Unchained, the Dark Forgotten (2010) (23 page)

That presence sent a chill trickling down her body. She definitely had a ghostbusting job to do.
Why isn’t the owner here?

There was an open door behind the service desk. Through it, she could see a flight of stairs to the floor above. These were plain and steep, originally a servants’ stairway. The main stairs were by the front door.

Ashe rounded the desk, ducked through the doorway marked PRIVATE. She’d never been back here before. She gave a curious look around. The room was cluttered with empty packing boxes. Mud smeared the old linoleum, leaving a crunchy film of dirt.

The place had the sour, close smell of neglect. No wonder it had ghosts. They loved undisturbed spaces.

Reynard joined her. “An eclectic collection. If only I had time to do some reading.”

“You find the owner?”

“No. There is a shed behind this building, though.” He leaned against the wall, the muscles of his arms and chest working the black T-shirt he wore. He could have modeled for Workrite’s next catalog. All he needed was a hard hat and a sign that said REAL MEN USE HAND TOOLS.

A bead of sweat trickled down Ashe’s spine, making her shiver. Nerves and lust warred with each other. Ashe looked up the stairs. She could see more bookshelves. The second floor had always been the fiction section. The Nancy Drew books used to be kept by the narrow window that looked out on Fort Street.
What would Nancy do? Would she ever jump her guy and forget the case?

No, by now Nancy would have found the owner hiding in a secret passage, tied up the villain, and driven away in her cute blue roadster without mussing a single Titian-red hair.
Preppy bitch
.

Ashe could feel the inhuman presence above, waiting with arachnid patience. It was starting to piss her off, and she had a pocket full of Holly’s charms. “I’m going to check upstairs.”

Reynard nodded. “I’ll investigate the shed and meet you up there shortly.”

“Okay.”

Reynard slipped away, quiet as a cat.

Ashe pulled a stake out of the side pocket of her pants—not that it would kill a ghost, but it made her feel better. She rolled her neck to relax the knot between her shoulder blades, and began mounting the steps.
A-hunting we will go.

There was no handrail and the floor humped at the top of the steps, making for iffy footing. On the other hand, the second story was relatively uncluttered. She moved quietly through the romances to the mystery section, scanning the shelves and bookcases that lined each of the four upstairs rooms. The only light came from dirty sash windows, cords broken and frames painted shut. She saw Reynard outside, emerging from the shed. It didn’t look like he’d found anyone.

She kept moving, looking for signs of the ghost, but the second floor was far less spooky. In fact, not much had changed in this part of the store since she’d been a kid. There were still a handful of the old, yellow-spined Nancys where she thought they’d be. The sash window by that shelf—the only one that opened—was still the same, looking onto the metal fire escape that zigzagged down the side of the house. Mr. Cowan had let her sit out there and read sometimes. He’d been a sweet old guy.

She made a circuit of the upstairs, finding nothing. Ashe began to relax. On a nostalgic whim, she slipped a copy of
The Sign of the Twisted Candles
from the shelf. That had been the first one she’d ever read. She wondered if her old books were around and if Eden would like them.

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

Ashe raised the stake as she jerked around, ready to strike. The book fell to the floor with a thunk.

A man stood there, his hands in the pockets of his chinos. “You must be the ghostbuster I called.”

“Yeah,” Ashe replied, feeling foolish.

He was a few inches shorter than she was, a few years older. He had curly dark hair, big brown eyes, and a day or two’s growth of beard. He smiled, showing white teeth and a set of dimples calculated to melt the female heart.

“I’m Tony,” he said. “Welcome to my mess.”

“You have a lot of stock.”

“I got a shipment from a huge estate sale, and I’m still trying to find a place to put everything.”

He gave off an easygoing, relaxed air. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to meet you. I’ve been lugging boxes up the stairs all day. I guess I didn’t hear the bell.”

Ashe slowly lowered the stake and crouched to pick up the book. “I’m Ashe Carver. My partner’s downstairs. You gotta ghost?”

Tony’s gaze wandered from the Nancy Drew to the stake, obviously trying to put the two together. “Yeah. In the attic. I was going to use that space for storage, but no way. Not until it’s cleaned out.”

Then the ghost was definitely the creepazoid presence she felt.

He gave her a curious look. “I thought your name was Holly?”

“That’s my sister. The agency’s a family business.” Not like she could say she was the second-stringer. Ashe looked around. “Where’s the attic entrance?”

“This way. Appropriately enough, it’s in the room with the thrillers.”

He started for the door, casting a look back over his shoulder to make sure Ashe was coming. She set
Twisted Candles
back on the shelf and followed Tony.

“So who is this ghost? The store’s been around for years. I’ve never heard of any spirit activity, and I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“A child died in this house a hundred years ago. Don’t know her name. For some reason she’s acting up all of a sudden.”

“What does she do?”

“She sings. Bangs around. Makes noise.”

Ashe looked at him.

He shrugged. “It’s worse than it sounds. She knows just how to get to you.”

“Did something happen around the time the ghost first appeared? It’s rare for a quiet spirit to become active.”

“The old owner died. Maybe she misses him.”

The attic stairs were behind a door. The door was one of the bookcases that swung out on creaky hinges, forming the obligatory secret passage. Ashe had walked right by it twice. Nancy would have found it.
Perky teen detective one, professional slayer zero.

Tony held open the door with the air of a nervous butler. “You don’t need me for this, do you?”

“Probably better you stay down here.”

He looked wobbly from relief.

“Are there lights?”

“Just this.”

He reached through the doorway and pulled a chain. It made a
chink
noise, and a single bulb lit a flight of painted stairs. Ashe slid the stake back in her pocket and pulled a Maglite from her belt.

“Send my partner up when he comes in, okay? He’ll be here in a sec.”

“You got it,” Tony said. “You’re set? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m set.”

“Good luck.” He looked worried.

Ashe ignored his expression and headed up the stairs. She’d wiped out whole vampire nests. This should be a piece of cake. She flicked on the flashlight and started up the steps.

Even though it was only April and starting to cloud up, the attic was hot and stuffy. It was unfinished—just a raw wood floor and a few piles of junk here and there. Someone had been busy with rolls of pink insulation, but had run out of supplies or ambition about three-quarters of the way across the roof. There were a couple of vents with screens to keep out the birds, but no windows. In some ways the lack of sunlight was good. Ghosts were easier to see in the dark.

Then she felt it. Fingertips against her cheek, so light they tickled. Annoyance flared. “Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

Wind huffed along the floor, stirring dust. Ashe heard a scampering of bare feet, quick and light as a child’s. A faint gurgle of laughter. Yes, it sounded like a girl.

Oh, great
. She looked around for the obligatory china-faced doll, or the rocking horse that teetered back and forth all by itself. Ghosts loved their clichés.

There was a big captain’s chair shoved in the corner. Dollars to doughnuts, that was where the spook would appear. Ashe pulled a piece of chalk out of her pocket and drew a circle around the attic floor, making sure to touch each wall. Then she took out her packet of charms. Holly had used a Ziploc sandwich bag to keep the herbs fresh. Ashe pulled it open, getting a heady whiff of mint and something bitter. All she needed to do was position a few of these around the attic, light a spell candle, and she was finished. Prefab despooking even a broken witch could manage.

She felt the ghost’s breath on her cheek, as intimate as if she were peering over Ashe’s shoulder—which was probably true. The temperature in the place was beginning to drop. Ashe’s fingers fumbled as she pulled the first charm out of the bag. It was a cheesecloth bundle the size of a walnut. She wasn’t sure what was inside. This was Grandma and Holly’s special recipe.

She felt for her inner compass, found east, and placed the charm against that wall. The Carvers used a simple, respectful spell to release a ghost, to sever its earthly bonds and send it where it needed to go. “Goddess of word and thought, I invoke you; cut this knot.”

She felt the bloom of power as her words activated the power Holly had packed into the charm. But that wasn’t all she felt. The cold deepened, chilling her till she shook. The ghost was fighting back. Some just didn’t want to go.

Give me a vampire any old day
. She found the south wall and tipped a charm out of the plastic bag, letting it roll into place. Her fingers were suddenly too numb to fumble with the cheesecloth balls. She blew on her fingers, warming them enough to set the charm right side up. “Goddess of sun and heat, I invoke you to this feat.”

Her words came out in little clouds. Her nose was dripping. The lightbulb over the stairs—the only light in the attic besides her flashlight—went out with a fizzle. She heard the footsteps again, and the sound of a child softly crying. Sobbing. The heartbroken, wretched grief that only a young child can fully express. Ashe stopped in her tracks, the sound leaching the strength from her limbs.

How could anyone stand that weeping? It was the sheer despair of an abandoned child. Ashe felt that sadness through her whole body, clawing deep in her guts. Eden had cried like that when her father died. Had she cried the same way when Ashe left her at St. Flo’s?
Goddess! Goddess, forgive me.

Ashe felt tears freezing on her cheeks.
Don’t go there. That’s how the ghosts get you, through your own fears.
She had to hang on, be stronger.

West wall. It was so dark she could barely see, but somehow she got one more charm out of the bag and into place.

“Goddess of womb and heart, pull these earthly bonds apart,” Ashe murmured through chattering teeth. She hoped divine spirits could read minds, because her words were barely words at all, just frozen chunks of breath.

A voice lisped next to her ear, “He wants me to go away because I can see what he is. I’m trying to stop him. Help me! He’s very, very bad.”

Ashe whipped around, stumbling because her feet were numb.

It had been a little girl.

The temperature spiked, the air suddenly stuffy and warm again. Ashe stood, shaking as her body tried to bring heat back to her bones. The stairway light flickered back on.

Something felt very, very wrong.

Ashe rushed to the north wall, nearly throwing down the last charm in her haste. “Goddess of earth and arctic wave, send this spirit from its grave.”

She felt the circle of charms close, containing the space where serious magic would begin. The last items in the bag were a book of matches—Holly never trusted anyone else to remember them—and a candle carved with an intricate pattern. Ashe tipped them out, stuffed the bag in her pocket, and picked a nice, central spot. Getting the candle right in the middle guaranteed even coverage as the spell worked. Right above her, the roof beams met, the angles of the house pointing to its apex.
Perfect
.

The candle was short and fat, so it stood on its own. Ashe set it down and opened the matchbook.

And felt something watching her from the dark northeast corner, just outside the circle. Her shoulders hunched, instinctively protecting the back of her neck from the snapping jaws of predators. The shadow was banned from the circle, looking in, but the charms were light-duty magic. This was heavy-duty nasty. She knew the vibe.
Crap.

This might be more than one ghost. Maybe the little-girl ghost had a friend. Or maybe the vile, nasty thing had moved in, and that had disturbed the little girl’s spirit.

Keeping a tight grip on her nerves, she pulled out a match and lit the candle. “Release, release, release! I command you to your peace.”

The flame stretched tall and thin, blue-white at the tip. The magic was working. Ashe breathed in the scent of the beeswax, using it to reinforce what mental shields she still had. She could smell cinnamon for opening the psychic portals, and birch, spruce, and thyme for cleansing. Oh, and lavender. Grandma used that for everything.

She closed her mind, shutting out the darkness that seemed to ooze thicker around the chalk line. It was silent, and she didn’t want that to change. Chatting with the spirits wasn’t always smart.

“You were only supposed to cast out the girl.”

So much for silence
. The voice wasn’t the little girl’s. This sounded like it had bubbled up from a pit of rotting carcasses.

“Are you the spirit that haunts this place?” Ashe asked, keeping her tone firm. Better not to act terrified. That was a turn-on to some of these bastards, and, technically, she should stay while the candle burned down and only then release the circle of charms. But the exit was looking pretty good at the moment.

“Noooooooo,” replied the whatever-the-hell-it-was. “She’s run away. It’s time to put out your spell. Now. Right now.”

“Does it bother you?”