Give Up the Ghost

by Jenn Burke

From our vantage point, I could barely see the bones of the building under construction across the street, thanks to the shit-ton of snow acting as a curtain. A squall had moved in while we were plotting, and though it made transportation difficult, it also ensured no one was working on the site or able to witness anything they shouldn’t witness. It was about three in the afternoon—not dark yet, but dull and gray, thanks to the storm. If we moved quickly, the revenant would be trapped in her underground lair, held in place by the diffuse sunlight sneaking through the heavy clouds.

  This is going to work.

  I kept repeating that to myself as we made our way across the street. We paused at the fence for Lexi and her mom to reach out and magically mess with any cameras, then Hudson wrenched the chain and padlock on the gate into pieces. The site itself was eerie, with the snow concealing shapes until we were only a few paces from them. I hunched my shoulders, partly from the cold trying to inch down my neck, and partly because we were breaking and entering and I was visible.

  It wasn’t natural.

  At the edge of the parking garage, we huddled into a circle. We being me, Hudson, Iskander, Evan, Lexi, Rosanna, Darrell, and—kind of surprisingly—Ben and Joelle. The four humans would form a circle with Lexi and Rosanna. A decent-sized circle, according to them. I might have agreed, if they were all witches. But they weren’t. I hoped they were a good enough facsimile to fool the magic into doing what we needed it to do.

  Hudson, Evan, and I, being the magical creatures of this crew, would be the ones trying to separate Silvia’s brooch from her grasp. And hopefully distracting her from the circle at the same time.

  This was not going to be fun.

  Complicating things was the fact that the circle had to happen within sight of Silvia. They were going to start out low-level with the magic, building up intent. Once we retrieved the brooch, they would open up the throttle and pour on all the power they could muster. But it had to happen at the instant the brooch was separate from Silvia, when the protection it offered first dropped. I didn’t understand the specific mechanics of it, but Lexi and Rosanna did, so I’d leave it to them.

  The fact remained that having the circle on-site made the situation so much riskier than if they could do the ritual back at Lexi’s. I wasn’t a fan. Added to all that was the fact that Lexi was here—with her arm in a sling and squinting as she looked around. I knew she was still in pain and I didn’t want her anywhere close to this place, but we didn’t have a choice. We needed every bit of help we could get.

  “Ready?” Lexi asked.

  “No,” I huffed out with a humorless chuckle. “Have I mentioned how much I hate this plan?”

  “Yes,” Hudson said. “But it’s the only plan.” His eyes shot me meaningful darts, and I nodded.

  The only plan. Right. Got it.

  The half-finished building’s parking garage was as dark as night. There were lights everywhere, but only a handful were on—probably so the place wasn’t completely pitch-black for safety or whatever. Our footsteps sounded loud against the concrete now that we were out of the wind and snow. It was almost as though the storm had shut off the moment we stepped into the structure. I knew that wasn’t the case, and the occasional, extra-forceful gust of wind howled through the beams above us to reiterate its existence.

  It’s quiet. Too quiet. I almost said it aloud—stupid humor was my go-to solution for nerves—but I pressed my mouth shut over the words. It was too quiet, and I didn’t want to give away our position. The structure looked weird without any parking lines or driving arrows painted on the floor. It was like a blank slate—or an arena waiting for a battle.

  We continued down. I didn’t know how many levels the parking garage had, but I knew the revenant would be on the last one—well away from any hint of the sun. There was no real way for us to sneak down there. We’d have to keep our approach as silent as possible.

  On the third level, Hudson froze. His eyes burned yellow, as did Evan’s, and his claws and fangs were fully extended. “Set up here,” he ordered Lexi. “Hellhound coming.”

  Shit.

  Before we could say or do anything else, the hellhound charged us from the shadows. Hudson intercepted it with a roar. Evan darted in to help, fangs and eyes flashing, and I hoped that this wouldn’t set him back again. I spared a glance in Lexi’s direction and she gave me a tight nod, her mouth forming the word Go.

  I stepped into the otherplane, ready to manipulate whatever energy I could in my best poltergeist impression. Exploding lights were always a good distraction, but in this case, the handicap to our team would outweigh any benefit. I was limited in what I could do in a fight, though, since I didn’t want to open any rifts here. We weren’t sure what a revenant’s capabilities were, but she’d called forth minions from beyond easily enough through the tear at Hudson’s house. I didn’t want to be the reason she increased her army.

  There was a sharp crack and a brutal whine, and the hellhound dissolved. One down, who knew how many to go.

  I rematerialized and reached out to Hudson. He had a scratch down the side of his face, but as I watched, it closed up. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” His voice was clipped, but I knew it had nothing to do with me or my question. Hudson hated killing things—even hellhounds, apparently. “She had two of those, right? So—”

  A growl reverberated from the darkness. Then another.

  And another.

  “More than two,” Evan said shakily.

  So, uh, maybe she could make her own tears through the otherplane. Shit.

  I melded back into the otherplane as more creatures emerged from the shadows. I couldn’t see them clearly—the otherplane always obscured the forms of living creatures, even if they didn’t belong to the living plane, apparently. I recognized the shape of three hellhounds, a dozen imps, and others that looked almost human, though smaller and bent, with spindly limbs. Hudson and Evan dove into the fray, their spiky and monstrous shadow forms representing their vampire selves.

  I could hardly keep track of the number of beyond creatures we fought. I used my poltergeist powers to throw imps around as hard as I could. Evan and Hudson slashed and bit their way through the bigger monsters, but for every one they defeated, it seemed two more appeared.

  One of the humanoid shadow forms jumped on Hudson and he went down. Panicked, I rejoined the living plane and grabbed the thing on top of him. I managed to pull it off—and almost recoiled in horror. It looked like a wizened old human, genderless, hairless, with filmy white eyes. Its fingernails were similar to Silvia’s—daggers rather than nails. Its mouth and nose formed a blunt snout filled with tiny, needle-like teeth. It was, frankly, terrifying.

  I wrestled with it, trying to keep those teeth from my neck. Not a brawler at the best of times, my punches were not impressive or very effective—though it hadn’t ripped my throat out yet, so I’d call that a win. Suddenly it was yanked off me, and big hands cupped its head. With a sharp snap, it went limp, and dissolved.

  Hudson stood over me. He had more scratches on his face and his coat was all but shredded. Smears of blood were visible through the tears, even in the darkness. But he was upright and his glowing eyes were focused, so I trusted that he wasn’t too badly hurt. He opened his mouth as an imp dashed between us. I grabbed it, shoved it to the ground, and, awkwardly standing, stepped on its neck. It too dissolved.

  And there were still more creatures.

  I swiped a hand over my forehead and looked over at the circle. Lexi and Rosanna were chanting competing things—the plan was for Rosanna to chant a protection spell while Lexi led the revenant-banishing spell with everyone else. So far so good. There were imps and a hellhound prowling around our witches and would-be witches, but they couldn’t get close enough to touch them.

  I sensed something big at my back and stepped into the otherplane as another hellhound lunged. And so I reente
red the fight. I lost track of time and I stopped counting the creatures we banished—not like it mattered because there were always more. It was almost like a dance—dart into the otherplane, work some poltergeist energy, dart back into the living plane, lay the smackdown on something bite-size, repeat. In the living plane, sweat dripped into my eyes. In the otherplane, my concentration and hold wavered.

  This wasn’t sustainable.

  “Mom! No!”

  I jolted back into the otherplane in time to see Rosanna fall. The protection spell fizzled and failed—and Silvia stepped out between two columns to grab Darrell by the neck.

  Oh god.

  I knew without Lexi saying it that all the energy they’d built up to use in the spell against Silvia was gone. I felt it dissipate into nothingness. Lexi was a badass, but she wasn’t hardhearted, and there was no way she could maintain her concentration with her mother lying on the ground and her dad in the clutches of a creature who could snap his neck without much effort.

  Silvia smiled, her cavernous mouth showing off her shark’s teeth. Triumph glittered in her eyes, even as the rest of the beyond creatures paused, as though waiting for a celebration or a show of her strength and victory.

  Without the spell, we were lost.

  I looked at Hudson, about fifty feet away, and caught his gaze. He shook his head and mouthed No.

  Or maybe he shouted it and I didn’t hear it over the pounding of my heart.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “Wesley, don’t—”

  I ignored him and reached into my magic. The knowledge of how to end this—end all of it—was right there, as I remembered it. It meant giving myself over to my abilities. My—my godhood. I could change reality and I would—for my friends, for my family. And yes, for the city I’d called home for eighty years. Because if Silvia walked out of this garage tonight, she would lay waste to Toronto and no one would be able to stop her.

  My magic expanded beyond my body. My body became secondary, of no importance, inconsequential. I might have shed it, or it might have dissolved, or I might have changed forms somehow—I don’t know. But it no longer constrained me.

  The veil rippled around me, weakening, and I knew I had to be quick. Without my body, my metaphysical reach cascaded out across the city. I could sense the holes I’d left—big and little—and the creatures that had sneaked through. I could sense the tear Silvia had opened up deeper within the parking structure to pull in soldiers for her army.

  When Michael had first mentioned this, I’d known it would come to pass. No matter how much I didn’t want to leave, protecting my friends and family and city was worth any cost. I hoped Hudson forgave me someday.

  With giant, invisible hands, I scooped up all the creatures of the beyond—including Silvia—and scrubbed all of us, and our footprints, from the living plane.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I sat on the porch swing and pushed it idly to and fro as I watched the sun dip below the horizon. A lone tree, way out near the edges of our land, stood in stark silhouette against the wash of colors. Coyotes yipped off to the north and I tensed as I listened. No, they were too far away to be a threat. I let out a breath and relaxed.

  It felt like it had been a long time since I’d sat here to watch the sun go down, but it couldn’t have been that long, surely. The farmstead looked the same as always. The two-story house at my back was worn and weathered, thick strips of caulking between rough-hewn logs to keep out the harsh Alberta winter. The barn, a few hundred feet to the left, matched the house in looks and was at least double the house’s width. The paddock stretching out from the barn was empty. The wind whistled around the house eaves, but other than that—and the occasional distant coyote howl—everything was quiet. Far quieter than it should be. There should be cattle lowing, chickens squawking, horses neighing, people talking. This was a working farm. Which meant I should be working too. But that didn’t feel right.

  I looked down at my hands and saw those belonging to a man, not a boy. They were as weathered as the farmstead buildings, not a boy’s fresh, smooth skin. I brought one hand to touch my cheek and scratched my nails through the stubble I found there. Not a lot, but more than I’d had at sixteen.

  Sixteen... I hadn’t been here since I was sixteen.

  This wasn’t real.

  I leaped to my feet. “Hudson!”

  Even as the second syllable of his name left my lips, I knew it was useless. He was gone—or, more accurately, I was. I’d turned the otherplane inside out—in a sense—repairing all the holes as I pulled myself through the plane into the beyond.

  Should I be surprised my beyond looked like the farmstead I’d lived on as a child? I had a lot of thoughts about this place, not all of them positive. In fact, most of them weren’t. But, on second thought, the negative memories revolved mostly around my parents and their actions. They’d kicked me off this property in 1926 and I’d never looked back. The little boy who’d played in these fields might have hoped he’d see his parents again, but the man who’d lived far longer than he ever should have understood that their abandonment was about them, not me.

  As far as I was concerned, James and Ruth Cooper ceased to be my parents when they abandoned me to a giant, unforgiving world.

  I sat back down and rocked more vehemently. The colorful sunset was serene and almost too perfect. I’d forgotten how big the sky could look on the prairies. Big enough to make me feel small and insignificant, which at various points in my life had been both reassuring and terrifying.

  That insignificance made my stomach clench now. I’d done what I’d needed to do, and this was it. This was my “reward.” No matter how much I didn’t want it, no one would listen to my pleas and arguments and wishes. Why would they? I was a speck in the greater scheme of things. Unimportant.

  They didn’t care that my heart ached like it had been snapped in two.

  I rubbed my sternum and tried to catch my breath as it hit me—hard—that I was really here. Hudson was out of my reach—at least according to Michael. Maybe Hudson was right and I shouldn’t trust him. Hell, my own past told me I shouldn’t trust him. But I kind of did.

  Part of me wanted to use my magic again and burrow my way back out of the beyond—but that would mean reintroducing the problems I’d fixed. Stuff wasn’t supposed to travel from the beyond into the living plane. Otherwise demons and shit would be roaming among humans constantly. Maybe I could attempt it, and maybe I could succeed—but what if I broke things again? I’d have to leave, and I didn’t know if I could give up Hudson twice.

  With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, unsurprised to see I was wearing a similar getup to what I’d worn on the farm as a kid—overalls, a rough cotton shirt, and work boots. There was a straw cowboy hat on the swing beside me, but I left it where it was. With the sun being almost down, I wouldn’t need the protection. I made my way toward the empty paddock and the barn, and I realized the one thing I did miss from my childhood was my horse, Sparky. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I heard a whinny from inside the barn, and I quickened my steps.

  Sure enough, there was Sparky in the second stall, his usual spot. The rest of the barn was empty, but I wondered if I seriously reminisced about the cows I used to look after—

  No, wait. “I don’t want cows,” I said to the roof. “But I could use a portal to the living plane that doesn’t mess with anything.”

  Color me shocked when one didn’t appear.

  Sparky was a warm brown quarter horse with a tiny puff of white between his eyes—his spark. I didn’t know if this was truly Sparky or a figment of my imagination, but I strode forward to greet him, anyway. He huffed and snorted the same as the real Sparky and lipped the sleeve of my shirt when I wasn’t immediately forthcoming with a carrot.

  “You’re not a horse, you’re a pig,” I said, and I heard the echo of those words over
the long decades. Leaning my forehead against my horse’s, I whispered, “God. Sparky.”

  I patted him and reached into my pocket automatically, knowing there wouldn’t be anything there...except there was. I pulled out a carrot and held it up. That had not been there when I was sitting down—I’d have felt it.

  Convenient.

  “Here you go.” I fed the carrot to Sparky and he munched it enthusiastically.

  I leaned on him for another few minutes, drawing in his warmth and life, and worked out what to do next. I supposed I could take Sparky for a ride, but it was almost dark, and seeing as he was as dead as I was (maybe?) he probably couldn’t break a leg in a gopher hole, but I didn’t want to chance it. I could explore the house and verify that my parents were not in residence. Or I could sit on the porch until the sun came up.

  The afterlife was so exciting.

  Exploring the house won out.

  I was shocked to find the interior of the house was completely modern. Light switches like what I’d grown used to over the years, but nothing like my childhood. Tile flooring in the foyer and the kitchen. No icebox—no, these were stainless steel appliances from the twenty-first century. A coffeemaker that was the twin of the one in my apartment sat on the counter. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been dreading living in a house where I had to draw water from a well until I saw the modern kitchen sink, complete with hot and cold taps.

  I pulled open the fridge and let out a sigh of thankfulness when I spotted beer in longneck bottles. Yes. That. I needed one of those. I decided exploring the rest of the house could wait, grabbed a beer, and returned to the porch swing.

  I had some thinking to do.

  * * *

  By the time I made my way upstairs toward the bedroom, I wasn’t any more clear on what I was going to do. Sitting around doing nothing sounded great for a vacation, not so much for the afterlife. Seriously, if that was what was expected of me, the beyond was going to have a very bored, very frustrated maybe-god on its hands. So either I had to find something to do—something that would give me comfort or some sort of fulfillment—or I had to find a way out of here. An escape route that didn’t depend on my magic, because I refused to risk fucking everything up again.