The Book of the Ghost

by Eric Asher

“I didn’t have to get very old to discover that,” Vicky muttered.

  The innkeeper looked around the group. “Rest here. The rooms are vacant on the third floor. I have guests on the second, but they won’t bother you so long as you don’t bother them. I need to ponder this. I’m not sure I’ve fully considered all of the repercussions if we go through with Damian’s … plan.”

  “Ask Zola,” Vicky said.

  “This is somewhat beyond even Zola’s skills,” the innkeeper said.

  “But it’s Damian. She’s his master, his mentor. She’s family. Ask her.”

  The innkeeper drummed her fingernails on the table.

  “We don’t have time to stay here,” Drake said.

  The innkeeper didn’t even hesitate when she saw her opportunity. “Rest here for a few hours and I’ll promise to contact Zola.”

  Drake’s mouth hung open for a second before it snapped shut. He narrowed his eyes and put an impressive amount of irritation into a single sharp nod.

  Vicky frowned, ground her teeth, and then agreed. “Fine.”

  “It is good you are staying,” Stump said. “There are a few who would like to meet you. If you would come outside, to the back, I would introduce you before you rest.”

  “Go,” the innkeeper said. “I’ll clean up.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Terrence said.

  The innkeeper placed a hand over her heart. “A guest with manners. It’s been so long.”

  Vicky laughed and dragged Drake up out of his chair, much to his protests. She quickly stuffed the hand of Gaia back into the backpack before hanging it on the back of the chair. She pulled Drake down the hall and out the side door onto the deck that wrapped around the house.

  Vicky stepped out into the yard beside Stump. As tall as he was, the green man was almost dwarfed by the companion at his side.

  Stump gestured to the second green man. “This is Whip. Whip thought of taking another name, such as that the commoners have given, but a name like Weeping, or Willow didn’t have the same undertones that we have come to favor in our names.”

  “I can feel the goddess through her,” Whip said. This green man’s features were more delicate, almost feminine, and the more Whip spoke, Vicky realized she was just that. “We’ve always been able the sense the presence of the goddess here. I am sure you know why. But it is more like an echo, a thing nearly forgotten. But through you, the goddess pulses. I have only felt the like one other time.”

  Stump’s agreement was like the rumble of thunder. “Only in Damian. And there is great irony there. That a deathspeaker would be so bound to our goddess.”

  It was then Vicky realized Whip wasn’t the only green man standing in the backyard. Other trunks moved, and dark eyes opened and closed in the bark. Subtle movements, the kind a commoner might miss, or write off as a breeze. Vicky made out at least two more figures, but there could have been more. A crooked and twisted old trunk walked beneath the hanging branches of Whip. The green man leaned on a kind of cane formed from an ancient black wood. He came to rest with one bark-laden hand on top of the other, his weight borne by the cane.

  “I have seen this light before,” the old green man said.

  “Who are you?” Vicky asked.

  But before she finished asking the question, Drake had stepped up beside her. It looked like a casual move, but she didn’t miss how close his hand had come to the hilt of his sword. Drake felt threatened, or thought she was threatened, but Vicky didn’t sense it at all.

  “I have no mortal name,” the old green man said.

  “We call him Stub,” Stump said.

  “I do not answer to that name,” Stub said.

  “Stub?” Vicky said, perplexed by the word. Stump kind of made sense. Whip was incredibly obvious. “Why Stub?”

  “It is short for Stubborn,” Stump said. “For he is stubborn as one of the great trees far to the northwest. So his own stubbornness gave us the idea to call him Stubborn. But he complained that the name was too long, so we shortened it.”

  “That’s … unfortunate.” Vicky’s eyebrow rose a little higher. “Why don’t you just name him after those trees? You’re talking about sequoias right?”

  The old green man cocked his head to the side.

  “Should’ve named him Ironic,” the innkeeper said, settling into a chair on the back deck.

  Whip’s expression drew up into a smile, and Vicky was already starting to like the only female green man she’d ever met.

  Sequoia watched the innkeeper for a moment before saying, “I’ve seen this power before. Do you know where?” His eyes swept down to Drake. “It was in your master. It ran through the Mad King after he murdered our goddess.”

  Drake shifted his weight, his wings tensing up in a flash.

  “Do not!” the innkeeper snapped. She was on her feet in an instant. “Neither of you attack. These are old wounds. You must not let them divide us now.”

  A glint of moonlight showed on the blade of Drake’s sword where he’d already drawn it halfway out of the sheath. But it wasn’t the only weapon that had come into play. Sequoia stood with something like a mace his hands. Four vines came down and tied into heavy-looking blocks of wood. Six spines shot through the bark, and Vicky had little doubt of how much damage one blow from Sequoia’s mace could do.

  “Sometimes old scores don’t need to be settled,” Drake said. He hesitated and then slammed his sword back into its sheath.

  Sequoia inclined his head slightly, his brows drawing together in a plain expression of anger. His hands flexed, and the mace-like weapon vanished into the gnarled wood of his arms.

  “I will tie every last one of you up,” Whip said. “Behave yourselves. You act as impulsive as the commoners.”

  Sequoia blew out a disgusted breath. He raised a hand to his forehead, and muttered, “Maybe I am losing my mind. Or perhaps I have a better perspective of how bad things are for our people.”

  “You have my allegiance,” Drake said. “If my word is good enough, then understand that my bond with this child aligns our goals.”

  “I’m not a child,” Vicky said, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice.

  “I am but a child,” Stump said, “when compared to the age of Sequoia.”

  The older green men inclined his head. “So be it. We can settle our differences at some other date. If we all survive what’s coming.”

  The innkeeper slapped the arms of her chair. “Your rooms are ready. Vicky, you can have the Nile. You’re welcome to take the opposite room, Drake. Or you can stay down here on the couch if you’d prefer.”

  Drake hesitated. “Can my dragon enter your home?”

  “She’s already taken to one of the rooms. You’ll find her waiting for you.”

  “Go in peace,” Whip said. “Until peace would put your loved ones at risk.”

  They said good night to the green men, and Vicky headed back inside Rivercene, wondering if she’d be able to sleep before she heard Zola’s thoughts on Damian’s plan.

  But restless thoughts weren’t the only thing wandering the halls of Rivercene.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Vicky took the rear staircase. She slid past the old piano and up a few creaky steps to the second floor. She circled the banister and eyed an old quilt framed on the wall before hurrying up the stairs to the third floor. To call those stairs narrow would be an understatement. She could hardly believe Damian would be able to fit his gangly feet on them. Even with one hand on the banister, she didn’t have to raise her arm far to reach the other wall.

  Something clicked nearby in the house, like a door closing, but with the strange acoustics, Vicky couldn’t identify where it came from. She frowned and looked around for Terrence, only to find that she couldn’t see the ghost. “Are you still there, Terrence?”

  She heard footsteps on the stairs she’d just come from, but no one was there. As she watched, a shadowy form resolved at the bottom step. It was Terrence, but he was mor
e transparent than she’d seen him before.

  Vicky frowned at the ghost. “What happened?”

  “The house is warded,” Terrence said. “I think if I stay close to you it doesn’t have as heavy effect on me. Or maybe it was because we came from the Abyss?”

  “You’ll be okay?”

  Terrence studied the hallway. “Innkeeper said it’s safe. I must admit I’ve never seen a wardstone before. The innkeeper’s full of stories. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  Vicky nodded and continued down the hall. She turned to the left, and at the far end beneath the window she could see an overstuffed bookshelf. Each of the rooms had a little nameplate by it. She could make out the details of some of the couches and recliners as she neared the reading nook. She found the Nile room near the end.

  As soon as she reached for the knob, the lock clicked and the door swung open. A deep blue paint and exposed brick work framed by carefully sanded wood greeted her. A shiny brass bedframe stood out in the dim light, and an ancient wardrobe flanked her by the door. Beyond that was a small table with leaves folded down so it was barely two feet wide. Vicky passed it, running a hand along the aged wood before she poked her head into the bathroom. A giant whirlpool tub waited, and an old pedestal sink sat beside it by the toilet.

  As tempting as a bath was, the bed was more enticing. Vicky chose to rinse her face and arms in the sink and call it a night. A good measure of dirt and blood came off her face, and she frowned at the stains she left behind on the innkeeper’s towels.

  Considering who the innkeeper tended to have as guests, Vicky figured she’d have an effective stain remover. Vicky made her way back to the bed, slid her phone out of her pocket, and flopped onto her back. She picked up an old book from the nightstand.

  Vicky wasn’t sure exactly how long she managed to stay awake reading about pirates and privateers, but she knew it hadn’t been long. The battle had worn her down, and the thought of things to come made sleep fleeting. But it was the thundering knock at her door that startled her awake.

  As soon as her eyes opened, and she slid the book to the side, only silence remained. The knock sounded again, but this time it didn’t seem so loud. This time it was followed by a small voice that asked, “Are you awake?”

  Vicky yawned and padded over to the door. She reached for the handle, the lock clicked, and she pulled the door open. Vicky came face to face with a death bat. Which seemed an odd name for the cute upside-down stubby-nosed pale puffball frowning at her.

  “You’re not Damian,” the death bat said.

  A small smile crawled across Vicky’s face. “Luna.” Vicky had heard stories from Zola about the fluffy white murder machine.

  The bat cocked her head and then dropped from the ceiling. She landed in near silence when her feet touched the floor. “I thought I heard the innkeeper say Damian was here.”

  “Damian’s … in trouble,” Vicky said. As silly as she felt hiding a hard truth from a creature called a death bat, she couldn’t come right out and tell Luna how much trouble Damian was in. But that didn’t feel right. It felt like a knot tightening in her chest as she remembered some of the things that Damian himself had kept from Vicky. Memory after memory came back to her from the moment she made up her mind not to tell the death bat. The truth about what happened to her, her rebirth, the separation from the Destroyer, everything right down to the bond she now shared with him and Sam.

  “What happened?” Luna asked, her eyes widening.

  Vicky’s resolution cracked. “Come on in. You deserve to know.”

  Luna’s ears twitched back and forth and she wrung her clawed hands together before she bobbed her head and followed Vicky into the Nile room.

  Vicky had heard the tales about Luna, and the contribution she’d made to the battle at Meramec Caverns against the dark-touched. But the thought of this little puffball killing anything, much less a dark-touched vampire, was almost impossible to reconcile in her mind. Vicky wondered if that’s how people thought of her. They saw the child, the teenager, and her potential. But her threat? That they were blind to.

  “What’s happened to him?” Luna asked.

  Vicky took a deep breath, and she let the story flow. She didn’t hide the details from Luna, not even after the death bat winced, or turned away. She clicked her claws together as Vicky told her of the fight in Falias, and the confrontation with Hern, and how they’d lost Damian.

  “But there’s still hope?”

  Hope. It was nice to think there was always hope, but sometimes that was hard to remember when the darkness had its claws around your throat. But Vicky didn’t say that aloud. Instead, she only nodded.

  The door clicked open and Vicky frowned at the empty hall. Jasper rolled in, his gray fur surging and stretching as he bounced up onto the table and looked up at Luna. She reached a hand out to the reaper, and Jasper purred when she scratched him between the eyes.

  “He needs Camazotz,” Luna said. “Camazotz can beat anyone.”

  But that wasn’t entirely true, Vicky knew. Camazotz had almost died in one of the battles with the harbinger at Greenville.

  “He’s done enough,” Vicky said. “You’ve lost enough of your brothers and sisters. He’s right to protect them.”

  A wry grin lifted the corner of Luna’s mouth. “You don’t know where he’s at, do you?”

  Vicky frowned at the bat. “Why?”

  “He’s fighting the dark-touched beside Hugh in Kansas City.” Luna shook her head. “Werewolves and the death bats of Camazotz side by side.”

  “Why now?” Vicky asked. “Why is he there?”

  “Almost the entire Kansas City pack was destroyed by the dark-touched. He’s been taking care of the stragglers, and trying to keep the dark-touched away from what’s left.”

  What’s left, not who’s left. Vicky frowned at the words. “And what is left?”

  Luna shrugged. “They don’t tell me everything. All I know is it’s important. And apparently powerful enough that Camazotz thought it was worth the risk.” She scratched at Jasper and the furball trilled. “Camazotz forbade me to join them, so I came here. I like it here. The innkeeper is nice, and it’s … peaceful. Like when the death bats find a remote home, where everything leaves us alone. I thought we might have that in Greenville. But we didn’t.”

  Luna’s smile slowly fell. “And now Damian? I like him.”

  “Me too.”

  Vicky ruffled Jasper’s fur and a decision solidified in her mind. “Have you ever walked through the Abyss?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Vicky and Luna made their way downstairs a short time later. Vicky felt a bond to the young death bat, a shared struggle both in what they’d survived, and in how their peers still perceived them.

  “But I’m telling you,” Luna said. “If you ever get to Kansas City, there’s this little place called RJ’s Bob-Be-Que Shack. You’ve never had anything like it.”

  Vicky grinned as their footsteps echoed down the stairs. “I can see why you got along with Damian.”

  “I’ve heard the stories,” Luna said. “He’s a bottomless pit.”

  “Just wait until his metabolism stops working,” Vicky said. “He’s gonna be like a house!”

  Luna laughed.

  But that might not happen. For all she knew, Damian might not live through the night, and she might not either.

  They walked in silence for a while, Vicky catching hints of gray shadows at the edge of her vision. But nothing resolved, nothing solidified. A small haze of dim orbs flickered by an old wheelchair, weaving themselves between the old wicker back. The sight settled on Vicky like a weight, the fact she might never see her parents grow old enough to need that kind of care, or to kick Damian’s ass hard enough that he needed to live in one for a few months.

  Their footsteps fell heavier, and a moment later Luna’s claws caught her arm.

  “It’ll be okay,” Luna said. “I promise.”

  No one could promise s
omething like that. Vicky looked back at the young death bat, and she knew she wasn’t hiding the sadness in her eyes. She knew it was plain to see, but she was still alive, and as long as she drew breath, she wouldn’t sit idly by.

  Luna cocked her head to the side. She looked down the grand staircase and frowned. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “On the TV. They’re talking about Falias. Come on!”

  Luna hopped into the air and spread her arms. There was enough resistance she glided gently to land in front of the front door. She vanished into the great room before Vicky had even made it halfway down the stairs. Luna’s hearing was clearly infinitely better than Vicky’s own. It wasn’t until she reached the bottom that she heard the whisper of the television.

  She made her way around the corner and saw the old television set flashing in the corner with the innkeeper and Terrence sitting in front of it. The spires of Falias filled the screen while banners of stock exchanges Vicky cared nothing about lined up across the bottom. But as the camera panned, and she saw the massive silhouette of the colossus etched against the glowing lights of Falias, her stomach sank.

  “Luna! Luna?” the innkeeper asked. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I thought I heard you say Damian was here. But that’s …” She trailed off and stared at the television. She pointed at the colossus. “Is that Damian?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Terrence said. He turned toward Vicky and Luna, and much to his credit, he stifled a bark of surprise. “You’re like the bats from Greenville? The ones who tried to help Dirge?”

  Luna nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes off the television.

  The innkeeper groaned. “Luna, Terrence, Terrence, Luna. Terrence is friends with Dirge, the old forest god who the lives in Greenville.”

  The reporter on the screen brought the conversation in the room to a halt. “You heard it here first. The Fae king’s monster will begin executing prisoners at dawn. Spies from the terrorist organization known as the Obsidian Inn will, and I quote, face justice at the hands of their executioner.”