by K. F. Breene
I blew out a breath, his support lending me strength.
“Don’t touch me when we’re in there,” I told Bria quietly, starting forward.
“Got it.” She stepped back and turned, totally at ease with the situation and my curt demand.
I wished I could say the same.
At the door, I dropped my head, slipping into a trance so I could pull my magic around me, creating a barrier between myself and the spirits. Usually I would infuse this same magic into inanimate objects so I wouldn’t have to constantly expend the effort. If only I’d been allowed to bring my Honda, I would’ve had some supplies.
Another connection filtered into my anxiety-soaked mind.
I used my magic to push spirits away. I could infuse objects with it. What would be the difference in drawing them in instead of pushing them away? Surely that’s all this spirit trap maker was doing.
But then he was trapping them. I still didn’t understand the logistics of that. Not yet.
Tightening the magical barrier I’d set around myself, I lifted my head and faced down a barrel-chested man with a grim face marked with jagged white scars. Black scored the side of his body, blistering the skin on his arm and blackening what was left of his shirt. He blocked the door with grim determination.
“We don’t need your kind here,” he said in a raspy voice bubbling with liquid. Red appeared at the creases of his lips before overflowing and dripping down his chin. Blood, even in death.
My stomach swam. “And what kind is that?” I asked.
His eyes squinted a little, nothing more than a flicker of movement. He shifted his weight before stepping to the side and turning, arms still crossed. Eyes tracking me.
“Well that was a sudden change of heart. You’re not very good at sticking to your guns, I must say.” I barely stopped myself from holding my breath as I crossed the threshold.
Unlike the other houses, this one didn’t have a lure. It had a warning—do not cross. Except I had, and the magic dragged across my skin like little hooks, looking to catch in my squishy middle.
I frowned and stalled, taking in that feeling. Trying to categorize it.
A woman rushed at me, her arms held wide like she was coming in for a bear hug.
“No.” The man shoved a grisly hand through the air. The tips of his fingers were gone, and the nails had melted away, too.
The woman staggered to a stop, her body stooped and eyes wide. Her mouth hung open, and if she’d been alive, a line of drool would be slipping down her chin.
Bodies edged toward me, some with hands hooked like claws, the faces curious, angry, or out to lunch. A man reached in before stalling, no doubt feeling my magic. Anger flitted through his eyes as he pulled his hand back slowly.
“You’re the boss around here?” I asked the large man. I was gearing up to push further in. I’d never been around this many spirits at one time, and never had I encountered spirits this…tumultuous.
“We ain’t got no bosses,” the man said, his scars dancing across his cheek.
I nodded, edging along the shiny wooden floor toward the opening that led to a living room. Victorian-era chairs, all kept in great condition, were arranged in formations conducive to conversation. A light purple rug stretched across the floor, and through another shallow archway, I could see a dining room chair pushed up to a table.
The house thrummed around me, vibrating with power. The aching desire to cross over the Line echoed from one spirit to the next, each boosting the effect on my body.
I deepened the trance until the colors in the house shifted from the normal color spectrum humans could see to the dizzying ultra violets of the spirit world. The Line materialized, above and a little left of me, a burst of blues and purples spreading out from a solid black line that pulsed like the doorway to a black hole.
The Line didn’t always appear in one specific place. It randomly moved around for reasons I couldn’t decipher, but the colors and feelings were always the same: dark and scary, yet welcoming. The contrast denoted the fight between my logical human mind, taking in the majesty of the sight, and my emotional intuition, feeling the actual intent behind it. My brain versus my spirit.
A wall draped down in front of the Line, full of shifting shades of reds, pinks, and yellows. No entry.
“What are you thinking?”
Bria’s voice startled me out of my focus. The Line and magical wall in front of it throbbed before disappearing, leaving me once again standing in a dilapidated house, surrounded by a bunch of manic spirits.
I took a couple deep breaths, allowing my heart to return to normal speed.
“The other houses invited spirits in, and kept them there—”
“Giving them the choice to stay or leave,” Bria said with an impatient nod. “And if there were any, they’ve left.”
“Right. But this house doesn’t want wayward spirits. Those are being rebuffed. The spirits here can’t leave. There’s a wall in front of the Line, just like the one in the government building…”
“Valens isn’t trapping all souls, he’s trapping specific souls,” Bria surmised. “You must’ve been right—the other houses are there to keep this house free of riffraff spirits.”
“That’s certainly what it looks like. And his guy is expending an awful lot of effort to do it, what with all the different spells…or whatever you call that magic.” I dragged my lip through my teeth and checked the location of the Medium. She was out of hearing distance, waiting in the dining room. “But Kieran’s mom isn’t trapped in one location. She’s free to wander. He’s trapped the spirit of her skin. Somehow.”
“I didn’t even know that was a thing,” Bria murmured, looking at the baseboards as though hunting for a pile of seal skin.
If only it would be that easy.
I shook my head, my gaze flitting from one jerkily moving spirit to another. Someone screamed. Another banged their head against the hall in repetitive thunks.
“He wouldn’t put the seal skin here,” I whispered, disgust for this place permeating every fiber of my being. “She bore his Demigod son. In life, he exiled her to a castle on a beautiful island, with servants and medical care. He’d never lock up part of her in a place like this, even in death. If nothing else, think of his reputation. What would people say if they found out? No, she’ll be in a special place. She’ll have her own digs.”
I came out of my reverie to find Bria staring at me.
Heat infused my cheeks. “Obviously I’m guessing, but—”
“No, no.” She held up her hands and cocked her head, as though backing down. “I wasn’t judging. You’re exactly right. Everything you said is spot on. I can’t see what you do, but your assessment of Valens is correct. You’re not so far under your rock after all, eh?” She smiled playfully.
I looked around again, feeling the correctness of that assessment.
“Speaking of rocks.” Bria jerked her head toward the dining room, where she’d clearly told the Medium to wait. She seemed to agree with my assessment of them. That, or she was trying to keep the spillover of knowledge at a minimum.
We exchanged a look and headed into the dining room.
“Great, let’s get started,” Clare said when I pulled out a chair and sat.
The barrel-chested guy from the doorway drifted in behind me, hovering just above the ground. That neat trick meant he’d fully accepted his spirit status. Someone like him would usually succumb to the Line’s welcome and leave the land of the living behind. He hadn’t been given that chance. Instead, he was forced to stay here in torment.
Anger unfurled within me. This wasn’t right. Valens was disrupting the natural balance between life and death. I felt that down to my bones. He needed to face judgment for what he’d done.
Clare’s reaching hand caught my notice. The Line pulsed not far away, blocked off. A strange breeze ruffled my hair, and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Alexis,” Bria said, pulling my focus to her.
The breeze dissipated and the Line drifted away. The house and all its spirits remained.
“If you’ll just take my hand, we can get started,” Clare said, impatience lining her features.
“Oh.” I reached out without thinking, then stopped myself as my brain caught up. “Nah.” I took my hand back before noticing Jack’s face in the window, watching what was going on. “I’m good.”
“We need to create a circle of power,” Clare said, her hand hovering in the air.
“You guys go ahead without me.” I gestured between the two of them. “I have magic going and I’d rather not…you know.” I pointed at her hand.
“We really must—”
“It’s fine,” Bria cut in, her gaze steady and confident. She had taken a page out of Kieran’s book. “Leave her out of it.”
“We won’t know if the person we seek—”
“I’ll know,” I said. “Just tell me who you’re looking for, and I’ll tell you if they’re here.”
Clare’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned in annoyance. Finally, she dropped her hand.
“I can’t guarantee results if we’re not all participating,” she said tersely, “but okay, have it your way. It’ll be you Demigod Kieran goes after, not me.”
“Understood.” I nodded slowly, and noticed none of the other ghosts had followed us into the room with the large guy. “Did you use some sort of spell or whatever to keep the spirits at bay?” I asked Clare.
“They are giving you room to work,” the big man told me, as though I’d asked him.
“No, we wouldn’t want to—”
I held up my hand to Clare. “Never mind. The boss who doesn’t think he’s the boss just answered.”
Bria’s brow furrowed. Clare’s lowered.
“Now, what I’m going to do is open up the veil, and see if any spirits would like to grace us with their presence,” Clare said, lighting two red candles and one white one. She rang a bell that sounded strangely out of tune, then another bell that affronted me for reasons I couldn’t identify. She nodded her head forward and raised her hands before moaning.
I leaned toward the big guy. “Why are a bunch of you burned?” I whispered.
“We must focus, Alexis, if we hope to reach the other side,” Clare scolded. Bria started to chuckle.
“Do you feel it?” The big guy pointed in the direction of the Line. “You are living, but…can you feel it?”
“The Line, or the wall blocking off the Line?” I mouthed.
“What?” he asked.
Apparently, ghosts couldn’t read lips.
“Join us,” Clare boomed, filling the space with her voice.
Two men and a woman looked around in confusion before stepping forward. The big guy held up his hand, keeping them at bay.
“Join us!” Clare lifted her arms higher.
Bodies shifted and feet shuffled, more than a few of the spirits fidgeting. A guy standing in the throng took a step backward.
“When we meet the shield, it burns,” the man said, his distasteful gaze on Clare. He wasn’t impressed with her antics. “Many of us are strong. We siphon power from those who enter this space and the batteries in their toys. We use it to join together and attack the shield.”
Wall, shield. Tomato, to-mah-to.
“And it burns you?” I whispered.
He held up his damaged hand in answer.
“Can you not change your appearance back to normal?” I asked, ignoring Clare’s pointed glare.
“It doesn’t heal, even when we shift form.” His image flickered to that of a confident younger man, stacked with muscle. His skin was still just as blistered, his nails equally melted.
“Weird.” I’d never heard of that. Then again, I’d never heard of any of this. “Bria—”
“Is anyone with us?” Clare called loudly. Her breath flickered the candles.
A little round instrument I hadn’t noticed, laying in the center of the table amid the bells and candles and various accouterments, flashed green.
Clare, eyes closed, lifted her chin. “I’m sensing…a man.”
I pointed at the large guy. He was certainly the closest. Then again, she could’ve been guessing. She would always have a fifty-fifty chance of being right.
Clare swayed. “John. John, is that you?”
“Do we have any Johns?” a middle-aged man behind me called out. “Any Johns?”
“I’m John,” the big guy said. I felt like the rest of the pack should’ve known that, since John obviously gave the commands around here. But the situation they were in wasn’t exactly ideal for casual conversation.
“There…” Clare’s voice became reedy. “John, why are you here?”
“Why are you trapped, she means,” I said. “Did you do something to Valens?”
I sure hoped Clare was in the know, and trusted, or I had no doubt this trip would grant her a visit from Kieran.
“I was one of his grunts,” John said, drifting closer to Clare. He reached out a hand, his eyes defiant.
“No, you shouldn’t—”
He put his hand on the top of her head.
“Oh!” Clare jolted and clutched at the table. “I’m making contact. He’s here! He’s touching me!”
He was siphoning energy from her.
“That’s not cool, John,” I said.
“She gets off on this,” John said without remorse, “and I get energy. Even trade.”
The man did have a point.
“Valens sent me to get rid of a certain non-magical politician,” John said as Clare’s face closed down in concentration. “But he didn’t give me enough details. The politician had a full crew and the layout of his office wasn’t anything like what I’d been told. Valens basically sent me in to die. So when they caught me, I sang like a canary. Gladly. I knew—”
“I sang,” Clare said in a low, rough voice. She was mimicking John.
I grimaced. “That is…off-putting.”
“They offered me protection from Valens—” John said right before Clare started speaking again, her voice blasting through the room.
“His fault…prepared. Got…what…” Clare straightened up a little and creases formed around her eyes. “John is saying that it was his fault he wasn’t prepared, and he got what he deserved.”
John bristled and his fingers tightened on the top of Clare’s head.
She groaned, dropping her head forward. “His presence is strong,” she said with a wispy voice.
“Valens deserved to get caught for what he was trying to do,” John amended, his angry gaze directed down on his new energy source. “He did that shit all the time—sent someone into the non-magical zone badly prepared, then shrugged when they didn’t make it back out. We were expendable. Not worth the effort of doing the job right. I wanted them to go after him, so I answered their questions.”
“And they returned you to him?”
“Yeah.” John rolled his shoulders. “I knew they would. Chesters ain’t no better than Valens and his drones. I didn’t care. I wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page.”
“They… pressure on me… I sang. Ratted…out.” Clare swayed from side to side.
“Clare, can you stop?” I said, pained. “Good work, though. John is, in fact, here. He’s touching you right now. I’d advise leaving the house. He can’t follow.”
“No, I can’t,” John said. “That gives us a shock. It don’t hurt as much as touching the shield, but it won’t let up, neither.”
Someone started to wail in the other room.
“So you ratted Valens out, and he trapped you in here?” I asked.
“Yeah. He brought me here and slit my throat. When I woke up, I was me…but not me. I was this.” He spread his arms wide and looked down at his chest. “We’ll stay here until we’re torn apart, piece by piece. We watch everyone else get sliced to shit around us. Why do you think we’re trying to break through that shield?”
Clare chimed
another bell. The sound rang through my body, putting me on edge.
I pushed back from the table and walked into the living room, clasping my hands and monitoring my magical buffer. “How do spirits get torn apart?”
“Can’t you feel that?” John followed behind me, his grisly hands still held out to the sides.
“The…vibration?” I asked, slipping into my trance. Trying to discern what he was talking about.
A pleasant smell drifted into my awareness, dense and gratifying.
“It’s within that vibration,” John said, and his voice changed. Became grimy.
I slipped a little deeper into the trance, floating on the currents of the house. Feeling the different spirits drifting around me. Feeling that warning at the door. The throb of that wall, or shield as they called it, pulsing power to block off the Line.
And then I did feel it. Grimy, like his voice had just been. Putrid. Oil slicked across fresh water. Sewage floating in a well.
“Do you feel it?” he asked, his voice a skeleton, a collection of bones clattering in the back of a moving vehicle.
“Yes,” I said, opening my eyes, then startling.
Light smoke drifted around the room. Bria knelt at my feet, lighting more incense. Shimmering currents moved within the framework of the wall blocking off the Line, like the sheen of a bubble before you blew it into a sphere. The walls of the magically buttressed house buzzed, the haze of the fragrant smoke making them look like glass run through with millions of multicolored wires.
“What is that?” I asked, running my hand through the smoke.
“Necromancer’s aids,” Bria answered, wafting the smoke toward me. “Only a Necromancer can see the magic they reveal, and their power determines how much they see. In other words, you’ll see more with this stuff than I will, since you have some serious skillz. Kieran stumbled on something incredibly cool, I don’t mind saying. My creepy snooping didn’t do you justice. Anyway, this stuff stinks, but it’s helpful to see the layers of reality you can’t see with your naked eye.”
Every so often, a sludgy dark line slashed through the magic, the darkness John had warned me about. Valens has essentially trapped these people in a burning building that was slowly, ever so slowly, roasting them alive.
