Jason dropped to my side, wobbled, and then steadied himself.
“You ready?” I asked him.
He grinned. “I ain’t afraid of no ghost.”
God, what was it with Ghostbusters references lately? I couldn’t seem to shake them from my head.
I ignored the quip, looked around me and then ventured into the lobby. I wasn’t sure where to go first, but I could hear faint whispering in the distance, and decided to follow it. “This way.”
“Ah, are you following the voices?” Jason asked.
I stopped, turned. “Yeah. Why?”
“Those are just the homeless guys. They’ve taken up residence here. If you want to find the spirits, you’re better off heading in the opposite direction. I don’t doubt they’ve been keeping their distance from the disturbances.”
Good point. I spun my head around, following that trail until I spotted a broken escalator. “So then, we’re heading up?”
“Seems that way.”
Engulfed in the dark of this unwanted building, I focused hard on my telepathy powers. I hadn’t been given the luxury of time to grow accustomed to how it worked, but something was definitely different. A kind of chatter echoed in my head, easily discernible from the noises my ears were picking up. I followed it up two different escalators, crossed the hall and stopped outside a closed-down sporting goods store.
Abruptly, the noises stopped.
“What is it? Jason asked, looking concerned.
“I can’t hear them anymore.”
“Hear what?”
“The voices.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Ohhh-kay.”
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself like a weak form of meditation. The more I relaxed, the easier it became to engage with my telepathy. Before I knew it, the chattering began again. “This way.”
We soldiered on, stopping at the food court. The whispering grew deafeningly loud, hammering on my skull like some kind of machinery in a steelworks factory. I covered my ears, closed my eyes and dropped to my knees. I fought hard, willing the power to stop until the whispers faded once more.
“Are you okay?” Jason helped me up off the floor.
“I’m fine. We’re… We’re here.”
Jason looked around, unsure.
“Trust me,” I said.
“All right. Are you okay? Is it safe?”
I couldn’t help but give him my most condescending glare. “Nothing is safe.”
Proving my point, a sudden rush of wind breezed past me. It shoved into Jason, sending him flying backward through the air. He connected with a table and crashed through it, landing on his back and wincing in pain.
I dashed forward, losing touch with the spirit’s thoughts as I hurried into the unknown. Before I could reach Jason, the wave returned, groping my hair and dragging me backward across the floor. Shards of glass grazed my back, but didn’t quite pierce my skin. Still, my scalp suffered the excruciating pain as the spirits pulled me by my hair to the edge of the platform, and then tossed me over the side.
Three floors zipped past me as I fell. I landed on my back, banging my head. I cried out in pain, coughing and wheezing, before quickly climbing to my feet. I had to get back up there. Jason was all alone, fighting the kind of spirit that could even hurt me.
By the time I reemerged on the food court, Jason had shifted into the fur-covered beast I myself had once fought. His body had doubled in size, his skin thickening and sprouting hair. Those beady brown eyes of his were unrecognizable, and his drooling mouth exposed deadly teeth.
Something toyed with him, feeding off his anger. It made Jason too sloppy, simply fighting based on reaction.
That had to change.
I remained rooted to my spot, right at the top of the broken escalator, and raised my fingers to my temples. As I desperately tried to focus, I suddenly regretted not bringing a more combative magicard. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to control time and space right now. I would have loved to see the spirits fight that.
Various thoughts entered my mind, but they weren’t my own. I could feel them, vibrating through the air the same way as sound. I tried to control the mind of the spirit, to bend it to my will, but I wasn’t strong enough for that yet. All I could do was send out a kind of beacon, revealing its location.
What I found shook me to my core.
“Jason!” I yelled. “There are two of–”
Before I could finish, I felt a great pain shoot up my spine as I flew forward. It was like someone had taken a running kick into my back, hurling me across the room. I hit the ground and skidded to Jason’s side.
“Owie,” I groaned, shaking my head and standing as quick as I could.
Jason howled and reared up, standing on his hind legs. I pushed my back against his, and we stayed quiet, listening intently and keeping our eyes peeled, as if it would make a difference. I slowed my heart rate, listening again.
“Get down!”
I ducked, missing the attack by a mere inch. Cold air brushed my face as the spirit glided past me. I spun and looked at Jason, the fur on his back matted to his skin by some invisible force. It was like the spirit was riding him, gaining a steady grip so it could choke him.
Not acceptable. With all the strength inside me, I lunged out and reached for the open air. It felt surreal that my hands should clasp around something I couldn’t see. It felt fleshy to the touch, but also ice-cold and pungent. A ghostly noise sounded from in front of me, and as the spirit tried to wriggle free, I cleared my throat to banish it.
“Vanquis ven-laycis!”
A puff of air exploded in my hand, like a can of carbon dioxide. The space before me turned a greenish hue, as Jason was released and stumbled forward, still a furious, growling beast. I watched the thin air, feeling the temperature drop as a semi-transparent double helix unwound and drifted upward, growing fainter, until it disappeared.
One down, I thought.
By now, the voices were settling. Where my mind had been flooded with the noise of the spirits’ thoughts, now there was only one mind to read – aside from Jason’s, whose brain I would rather stay away from, given the choice.
I turned to Jason, the pair of us staying as quiet as we could, listening for a clear sign of the spirit. I could feel it nearby, but its exact position was confused, stuttering. Like when your cell phone had an incoming call near a stereo.
Jason, shrinking back to only a small fraction of his werewolf form, revealed his face. It was embedded on the head of a wolf. I would be lying if I said it didn’t creep me out, but it seemed he’d had to do it in order to talk. “Have they gone?”
“There’s one left,” I said.
“Where?”
I shrugged, but as I did so, a strong wind blew at me, sending my hair swirling above me like a confused tornado. I cringed, closing my eyes to protect them from the miniature gale. The wind grew stronger, the voices too, until I felt a hand clamp around my throat, squeezing.
I couldn’t see it. Jason had his claws out, swiping wildly in front of me, but it did nothing against my attacker. I swiped too, frantically reaching out to touch the spirit, praying that I could push it back only a little, just enough to be able to speak.
The blood rushed to my face. I felt light-headed. Movement from the corner of my blurred vision showed Jason returning to his human form, dashing out of sight. He wasn’t leaving me – he would never do that. All I could do was wait, and try to hold on for dear life until he returned. As my energy drained, I even began to wonder if he would return.
When he did, it saved my life.
Jason – now a shirtless human – dropped the red canister to the ground. Clunk. He unhooked the nozzle and took aim at my attacker, releasing the wet chemical in rapid bursts. The spirit’s grip weakened as the air around me began to dissipate.
I sagged to my knees, catching my breath. As I did so, I tried to get a read on the spirit’s location. “Stop,” I said to Jason. The fire extingu
isher interfered with the spirit’s aura, waving it around all over the place. When I finally discovered that the spirit floated in front of me – it was weak and scared, almost crying – I sprang forward, reached for it and dug my nails into the thick air of its body.
“Vanquis ven-laycis!”
My hands fell through it then. A monstrous roar pierced the air, agony rising in its tortured screams. I watched the air turn green, as I still struggled to breathe. These spirits had been particularly aggressive, and I wondered how I was supposed to stop all of them. At this rate, it seemed impossible.
As the spirit vanished, my powers kicked themselves into gear. I could hear Jason’s thoughts – relieved that I was okay, but with an equally important desire for a strong drink.
Among that, however, was another voice; a spiritual voice.
“Curse,” it said.
I tilted my head, frowning.
“Curse,” it repeated on the last weak whisper of the wind.
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the spirit vanished.
Jason stomped over to me, slinging the long coat over his broad, muscular shoulders. He reached out, helping me off the ground and holding me upright. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“Not easily,” I said, vacant. I looked to him then, exhaling relief. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That last… The spirit said something about a curse as I sent it.”
Jason shrugged. “So? Isn’t that thing a curse? That vanquish… von–”
“Vanquis ven-laycis,” I told him. “No, that’s an incantation. Those are spells. A curse is something else, a condemning to be in a certain place or state, usually until conditions are met. You should know, you have the curse of the moon.”
“Uh-huh.”
I caught my breath. When my hands stopped shaking and I had given some thought as to where to go next, I began to walk toward the broken escalator, back the way we had come. “Are you staying with me?”
“For a little while, but then I have to get back to the alpha,” Jason said, catching up from behind. “Where are we going next?”
“Well, before I go sending any more spirits to the afterlife, I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing. I need to find out what that spirit meant, and there’s only one person I know who studies curses.”
Jason nodded, buttoning up his coat. “Then lead the way.”
Chapter Eleven
I snuggled into the passenger seat of Jason’s stunning black Mercedes, which he had apparently borrowed from a friend. I had already been in this car some time ago, I recalled, and couldn’t imagine a friend who would willingly loan this thing out twice over a three-month span – it was a beautiful piece of machinery.
We were heading toward an antique store in Bloomington, a city four hours from Chicago. I was excited to see an old friend of mine, who I had met during my early years as a Cardkeeper. His shop hosted an unusual line of work; buying and selling enchanted artifacts. I had always questioned him about the identity of his clientele, but he had never given any more than a teasing wink.
“Can we trust this guy?” Jason asked, the wind ripping through his perfect hair from the open car window. The day’s last rays of sun poured through and lit up his handsome face.
“Of course.” I turned back toward the window, watching the trees rush by.
“But how do you know?”
“I just do, all right?”
Jason sneered, probably embarrassed but hiding it well. “Fine.”
We arrived within the next half-hour, parking the car on the side of the road. I climbed out and scanned my eyes along the length of the quiet street. Night was settling in, with only three other cars in sight and not a single person on the street. This area of the city looked like some mountain town out of a horror movie. I zipped up my jacket, folded my arms, and continued into the shop.
The second the bell rang, I heard my old friend in the back. “Just a minute!”
While I stood at the counter of this old, dusty store, Jason perused the shelves. They were full of old vases, statuettes and – kept safe behind glass cabinets – books with thick, leather binding. “Don’t touch anything,” I warned, but Jason just ignored me.
Moments later, an elderly man with a thick, white moustache emerged from the doorway behind the cash register. In spite of his faded yellow hair and plump, wrinkled skin, his kind eyes still offered a warm welcome. “Keira Poe!” he said, laughing as he came around the counter and opened his long, flowing robe to hug me. “What brings you here?”
I hugged him back. God, it was good to see him again. “Hi, Ernie. Actually, I’ve run into a bit of trouble and I was hoping you could help me out.”
Ernie’s eyes went straight to Jason, and he lowered his voice. “A werewolf?”
Jason turned immediately. “Sir? How did you know?”
“I can smell it on you, son.”
I laughed at Jason’s reddening face. “Ernie has a special talent for sniffing out curses.”
“Right.”
“It’s a gift,” Ernie said, gloating. “Anyway, come in! Let me put on some coffee and hear what you’ve been doing these past few years. Then I’ll see if I can’t help you with your problem, hmm?”
Ernie ushered us into the back of the store, where we took a seat on an uncomfortable stained couch. While Ernie zipped around the room making coffee, I skimmed over the details of my magical career and went straight to recent events. Before I knew it, I was sipping on a hot drink – which tasted like burned rocket fuel – and asking for help.
“Hmm…” Ernie’s eyes lowered as he stared lifelessly at the floor, deep in thought and raising the mug to his lips. When he emptied the remaining contents into his mouth, he swallowed, set the mug on the table between us, and folded his dark, purple robe over his legs. This crazy old man had always had a taste for theatrics. “Tell me, what exactly did this spirit say when you sent it?”
“It just said ‘curse’. Nothing else.”
“And it said it aloud?”
“Well, no. I’m using a telepathy card right now.”
Ernie rubbed his stubbly chin. “What did it look like? The spirit, I mean.”
“Invisible,” Jason said, helping.
“But it turned green during the sending,” I added.
“I see, I see.” Ernie’s eyes turned dark, venturing into deep thought. Finally, he raised his hands and said, “Ah,” then got up and disappeared from the room. When he returned a minute later, he held a book in one wrinkly hand.
“What’s this?” I asked.
Ernie dropped it onto the coffee table. Jason and I leaned over it.
“This,” he said, “is a catalogue of the spirits I’ve studied.” The book looked new, perfectly white and full of clean, glossy pages. He opened it up and flicked through, missing the page he’d been looking for, and then returning to find it. Finally, he turned it around to me, showing a detailed illustration of a greenish vapor which took up the whole page.
I recognized it immediately – I could never forget the swirling motion with which the spirit had vanished. It was like a Double Helix, unwinding as it began to disappear. “That’s the one. So, what’s their connection to a curse?”
Ernie looked up from the book. His eyes met mine. “I have no idea.”
Great, I thought. A dead end.
But then.
“Unless…” Ernie said. “It could be the Brythnel curse.”
“The Brythnel curse?” Jason sat forward, elbows on his knees. “What’s that?”
Ernie glared at Jason, a humored expression on his lips. “You’ve never heard of Hamish Brythnel? You’re tracking down a bunch of spirits but you don’t know who Hamish Brythnel is? Oh, boy!” Ernie slapped his knee, laughing. “Keira, explain it to your friend.”
I felt like a stage actress illuminated underneath a brilliant spotlight just in time to forget my lines. In truth, I didn’t know too much about this Bryt
hnel character myself. I also felt bad for Jason, being humiliated like that. Still, we needed Ernie’s help, so I had to play ball.
“Hamish Brythnel was a scholar from the fifteenth century,” I explained to Jason. “When he was poisoned by his wife, he returned as a spirit to seek vengeance. Somehow, he found a way to exchange places with her; he inhabited her body, while her soul was cursed to remain a spirit forever.”
Jason’s forehead creased up. “So this Hamish… he’s one of the spirits we’re after?”
“Not at all,” Ernie said, and thank God he had taken the reins – I didn’t know anything else. “The spirit of his wife reappeared in bits and pieces. Sometimes she would be fully formed and able to physically move the objects around her, but other times she could barely communicate. Hamish went on to further his efficiency with this curse, using prisoners and the terminally ill as his subjects. Over the centuries, many have replicated the curse and used it as a weapon. Now, there’s not a single being who can’t inflict it on another. With enough practice, that is.”
“Wait,” I said. “So these spirits aren’t just your everyday ghosts?”
“Exactly. Somebody went out of their way to make them this way. Just a moment.” Ernie got up from his seat and left the room again, this time coming back with one of the leather-bound books I had noticed on the way in. “Take this.”
“What is it?” I asked, feeling the great weight in my arms.
“Everything you need to know about the Brythnel curse is within these pages.”
“It can tell me who’s responsible for them?”
“I’m afraid it won’t tell you that much.”
A whole lot of good this is, then. I leafed through the pages, careful not to tear the ancient yellow paper. Although it didn’t look as though I could – it was made of something thicker. Papyrus, perhaps. “What am I looking for in here?”
“Anything. Everything. There isn’t a single thing to learn about the curse that isn’t written down in this book. There’s information on the spirits, how to find them, how to discern the locations of their deaths. Even how to replicate the curse, should you be so foolish.” Ernie leaned over me, closing the book with his hands on mine. “Keira, I do ask that you proceed with caution.”
Lost Souls Page 5
