Give Up the Ghost

by Jenn Burke

  I took a breath and drew the magic all the way back. Terrifying the kid wasn’t the plan. We needed information more than I needed revenge.

  Maybe if I kept repeating it to myself, I’d believe it.

  Rhett greeted him with a squeal and a hug before she turned to the man who accompanied the kid. A man I hadn’t even noticed. He was older, in that indeterminate age between thirty and forty-five, with short dark hair and glasses with thick black frames. He had a mustache that should probably have been put out of its misery long ago, and he wasn’t nearly as nicely dressed as the kid, wearing an untucked dress shirt and a tie, with high-top sneakers squeaking across the floor. The outfit might have been cool fifteen years ago, but it looked old and ragged now.

  “Professor Salzwedel!” Rhett bounced on her toes.

  This guy was a professor? I cast a glance at Evan, who shook his head a little, as confused as I was.

  “I’m so glad you were able to make it. I know you’re busy.”

  “Happy to be here, Rhett. Sorry we’re late, but one of our experiments ran long.”

  “It’s no problem. Tiffany was just wrapping up, anyway.”

  That was news to Tiffany, apparently. “I—But I—”

  “Everyone,” Rhett said over Tiffany’s protests, “this is Professor Arwin Salzwedel. He teaches philosophy here at U of T, but he’s also a renowned ghost hunter with ten years’ experience. Would you tell us about one of your hunts, Professor?”

  “The Casa Loma one!” someone shouted from the audience.

  The professor moved to stand in front of the group and rested his butt against the desk. I had expected him to be stuttering and shy, but he looked completely at ease in front of the group. “I told that one last time.”

  “But it’s great!”

  “It is, isn’t it?” He grinned. “But I’ve got a better one.”

  He launched into a story that enraptured everyone in the audience—except Evan and me. I didn’t know why, but I’d taken an instant dislike to the man. He wasn’t exactly sleazy, but there was something about him that screamed slick and manipulative, and the way he worked the crowd did nothing to dispel that impression. It was more like a performance than a scientific recollection—he sure as hell knew how to keep a crowd entertained and, even more importantly, invested.

  “Everywhere I turned, my EMF went off. The air around me was cold, frigid, and the hair on my arms stood up. I knew they were all around me.”

  “Were you scared?” This from the guy who’d professed his love for Paranormal Extreme earlier. He was actually leaning forward, his butt on the edge of his chair.

  The professor waved a hand. “No. They’re only ghosts.”

  I lifted a brow.

  “Echoes of energy,” he continued. “That’s all. They can be attracted to certain types of energy, but they’re not intelligent.”

  What the hell?

  Before I could rethink it, my hand shot up.

  “What are you doing?” Evan whispered.

  “Asking a question,” I shot back, then smiled at the professor when he indicated I could go ahead. “So you don’t think that spirits are fully manifested personalities, but echoes of actions and emotions?”

  “We’ve all seen movies like Casper the Friendly Ghost and Beetlejuice, right?” Salzwedel said, pushing off the desk. He grinned at the good-natured heckling from the audience at his reference to Casper. “Hey, I enjoyed that movie! Anyway—my point is that in those movies, ghosts are people, with very human emotions and wants and desires. Thinking of ghosts as people makes for a great story. But that’s all it is—a story. Ghosts don’t have personalities, or wants or needs or anything else. They’re simply echoes. Like...a song etched into the vinyl of a record. The intelligence that created that music is long gone, but the music remains.”

  I frowned. “So you think of them as...things?”

  “Exactly.”

  Oh, he was so full of shit. “Then how do you explain ghosts that share information?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know, when a ghost does communicate.”

  His patient, indulgent smile was starting to piss me off. “You mean through a medium or psychic.”

  “Sure.”

  “As the kids say nowadays, it’s all bullshit.” His smile widened at the laughter that rippled throughout the room. “Seriously, though—anyone who claims to speak to ghosts is lying to you. I’m willing to concede that some people out there have extra sensitivity to shifts in energy, and maybe their brains are programmed to interpret those shifts as information, I don’t know. But they’re not talking to ghosts, because ghosts don’t have the capacity to break out of their prescribed actions.” And with that, he jumped back into his stupid story.

  Between the shitty attitude about ghosts and his slick showmanship and Lexi’s attacker’s ongoing coziness with a girl sitting in the front row beside him, my temper was stretched to its breaking point by the time Salzwedel opened the floor for questions. I waited until the questions seemed to be dying down, then lifted my hand.

  “Yes? I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name before.”

  “It’s Wes.” I bent down to retrieve the device from my bag, then stood and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”

  I’d mostly thought to hold it up on display to get the kid in the front row off-kilter—and it worked. He was looking at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. But the professor going stock-still wasn’t something I’d expected. He shook it off quickly and offered a laugh. “It looks like a lamp.”

  “That’s what I thought when I first saw it!” I said, false brightness in my tone.

  “And where was that?”

  “Aurora House. That’s an LGBT youth home, up by Nobleton? I’m friends with the person who runs it.”

  “I see.” It might have been my imagination, but Salzwedel looked a little pale under the fluorescent lights. “What do you think it is, if not a lamp?”

  “Well, see, Aurora House is having problems with ghosts lately.” I hoisted the device a little higher. “One of them told me to check out the barn.”

  “One of...the ghosts did?” Salzwedel’s false smile turned into a smirk. “I see.”

  “Yeah. So I thought this sounded like a good group to bring it to, to see if anyone has any idea what it is.” I looked around, but most of the attendees were shaking their heads or looking at each other and murmuring quietly. Then I focused on the kid in the front row. “How about you?”

  “M-me?” He glanced at Salzwedel. “No, I—”

  “You sure? Take a real good look at it.”

  “I—I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” I gave him a wide, friendly smile I didn’t feel. “Oh, hey. What’s your name again?”

  “Ben Clarkson.”

  The professor moved away from the front of the room to stand near Ben and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re making everyone very uncomfortable, Wes.”

  “Yeah? Sorry not sorry. That was totally my intention.” I ignored Evan’s hand tugging on my forearm. “See, when we found this, I was with my best friend in the hayloft of Aurora House’s barn. We were trying to figure out what it was, when someone ran at us from the shadows and shoved my friend. She fell off the hayloft and fractured her skull.”

  Murmurs rose around me, but I kept watching Ben. He’d grown even paler, but I had no sympathy.

  “She just woke up after being in a coma for most of the past week. You’re lucky, Ben—this could have been a very different conversation.”

  “Rhett, I hope I’m not overstepping, but I think our guests aren’t the fit we’re looking for in this group,” Salzwedel said, his eyes still on me.

  Rhett roused herself from her spot at the side of the room. “Uh, no. I mean, yes, Professor, I think you’re right.”

  “No
worries. I’ll hang on to this, though.” I grabbed the bag at my feet and shoved the device inside, then held up a Caballero Investigations card from the inside pocket of my jacket. “I’ll leave this, in case you want to reach me. Have a good night, everyone.” I dropped the card on my chair, and Evan trailed me to the door.

  Just before we reached it, I spun around. “Oh yeah, Arwin? You’re full of shit.”

  I shot him the bird and smiled as the door closed on his scowling face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You just had to provoke him,” Evan said, shaking his head, as we walked through the U of T campus back toward the subway station on St. George Street.

  “Not provoke so much as...sneer.”

  “It would have been better if they didn’t have any hint that we were on to them.”

  “Yeah, well.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I couldn’t not say anything, you know?”

  “I know.” He was quiet for a few steps. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s awake, so a hundred times better than yesterday. I haven’t heard any official medical pronouncements, but...” I let out a relieved sigh. “She’s awake.”

  We were about to step into the subway station when Evan paused and perked up, like a hunting dog. He even tilted his head. I was about to poke him about it when he said “Shit!” and started off down the street at a run.

  I watched him, stunned for a second, before I raced after him. There was no way I could catch up, not when he poured on vampire speed like that, but I could at least try to keep him in sight. He rounded a corner a couple of blocks north, and when I followed a few seconds later, it was to find him frozen on the sidewalk, staring at a large Queen Anne‒era brick house.

  People flowed from it, some screaming, some crying, many—way more than I wanted to see—covered in blood. They stumbled and tripped in their haste to get away, and ran down the street as though something was going to chase them any minute. One girl staggered around the yard, disheveled, her bloodied hands holding together a shredded sweater. It didn’t seem like she knew where she was. Before I could make my way over to her, someone shoved me aside, hard—and then there was another scream from inside the house.

  I grabbed the next kid who tried to push by me. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a—a d-dog,” he managed. “A giant dog. Attacking people! Oh god.”

  “Okay, look, see that girl?” I grabbed his chin to direct his gaze at the girl with the wrecked sweater. “Make sure she gets somewhere safe and call nine-one-one. Can you do that?”

  He nodded against my grip and I let him go. He raced over to her and guided her away. One task down...god knew how many more to go.

  “A dog?” Evan frowned at the house. “Shit—this is Scott’s frat house.”

  “Seriously?” I jogged after Evan as he headed for the stairs, sidestepping fleeing students.

  “Yeah.”

  I didn’t know what to make of that coincidence, but another scream echoing through the house told me now was not the time to worry about it.

  The frat house was one of those massive old homes that would have made a stately and posh residence...if it hadn’t been infested with generations of young men. Stray beer bottles and cans scattered everywhere said a party had been underway. There were dents in walls, scuffs and scratches on the wood floors, and cheap attempts to camouflage other damage with posters and crappy paintings. Beer pooled here and there from full cans that had tipped over, and in a few spots I spotted much darker and disturbing stains. We raced toward the screaming and skidded to a stop in the large kitchen.

  “What the fuck is that?” Evan breathed.

  It was...a dog. Except, not really. It looked like a mastiff that someone had decided halfway through should maybe be a lion...but no, wait, a bear would be better. The end result was a squat, ugly creation that had the worst aspects of all three animals. And lots and lots of teeth. Its eyes glowed red in its cracked brown leathery hide, and its entire focus was on the three imps jumping around the kitchen like it was their personal playground.

  Lucky for the two girls and one boy who were hiding under the kitchen table.

  One of the imps danced too close to the table and hit one of the chairs, and the redheaded girl shrieked as though it had cut off her leg on the way by. It was only a matter of time before the imps and the not-dog got tired of their game and turned their attention to the kids.

  Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

  I stepped forward, waving an arm. “Hey! Hey, ugly!”

  Evan made a grab for me and missed. “What the hell are you—”

  “Get the kids out,” I ordered and shoved my bag at him.

  He grabbed it automatically. “Wes—”

  “Do it!” I slapped the island. “Hey, shit-for-brains! Yeah, you! Look at me, you ugly son of a bitch.”

  My insides quivered as the not-dog turned to look at me. Its eyes burned like red-hot coals, and I suddenly had an oh-shit moment. I had an instant to realize this was not one of my better ideas—before the thing lunged at me.

  Instinct tugged me into the otherplane long enough to avoid the not-dog’s attack. I reappeared a few steps away from it, and didn’t waste time celebrating the fact that I hadn’t been eaten. “Here I am, you idiot. Come on. Think you can get me this time?”

  It growled, a low, rumbly sound that reminded me of rocks in a tumbler. Then it spun, faster than I thought possible, and leaped at me again. This time I felt the barest brush of air as I exited the living plane—which meant the damned thing got way too close.

  I rematerialized to see Evan exiting the kitchen behind the three kids. “C’mon, Wes. I don’t want Hudson to kick my ass,” he shouted.

  “Go!” I had to flash into the otherplane again to avoid the not-dog, and when I rematerialized, Evan and the kids were gone.

  Good.

  Now the question was, how the hell was I going to defeat the imps and the not-dog?

  Well, I mean, my magic, obviously. But how? I could probably grab it like I’d grabbed Scott—but then what? Pull it apart? Ew, god, gross. No—no dismembering of demonic things. With my luck, it wouldn’t kill it anyway but reform into two not-dogs. But I could get rid of the imps like that. I grabbed one of them with my magic and slammed it into the wall. It poofed into a bit of dust. The second one met the same fate, but the not-dog got the third. It screamed as the larger creature ripped off its wings, then its head.

  I gagged.

  Now it was just me and...this thing.

  “Nice doggie,” I said, keeping the kitchen island squarely between me and it, trying to buy myself time to think. Maybe if I grabbed it and slammed it against the wall enough...

  Wait—I was thinking like it was part of our plane. It wasn’t. It shouldn’t be here. So maybe that was the key—sending the not-dog back through whatever hell it’d come from. Which meant finding the rip it’d come through.

  I half faded, staying visible to keep the not-dog’s attention while still being able to sense the otherplane. Rosanna had said there was a tear—or multiple tears—and that was how the imps were getting through. And I guess the not-dog was the first larger creature from the beyond to come check out our plane—or at least the first one I’d seen. I really, really hoped there weren’t more out there staying under the radar. It was terrifying and horrible. I could go the rest of my immortal life without finding out what would venture through the planes next.

  Okay—yes, there. I could sense an anomaly in the otherplane, a wound in the skin of its existence. It was...upstairs. Closer to the front of the house.

  Wait—wasn’t that the room Evan had been passed out in?

  The not-dog sailed through my insubstantial form and crashed into the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen. I shoved the puzzle of the location aside for the moment—it was irrelevant. The point was, I co
uld sense the tear, which meant I could—hopefully—shove this unwelcome guest back through it and stitch it up.

  I started for the stairs, walking backward so I could keep an eye on the not-dog and make sure it was stalking me. It did, its steps slow and sure. It lunged at me twice more, but its lack of success didn’t seem to faze it. Once I reached the room with the tear, I faded fully into the otherplane and witnessed the tear up close and personal.

  It...pulsed, like a dark heart, inverted and perverse. Unlike when I’d banished the demon into the beyond, I didn’t have a stream of magic helping me with momentum. So I gathered up my magic and threw it at the not-dog to capture it.

  Except the not-dog tore it into pieces.

  “Goddamn it.” I reached for more magic, stronger magic, and my power responded. This time, when I grabbed the not-dog, it was from all directions at once. I yanked it into the otherplane and forced it into the tear.

  Which had grown larger?

  The not-dog’s snarls cut off as it passed through, and I breathed a sigh of relief. With metaphysical hands, I pulled the two edges of the tear together, and paused.

  What did I do? Just envision a thread sewing the edges shut? Or superglue? Or—maybe the will to close the tear was enough. I stared at the wound, still pulsing even though it was closed, and imposed my thoughts on it.

  It would close. It would heal. It wouldn’t open again.

  Slowly, so slowly, the pulsing died down, the sense of brokenness washed away, and all I could sense was a scar.

  I blew out a breath and reentered the living plane. It felt like the fight had taken hours, but the sirens and screeching of tires outside told me it had been only minutes. I wiped my brow, then froze.

  This was definitely the room where I’d found Evan. And where I’d hoisted Scott to the ceiling with my magic.

  I’d used my roided-out magic at Hudson’s.

  At the hospital.

  At the café.

  At the office too—but the office was under a protection spell Lexi had cast when we’d moved in. Coincidentally? No imps there.