confusion and the viscous cold of death roiling around me falls back to a wary stance.
“Malachi,” I say quietly, “there’s nothing else I can do for her.”
Without her love for Martin, she can’t seem to understand why she’s here trying to kill me. Without any stitch of good left in her soul, she’s now what she sought to become. A true Devourer. The power she craved is welling within her, but so is Malachi’s. Before he could only defend against her. Now…my heart hurts to admit what I’ve done, but now…now she falls under Malachi’s realm of control.
He doesn’t hesitate. Her confusion is too great to fend him off, and his hand is sinking into her chest before she realizes what is happening. Instead of the oozing mess of filth that erupted from the last Devourer Malachi was forced to kill in the living world, Lucy’s face contorts in horror as her form solidifies and cracks. Her soundless screams feel loud in my head as I force myself to not look away. I know I am not solely to blame for this woman’s fate, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling responsible for this end, at least in part.
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 31
