Murder Lifts the Spirits

by Margaret C. Morse

  Some of us exchanged incredulous glances. Others rolled their eyes. Pioneer House? It was a museum to keep alive the story of the empaths who'd been interned there in the sixties, not a treatment center. I'd toured it in high school. The history I'd learned had made me wish I could turn into Wonder Woman and wipe out all injustice. During the tour, I'd strongly identified with the internees. Losing myself in photos and videos, I'd lived through the trauma of their confinement in Pioneer House then had celebrated those who were released.

  The part of the tour that still haunted me had been the sequence of pictures dedicated to Marcus Denarius, whose protest fast had ended in his death. The photos showed him dwindling from a tall, dynamic man to a gaunt, hollow-eyed wreck. His protest eventually led to the end of internment. A happy ending? No other wizards or witches were ever interned again. And, Marco's ghost had returned to Pioneer House.

  Adrian waved a hand to get attention. "Why Pioneer House?" Grumbling from the other residents built up around me.

  Hailey stepped up to Detective Jonson's side. "Perhaps I can help. There are several reasons. First, they're willing to take us. Second, the building can be secured since it's in the same state as when the empaths were locked up there. Finally, Marco and the other empath ghosts will provide 24/7 supervision. They never sleep. Plus, of course, the staff of the Disclaimer Ranch will be there for your support."

  Hailey continued, "Marco Denarius will work directly with us. He's the boss at Pioneer House. The ghosts of the other empaths who came back to Pioneer House honor the sacrifice he made for them."

  I expected a storm of agitated queries. Nobody spoke. I didn't know about the others, but I couldn't fully grasp what the new residence would be like. What would it be like to live in a place along with a bunch of ghosts?

  "I'm sure," Hailey said, "we're all drained emotionally. Please ask staff if you have questions. Detective Jonson, what do you have to add?"

  "Nothing except your persons will leave here." Detective Jonson looked relieved at having something ordinary to discuss. "We will supply clothes for you to wear at the Pioneer House until we have processed your garments. After you change we'll do interviews, and then you'll go to your new residence."

  After a long wait a Proz entered pulling a clothing rack. On it hung gray sweatshirts and sweatpants. Another Proz emptied bags onto the counter of a cubicle. Shoes and underwear tumbled out.

  Detective Jonson tugged at a sweatshirt. "We have sizes from small to extra-large. The men will wait outside while the women take off all their clothes and store them in labeled bags."

  After the men trooped out, most of the women snatched sweats off the racks. I was slow, still dazed by Linc's terrible transformation. The other women whispered to each other as they focused on selecting clothes. Adrian grabbed a top and bottom, shoved them at me, and pushed me into a cubicle.

  She watched me fumble with my jeans. "You look messed up. Do you need help?"

  I yanked at my shirt and flung it down. "I don't know. I guess not." I stuffed myself into the gray sweats. The sleeves stopped mid forearm, and the bottoms billowed below my ankles.

  Adrian, who had turned her back, changed into sweats that fit her trim figure snugly. "I grabbed what was left for you. No choice on sizes."

  "Fashion is not my concern." I hitched the pants up and followed the other women outside as the men filed in. We stood around in clumps, watched by Proz guards. Wind rustled the cottonwood trees, sounding like whispering voices in the background.

  Adrian followed as I trailed away from the group to look into the backyard.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded.

  I kept my voice low so I wouldn't attract attention from the Proz. "I wanted to make sure the mask was okay." Lights illuminated the backyard, showing Loki on the fence and the mask in its place. "Cullen looks calm, which is more than I can say for the rest of us. Have you been to Pioneer House?"

  "I went when I was in eighth grade. It was supposed to make us really understand how ugly discrimination can be."

  I hitched up my already drooping pants. "Was your tour about the time that book came out that argued the internment of empaths in the sixties never happened?"

  "No, that came out later and made me really mad. The ghosts didn't speak to us during the tour. They just waved from their photos."

  I remembered how intently I'd watched to see if the ghosts would react. "In my tour the ghosts in the photographs just followed us with their eyes. Marco didn't speak. I wonder how many ghosts are there."

  Adrian kneeled and cuffed my pants so they didn't scrape the ground. "About a dozen, I think."

  Surprised that she had done me a personal service, I reached out a hand to help her up. "Thanks. Hey, nobody said anything about taking Cullen. We should—"

  Adrian charged over to Detective Jonson, who'd just emerged from the barn. "You didn't mention Cullen. His mask has to come with us."

  "And," I added, "Loki can't be left behind."

  Detective Jonson tapped a computer notepad. "Loki is on the list to come. He is a Master Wizard and a resident."

  I wasn't an expert on ghosts' rights but knew what sounded fair. "You can't leave Cullen here. An exorcism could wipe him out of the mask."

  "Are you his lawyer?" Detective Jonson demanded.

  I didn't hesitate. "Yes." He needed me.

  Detective Jonson ground her teeth. "I hate it when ghosts have a lawyer. They're hard enough to deal with on their own. As soon as Cullen can talk, I'm going to interview him, so, of course, he's going to Pioneer House. Whether he stays is up to Marco. All the ghosts are the empaths who were interned during the sixties. Marco insists on meeting Cullen before he decides to let him stay." When I opened my mouth to protest, she hurried on, "Save your breath for arguing with Marco."

  Adrian took a step to follow, but I grabbed her arm. "Wait, Adrian. That's as much as she's going to give us. Marco is top ghost in charge of Pioneer House. I think you and I can persuade him to keep Cullen." I quieted when my lawyer Chris arrived with Jake's attorney, Maxy.

  After some argument Chris agreed to let me talk to the police. For him the safe course would be to invoke my right to remain silent. I insisted I tell what happened so I could emphasize how hard Jake had worked to save Linc. I also told what happened with Cullen since I wanted them to know that a white figure had been involved in both cases. Chris looked cross during the interview but didn't have to leap to my defense.

  Maxy took Jake off for a private consultation. When they emerged, she had her fighting face on, and he looked wrung out.

  While waiting for the others to be interviewed, I confided to Adrian, Ira, and Trevor the whole story about Cullen. Following my lead, Ira described what had happened to Linc. I hoped they'd spread the story around the ranch quickly. I wanted everyone to be on guard for white figures of birds and cats. The only question Adrian asked was to confirm I hadn't touched the bird.

  We rode to the Pioneer House in a yellow school bus. Everyone sat staring straight ahead and silent. It was hard to believe we were really leaving the ranch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ira slid into a seat opposite me with Trevor, who looked tired and sad. I was glad Trevor had Ira as a support buddy.

  Vidoc took the seat next to me. He carried Loki's book.

  "Alas, poor Yorick," came a croak from the book. Loki's voice echoed around the stillness inside the bus. I vaguely recognized the quotation as being from Hamlet.

  A flutter on my upper arm reminded me that Blaze hadn't appeared in a while. I lifted the neck of my sweatshirt, allowing him to slip off his mark. He pecked at Loki's book.

  The bus rumbled out of the Disclaimer Ranch, its frame shuddering. As if leaving released them from a spell, the residents broke their silence and chattered loudly.

  Vidoc studied me. "How do you feel about being in a place with so many ghosts?"

  "It's going to be weird. I haven't been around ghosts much, so this will be a new experience. When
I had my high school tour of Pioneer House, a live person guided us. Does Marco keep someone like that around 24/7?" I wondered if the ghosts had the place to themselves after the tours ended.

  Adrian had planted herself in the middle of a seat in front of us. She twisted around and answered. "The guides are only at Pioneer House for tours. One of my friends worked there. She said a caretaker/manager is around at nights."

  Vidoc broke off a staring match with Blaze. "Tours were cancelled this week at Pioneer House for electrical repair. The workers are finishing up in the attic, so they won't be around us. Tours resume on Tuesday, but we should be back at the ranch by then. Marco's manager is there tonight."

  Trevor straightened out of a slump. "They could just do exorcisms on each of us. If one of us is infected with a demon, that would drive it out, and we wouldn't have any more problems."

  "That's not logical." I sounded like Linc. That was a good thing—to channel his calm reasoning. "There's no evidence that an inner demon inside a wizard is the culprit. It's more that some wizard can infect an object with a spell that causes harm. The wizard sends out the object to release its magic on a certain person. That's pretty complicated wizardry."

  I thought my comment would stir up debate about which one of us had the requisite magical ability. Instead, the group around me frowned as if in concentrated thought. Perhaps like me they were mentally considering potential suspects. Right off, I put at the top of my list the Master Wizards at the ranch, which included all the staff plus Loki. No, not Kai. She had a bottomless reserve of tranquility. Not Vidoc. He was too deep-down sweet. That left Jake, Hailey, Wyatt, and even Loki. No wonder no one was saying anything. I'd been rash thinking anyone would want to risk naming suspects in such a public setting right after the second murder. When people are worried about their safety, they aren't interested in a chat about theories.

  Pioneer House was part of the Phoenix Institute of Magic. Years ago a group of wealthy wizards had bought up abandoned warehouses and office buildings in a tattered area south of downtown Phoenix. The refurbished structures became the Phoenix Institute of Magic, dedicated to teaching the best magical practices.

  The bus ground to a halt in front of the former Andrew Carnegie library, now known as Pioneer House. Since the 1980s, the building had served as a museum to memorialize the internment of empaths.

  I watched Detective Jonson dash up the steps of the two-story red brick library built in the early 1900s. Two stone lions guarded the entry, a copper door two stories high. Detective Jonson studied a sign and then darted down the stairs to the side of the building.

  Adrian shook her head. "They should have told her you never go in the front door."

  I wondered if the others were nervous about Pioneer House. "I'm trying to have a good attitude, but we've all been through a lot, and it doesn't seem fair that we have to move to this odd place. It's going to be weird to have ghosts talking to us out of their photos. When I did my tour, Marco Denarius didn't speak to us, so I'm curious what he's like when he talks. I bet he's going to be one of those domineering charismatic males."

  Blaze perched on my shoulder. You're babbling. His croaky whisper sounded in my head.

  Vidoc nudged me. "You like strong men. You need the challenge."

  I pressed my face against the cold window. "Here comes Detective Jonson. That woman with her looks like a prison warden."

  The woman waited at the foot of the steps while Detective Jonson told us to come out and get a welcome from the museum's manager, Carlotta Partier. After stumbling out, we bunched up in front of Carlotta, who towered over Detective Jonson. Carlotta had a rectangular build and dark hair pulled back tightly in a bun. When she opened her mouth, a strand of hair popped out as a corkscrew curl on her forehead. She smoothed it back, but it refused to lie flat.

  "Welcome to Pioneer House," she said. "I'll take you to the basement where we can get you oriented."

  We followed her to the side of the building and clattered down metal steps. Long narrow tables filled a room lined with shelves loaded with giant cans of peas, beans, and corn. Bags of rice and flour leaned against each other.

  Carlotta collected our attention once we plunked down on chairs. "This is where the internees ate." She smiled. She had pearly teeth. Although rousted out late at night, she had applied gray liner and shadow to her midnight blue eyes. Their smoky allure contrasted with her square jaw. "We won't expect you to eat this food. It's part of the museum display. We have arranged for a caterer."

  Footsteps interrupted her. Two guys wearing shirts emblazoned with Emily's Catering deposited boxes on a table. They placed round cardboard containers and plastic spoons in front of each of us. When they left, Carlotta announced, "Chicken noodle soup. Marco believes in comfort food."

  Hot soup warmed our insides. We scraped up every bite of the rich broth and chunks of chicken, carrots, and celery. When we finished, Carlotta waved her hand, and the bowls, lids, and spoons flew into a trash can.

  "Now," she said, "Marco will address you."

  She stepped away from the wall, revealing a framed oil painting of Marco Denarius. The artist portrayed a thirty-something black man with an erect posture and commanding gaze. Light shone on his face and made his brown skin glow. His hand rested on a harp, an instrument at which he had excelled. As we stared at the portrait, his thick eyebrows lifted. When he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes sparkled—I could feel his image come to life.

  His lips moved, and his deep voice filled the room. "Welcome to Pioneer House. I allowed you to come here because I admire the work that is done at the Disclaimer Ranch for dysfunctional wizards. I want to have it restored as a safe place. Our supervision will allow the police to concentrate on solving the crimes. My fellow spirits and I will observe you night and day. Of the fifty empaths who were interned here in 1964, twelve returned as ghosts totally loyal to me. We are connected by a mental web similar to what you call the internet.

  "Here are the rules. Students may not perform magic unless a staff member is supervising them. No one, students or staff, is to direct any magic at any of the photos. Understand that the ghosts move to and fro freely between the pictures of themselves that are distributed around Pioneer House. I am the only one who has the power to manifest as a physical presence outside of my images. You are to follow the schedule you receive tomorrow. No frolics or detours. I'll make up more rules as we go along."

  The face in the canvas stilled. Life went out of it. We exchanged nervous glances as we clambered off the chairs. The tubes in the fluorescent lights overhead brightened to a blinding beam. Marcos' voice boomed out over our heads. "This is the last time you will hear from me tonight, unless you do wrong. I have business to attend to. Carlotta will direct you."

  Carlotta led us up marble stairs to a wide corridor with frosted windows and tall wooden doors. She pointed the guys to a door labeled Men's Dorm. They disappeared inside. I wished I'd had a chance to say good night to Ira.

  Hailey explained that she and Dawn would share a room. She'd help Dawn process her emotions. She led a sad-faced Dawn to a door labeled Head Librarian.

  The rest of us shuffled into Women's Dorm, a rectangular room with pale green walls and wide-plank oak floors that creaked. Wooden cots were arranged in two rows. I touched the brown blanket on top of one. It was rough and scratchy. The pillow remained indented where I poked it. Dust puffed up, and I coughed.

  "Ladies," announced Carlotta, "I must ask you to be very careful with these beds. They are antiques, the originals used by internees. We keep them set up so visitors can see how they lived. Tomorrow we'll have made other arrangements."

  A bang on the door made us jump. A Proz handed Carlotta two stuffed black garbage bags.

  She passed one to me. "Help me take these to the restroom. Ladies, choose your cots. I'll have toiletries for you in a moment."

  The restroom across the hall had two closed stalls with toilets and two shower heads out in the open. A streaky mirror show
ed me as a dark-haired woman with a chalky face. I helped Carlotta put out mouthwash, toothpaste, soap, and tissues. We made up small plastic bags with toothbrushes, deodorant, and lotion. I folded towels and facecloths to go with the baggies.

  "I'm impressed." Although tired, I couldn't stand still. "You got all this together on short notice." Really, I hated the institutionalized atmosphere of a hospital or jail.

  "Marco depends on me to do practical things. If you'll hand out these items, I'll stay here and answer questions. Please have the ladies come in two at a time."

  Her low voice soothed, but her words reminded me that we were under constant supervision, like at the ranch. Ghosts instead of cameras watched us. Marco was a super ghost who had the power to collect the spirits of his deceased friends. All of the twelve ghosts currently with Marco had died at places other than Pioneer House. Ghosts normally returned to the locale where they died, but Marco had reached out and snatched his friends' souls back to the Pioneer House.

  When I returned to the sleeping room, each woman had settled on a cot. They looked tense, gripping their knees or wrapping their arms around themselves. If they were like me, they were stressed by the murders and the fear of more violence. They flicked glances at photos on the shelf under the tall windows. I'd been so preoccupied before that I hadn't noticed the photographs of women—some were posed groups, others informal snapshots of parties, picnics, and dances. The women wore sixties-style outfits, everything from housedresses to bell-bottoms. At first, I thought the ghosts weren't animating the photos, but I caught one woman's eyes tracking me. She gazed over the shoulder of her dance partner, a dreamy smile on her face.

  After I handed out the toiletries and towels, the women headed for the bathroom in pairs. Having something to do distracted us from being observed by ghosts. I selected the only empty cot at the end of a row next to Adrian. I plopped down, making the bed groan. I'd forgotten Carlotta's admonition to treat the antiques with care.