Haunted (3 page)

“And do what?”

“Well, funny you should ask. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I happen to have a temp job lined up for you. Full of adventure, mystery, maybe even a little danger…”

“Just a little?”

He grinned. “Depends on how you play it.”

I paused, then glanced up the stairs. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Kristof threw up his hands and disappeared into the wall. I plunked down onto the step. Savannah and I had a special bond he couldn’t possibly understand…I only wish that were true. Kris had single-parented both his sons after his wife had left them while his youngest was still in diapers. Soon after we’d met, his secretary had paged him because Sean had been hit in the head during a baseball game. For barely more than a bump, he’d blown off an important dinner meeting to catch the next plane home. And that’s when my opinion of him had begun the slow but steady shift that led to Savannah.

It had ended there, though. Once I’d realized I was a black witch carrying the bastard child of a Cabal sorcerer heir, I hadn’t been dumb enough to stick around and see what his family thought. As for what Kristof thought of me taking our daughter away…well, I’d spent twelve years trying not to think about that. I knew I’d made a mistake, an error in judgment overshadowed only by that final error in judgment I’d made in the compound.

Yet for twelve years I’d been able to coast on my guilt trip, telling myself maybe Kristof hadn’t really cared that I’d taken Savannah. Bullshit, of course. But not having him there to say otherwise had made it easier…until six months after my death, when I’d seen him fight for custody of her, and die trying to protect her.

Upstairs, the music ended. Savannah popped in another CD…or switched MP3s…or whatever music came on these days. The next song began, something slow, and definitely soft enough for me to hear giggles and murmurs.

Damn it, Kris was right. Following my daughter to the mall was one thing. Listening to her make out with a boy was wrong. And creepy. But now I was stuck here. If Kristof found out I’d left right after him, he’d know I’d seen his point, and I wasn’t ready to admit that. Maybe—

A sharp oath burst from the living room. I took a cautious step toward the corner. In life, I would have strode over there, defensive spell at the ready. But here? Well, here things were different.

Kristof stepped from behind the sofa, picking what looked like cobwebs from his rumpled shirt. The back of his hair stuck straight up, as if someone had run a static-charged hand through it. His tie was shredded.

He gave a fierce wet-dog shake. When he finished, he was immaculate again…except for his tie, which was tucked into his shirt. I plucked it out and straightened it.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Wrong turn…again?”

He gave a helpless shrug. “You know how I am with spells.”

“Uh-huh.”

I glanced back at the stairs. A sigh floated down.

I turned back to Kris. “Want a lift?”

“Please.”

2

TRANSPORTATION IS MY AFTERLIFE SPECIALTY—MY
quest to help Savannah meant I spent a lot of time tracking down sources. In other areas of ghost activity, I’m not so good, though I didn’t think the Fates needed to send me through that damned orientation course three times.

My afterlife world was a version of earth, with some weird subdimensions that we really tried to avoid. Everyone here was a supernatural, but not every supernatural was here. When I’d died, my first thought on waking had been “Great, now I finally find out what comes next.” Well, actually that had been my
second
thought, after “Hmmm, I thought it would have been hotter.” Yes, I’d escaped the fiery hell my mother and many others had prophesied for me, but in dying, I hadn’t found out what comes next, only what came next for
me.
Was there fire and brimstone somewhere else? Were there halos and heavenly harps? I have no idea. I only know that where I am is better than where I expected to be, so I’m not complaining.

I dropped Kristof off on the courthouse steps. Yes, we have courts here. The Fates take care of all major disciplinary issues, but they let us handle disputes between ghosts. Hence the courts, where Kristof worked. Not that he’d practiced law in real life. The day he’d passed the bar exam, he’d gone into business with his family. But here he was, playing lawyer in the afterlife. Even Kris admitted this wasn’t his first choice for a new career, but until they started a ghost world NHL franchise, he was stuck with it.

Speaking of jobs…Kristof was right. I needed a break. I’d known that for a while now, but couldn’t bring myself to admit it. I knew Kris’s “temp job” wouldn’t be the kind of employment the Fates would approve of, but that was more incentive than obstacle.

That thought had no sooner left my mind than a bluish fog blew in and swirled around my leg.

“Hey, I was just—”

The fog sucked me into the ground.

The Searchers deposited me in the Fates’ throne room, a white marble cavern with moving mosaics on the walls. The Fates are the guardians of the supernatural layers of the ghost world, and just about the only time they call us in is when we’ve screwed up. So as the floor began to turn, I braced myself. When it didn’t turn fast enough, I twisted around to face the Fates myself. A pretty girl threaded yarn onto a spinning wheel. She looked no more than five or six years old, with bright violet eyes that matched her dress.

“Okay,” I said. “What did I do?”

The girl smiled. “Isn’t the question: What did I do
now
?”

I sighed, and in less time than it takes to blink, the girl morphed into a middle-aged version of herself, with long graying dark hair, and light-brown skin showing the first wrinkles and roughness of time.

“We have a problem, Eve.”

“Look, I promised I wouldn’t use the codes for
excessive
unauthorized travel. I never said—”

“This isn’t about unauthorized travel.”

I thought for a moment. “Visiting Adena Milan for spell-swapping? Hey, that was an honest mistake. No one told me she was on the blacklist.”

The middle-aged Fate shook her head. “Admittedly, there might be some amusement to be had in making you recite the whole list of your infractions, but I’m afraid we don’t have that much time. Eighteen months ago, you made a deal with us. If we returned Paige and Lucas to the living world, you’d owe us a favor.”

“Oh…that.”

Damn. When they hadn’t mentioned it again, I’d hoped they’d forgotten. Like that’s going to happen. The Fates can remember what Noah ate for breakfast on the morning of the flood.

My first instinct was to weasel out of it. Hell, what’s the worst thing that could happen? Well, for starters, they could undo their end of the bargain and bring Paige and Lucas back to the ghost world. So no weaseling out of this one. Besides, I
had
been looking for a distraction. Which made this all seem very coincidental.

“Did Kristof put you up to this? Finding me something to do?”

The Fate morphed into her oldest sister, a hunch-backed crone with a wizened face set in a scowl.

“Kristof Nast does not ‘put us up to’ anything.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Nor are we going to be doing favors for the likes of him. We thought that lawyer job would keep him busy.” She snorted. “And it does. Keeps him busy getting into trouble.”

“If you mean the Agito case, that wasn’t Kris’s fault. The plaintiff started lying, so he had to do something. It wasn’t
really
witness tampering…”

“Just a means to an end,” she said, fixing me with that glare. “That’s how you two think. Doesn’t matter how you get there, as long as you do.”

The middle sister took over. “An interesting philosophy. Not one we share, but in some cases…useful. This particular job we need done may require some of those unique skills.”

I perked up. “Oh?”

“We have a spirit who’s escaped from the lower realms. We need you to bring her in.”

The lower realms are where they keep the ghosts who can’t be allowed to mingle with the rest of us—the seriously nasty criminals. Hmmm, interesting.

“So who is—”

“First, you need to do some research.” The middle-aged Fate reached into the air and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is a list of books—”

“Books? Look, I’m sure you guys are in a hurry for me to get this job done, so why don’t we skip this part? I’m really more a hands-on kind of gal.”

The girl appeared, grinning mischievously. “Oh? Well, in that case, let’s do it the hands-on way.”

She waved a hand, and a ball of light whipped out and blinded me.

“What the—” I began.

“Shhhhhh.”

The light fell in a shower of sparks. I blinked, then saw only darkness. The same voice continued to shush me, a long-drawn-out monotone of a breath that, after a moment, I realized wasn’t a voice at all, but the rush of air past my ears.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, willing my night-vision to kick in. Like all my visual abilities, this one came supercharged, the legacy of having the Lord Demon Balam, Master of Sight, as a father.

A sharp wind whipped through my clothes. Something tickled my fingers. I grabbed it, and with a tug, the thin strand broke free. I lifted it to my nose. Grass.

My sight began to clear. The first thing I saw was waves, the rhythmic rise and fall of waves rippling toward shore. But I didn’t smell water. Didn’t feel the spray of it or the weight of it in the air. Instead, the wind was dry and smelled of…grass. I blinked again and saw waves of grass, rising and falling on hilly soil, bowing in the wind. An ocean of grass.

Once upon a time, this would have surprised me, but after three years of traveling around the ghost world, I’ve seen some pretty strange geography. In the unoccupied areas, plains are common, vast empty stretches of rock or sand or grass. I’d even popped into a plain of lava once. Not pleasant…especially when I realized it wasn’t as empty as it appeared. At that thought, I peered into the long grass. It didn’t look like there was anything down there, but you could never be sure.

I looked up. Sky. A night sky, overcast.

“Okay,” I called to the Fates. “You can skip the detention. I’ll do my homework.”

A high-pitched laugh answered me. Now, I’m sure the child Fate would get a giggle out of their trick, but the voice sounded too old to be hers, and neither of her sisters was the giggling type.

When no one answered, I headed in the direction of the laugh. If there was someone else in this ghost-world wasteland, it probably wasn’t someone I wanted to meet, but a little danger would at least liven things up.

The wind picked up to a whine that cut right through my thin shirt. I thought of willing myself a jacket, but didn’t. In the ghost world, you could pass weeks, months, even years without ever feeling temperatures that went beyond pleasantly warm or pleasantly cool. Once in a while, discomfort wasn’t so bad.

I walked into a deep dip that sheltered me from the wind. I rubbed my ears. As they thawed, my hearing improved. Not that there was much more to hear, just the whistle of the wind overhead. No, wait, something else. I cocked my head to listen. A thump, then a swish. Silence.
Thump, swish.
Silence.
Thump, swish.

I readied an energy-bolt spell.

The thumping sound could be slow footsteps. But the swish? I didn’t really want to think about that. The next thump brought a nails-down-a-chalkboard screech. A muttered oath. An exchange of words, one voice male, one female. A grunt. A thud. Then it resumed.
Thump, swish. Thump, swish.

I cast a blur spell—if it worked in this dimension, it should distort my shape enough to let me sneak past anyone who wasn’t looking for me. Then I climbed to the top of the knoll. Less than twenty feet away stood a young woman holding a flashlight. I quickstepped back down the hill, then sharpened my sight.

I peered over the hill. The woman was shining the flashlight on a man digging a hole. That was the noise—the thump of the shovel digging in and the swish of the dirt as he tossed it aside.

The couple were both in their twenties. The man was small and skinny with a greasy mop of hair. The woman was blond, with her hair piled high in a god-ugly outdated do. Her clothing was equally out-of-date—miniskirt, high boots, and a car coat. That wasn’t surprising. In the ghost world you get used to seeing a historical fashion show. Most ghosts stick with whatever style they enjoyed in life. Well, unless that style included corsets or other instruments of torture.

Here we had two ghosts, circa the sixties…or the seventies. Being my “growing-up years,” the two decades merged into a shapeless whole of miniskirts, tie-dyed tees, go-go boots, and disco.

“Deep enough?” the man said, rubbing his hands together. “Bloody cold out here tonight.”

The woman leaned over to peer into the hole, then nodded. She laid the flashlight on the ground and the couple walked into the darkness beyond. They returned carrying a long, wrapped bundle between them.

“It’s not big enough,” the woman said. “He’s taller than I thought.”

The man nodded, lifted his shovel, and resumed digging. As the woman watched, she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Given the cold, and the task at hand, a shiver was not out of place. But the look on her face was, her eyes gleaming, tongue darting out.

“It was good,” she said. “Better this time. We shouldn’t wait so long next time.”

“We need to be careful,” the man said without looking up.

“Why? No one can catch us. We’re invincible. This…” She shivered again and waved at the body. “It makes us invincible. It makes us special.”

The man looked up at her with a small smile. He nodded, then reached out of the hole and grabbed the wrapped body. As he dragged it, the other end flapped open in the breeze. A young boy’s dead eyes stared up at the night sky.

The scene disintegrated into darkness.

I’ve seen dead bodies before. Sent many into the ghost world myself. You screw with dark forces, you have to accept that an early grave may be your reward. But by “early grave” I mean dying before you’re old and gray. The murder of anyone too young to defend himself is the only act that is unforgivable under any circumstances.