by Alexie Aaron
Lorna pulled Airgead around and headed back to help her partner. She saw the flash of silver as the warrior drew the blade out.
Tonia rolled off the warrior milliseconds before the spectral blade would have found its mark. She got to her feet, drawing out two salt-encrusted throwing stars and launching them at the man.
Murphy moved behind the warrior, and with one swing of his axe, he knocked the knife free of the warrior’s grasp. One of the stars had embedded itself in the spirit’s side, the other narrowly missed clipping Murphy’s shoulder.
A scream of pain reverberated through the countryside as the warrior fell.
Cid focused on the sound. All he could see were the two women. One was restraining something unseen on the ground, the other shouting orders from horseback.
Lorna repeated, “Stay still, and you will not be harmed further,” in every Native American tongue she knew. She willed the knowledge of her forebearers to come into her, and she let herself be taken over by the Great One. She hopped off of Airgead and boldly strode up to the fallen warrior.
“I am he who must be obeyed,” Lorna barked at the fallen spirit.
The spirit masquerading as One Feather opened his mouth, and black oozing smoke billowed out.
Murphy pulled Tonia away as the ooze formed into a large entity. The blackness faded into a chalky haze just before a fully-formed man dressed in a black frock coat stood before Lorna.
“Take your wind-walker ways and dine on poison,” he spat. “You have no authority over me.”
No one but Ted noticed Mia leave her body. To the others, she simply leaned back against the table and shut her eyes. She pushed upwards and sped to the hillside to assist Murphy who looked a bit pale, even for a ghost.
She arrived in time to intercept a blast of energy. It deflected off her bilocated form, causing it to just miss Lorna. He looked over at Mia and said, “You.” He smiled, his yellow teeth shining, his blackened tongue lolling out. His neck was bruised, and his head hung sideways, no longer supported by a sound spine.
Mia looked into the eyes of the hollow’s hanging man and said, “We meet again, Moriarty.” She morphed into a representation of the hag, who Mia had fought and defeated. She lifted a finger and shook it at the entity before resuming her own persona.
Tonia took advantage of the standoff, drawing out a net made of magic and tossing it over the surprised ghost.
The net closed around the spirit, moving it upwards as the fibers began to shrink. “Mia, do you recognize this spirit?” Lorna asked.
“Yes, he is the hanging man, a former minion of the hag’s from the hollow. He killed Sherry Martin.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Not that he ever gave me,” Mia answered.
“Do you want to go into the darkness without a name?” Lorna asked the ghost who was losing form the smaller the net became.
“Fuck you!” he screamed.
“Spirit who chooses forever to be known as Fuck You, the killer of Sherry Martin, I condemn you to walk the halls of the dead, neither seen by the others nor remembered by any!”
“Wait!” he screamed. “I can help you.”
Lorna nodded at Tonia who loosened her pull on the net.
“Speak,” she ordered.
“Brentwood. I can get you Brentwood,” the spirit claimed.
“Don’t believe him,” Mia warned. “He’s an agent of evil, and his lies are many.”
“You can get me Brentwood who resides in the stone house of the hollow?” Lorna asked, ignoring Mia.
“Yes.”
Lorna took her two hands and put them in front of her. She closed her fist and pulled them apart with a snap.
The net exploded as the contents disappeared.
“That was a bit premature,” Tonia complained.
“What happened?” Mia asked.
“He confirmed that Brentwood was in the middle house, the stone house. That’s all I needed.”
“He said, yes, he could get us Brentwood,” Tonia corrected. “He didn’t say he was still there.”
“Where would he go? He’s not strong enough,” Lorna argued. “You yourself said you tracked him there. The entity would not have the power to become this rider otherwise.”
“Well, he has no power now,” Tonia acknowledged.
“So he’s…” Mia began.
“He’ll never kill again,” Lorna informed her.
Chapter Eight
Murphy pointed to something at Mia feet. She looked down and saw that the grass was charred. But in the middle of the ruined patch a small plant grew. She went to touch it.
Tonia caught her hand and drew her gently away warning, “Leave it alone.”
The plant continued to grow, and as it pushed upwards, dark green waxy leaves unfurled. Buds of blue flowers plumped as the plant quickly reached maturity. One flower bud opened, and as the petals formed, a mist moved out and away from the plant and hovered over them.
Tonia whistled and Airgead ran off and returned with One Feather’s bay. The mist thickened into the warrior Mia had seen ride every day. One Feather looked at the strange looking women and was confused. When Murphy stepped up, axe in hand, the warrior in him came out. One Feather stood his ground, his body tensing, waiting for Murphy to make the first move.
Lorna spoke to him first in Fox and then in Algonquin. He seemed to understand, although a deep sadness descended over him.
“What did she tell him?” Mia asked Tonia.
“Lorna explained to the warrior that his people are gone.”
Lorna spoke again, her hands moving around her.
“She is offering him a place with her ancestors,” Tonia explained.
One Feather nodded slowly, accepting Lorna’s offer. He got on his bay and followed her back down the rise. They turned around and began to race their horses towards them. Murphy pulled Mia out of the way, and as One Feather passed them, he lifted his body away from the neck of the bay. He became one with the horse, and at that moment he and his horse disappeared.
~
Mia returned to her body. She opened her eyes and sat up straight. She felt the gentle pressure of Ted’s hand upon her shoulder. She looked up at her husband, connecting with his concerned eyes.
“A little heads-up would be appreciated,” he said softly.
Mia felt bad and nodded. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“I don’t need an explanation, just a heads-up. How can I protect you if I’m out of the loop?”
“Leave the girl be,” Alessandro advised. “She feels bad enough.”
“No, he’s right,” Mia defended. “I acted without thinking. Bad habits learned when I was alone and stupid.”
“Now you’re just stupid,” Mike teased.
“It’s the people I hang with that make me stupid,” Mia volleyed back at him.
“Duly noted, and in complete agreement,” Mike conceded. “Tell us what went on up there? Talk fast or Burt’s headed for the roof and certain death.”
Mia looked around. Burt had a fixed look of irritation on his face.
Mia filled in what she and Father Alessandro saw from their perch on the picnic table. “When it looked to me that Murphy was uncomfortable with the situation, I decided to go up and take a look for myself. I didn’t expect to get involved but managed to get between Lorna and my old friend, the hanging jerk.”
“You’re kidding. I thought he disappeared with the hag,” Burt said.
“You’re not the only one. If I would have known he survived, I would have blown up all three houses.”
“He’s that dangerous?” Mike asked.
“He’s a dream-weaver. He pulls your most secret desires out of your head and makes them seem real. He used Sherry Martin’s dream of being a lauded artist to lure her into the situation where she hung herself. Plus, he’s a jerk.”
“What happened?” Mike asked.
“I got his attention long enough for Tonia to toss some kind of net over him. She
pulled back, and as the net closed, the jerk lost power. He tried to make a deal with Lorna - I think it was Lorna, either her or the entity that surrounds her like a cloak,” Mia tried to explain. “Anyway, she tricked him into giving her the information she needed. She then collapsed the net, and he was gone. Forever, I assume.”
“Well that’s good news,” Burt said, wiping his sweating hands on his pant legs. “I didn’t like the idea of that asshole on the loose.”
“There’s more,” Mia said.
“Go on,” Ted urged.
“One Feather appeared again…” Mia told them and went on to describe the beautiful bloom from which his trapped soul emerged.
“Whoa, I don’t understand,” Ted interrupted. “I thought One Feather’s ride was an echo, a residual haunt.”
“It was, but when the dream-weaver interfered with it, he was pulled back from his hunting grounds,” Mia explained. “He was forced to house the jerk in his spirit body.”
“And…” Mike pleaded, “What happened?”
“Lorna, spoke to him. She told him of the fate of his village and offered him a place next to her ancestors. He accepted her offer. She brought his horse to him, and the two of them rode west. He disappeared. It was beautiful to see.”
“That’s amazing,” Father Alessandro said, impressed. “I assume Ms. Grainger didn’t follow him.”
“She turned her Arabian and trotted back to us. She said she would explain more fully when we all meet again. Murph was giving me the high sign and we left. I think he’s worried about Tonia and her spirit trap.”
“Poor soul, there’s me and my bag of tricks, and now there is a spirit tracker with a whole new set of dangers he needs to keep away from,” Father Alessandro sympathized.
“Could you see me?” Mia asked the priest.
“You were moving too fast,” he explained. “All I saw was a Mia-sized blur.”
“I wish I could have seen more. All I saw was Tonia jump from the white horse and roll around on the ground,” Mike complained.
“I was fighting an Indian, not rolling around on the ground,” Tonia said as she approached, leading her horse along the path out of the woods.
“Native American, Ton,” Lorna corrected, following her on the pathway.
“You are too sensitive, Grainger,” Tonia complained.
“Wait,” Ted said. He turned to Lorna. “You call Ms. Toh, Ton?”
“Sure. Why? Is there a problem?” Lorna asked, curious.
“Let me get this straight. We just watched Ton Toh ride on the back of Lorna Grainger’s horse and jump off of it and tackle an Ind… Native American.”
Mike’s face struggled to hold his composure. Burt turned around, and his shoulders heaved with the suppressed laughter.
“You ride a horse named Airgead which is the color silver in Gaelic,” Ted pointed out.
Lorna looked puzzled. “Where are you going with this, Mr. Martin?”
“Come on, isn’t it obvious? You’re the Lone Ranger and she’s Tonto,” Ted said, pleased with himself.
Tonia laughed.
Lorna said gruffly, “Ton, stop it. You’re encouraging him.” She turned back to Ted and said, “I assure you, I’m no more the Lone Ranger than you are…”
“Batman,” Ted filled in.
Mia rolled her eyes.
“I used to listen to the Lone Ranger on the radio when I was a kid,” Father Alessandro said. “I’d take it as a compliment, young lady.”
Lorna shut her mouth and got on her horse. She rode off. Tonia took her time mounting her horse. Once she was seated, she admitted, “That’s why I named her horse Airgead. And no, my horse isn’t named Scout. It’s White Fellow,” she said and clicked her tongue and rode off, following the dust trail Lorna and Airgead left.
“I’d like to be a fly on the wall when those two next talk,” Burt said amused.
“I’d just like to be there, fly or no fly. I’d rather be one of the horses…”
“Mike!” Mia scolded. “There’s a man of God sitting here.”
“Sorry, Father,” Mike said chastised.
“No problem, son. Ah, to be a white horse…” Alessandro said and sighed.
Murphy listened in from his hiding place on the other side of the woodpile. He didn’t feel like celebrating with the team. He worried about what could possibly pull a ghost from his reward back into the world and enslave him. He didn’t like the ghost that tortured Mia and killed Sherry, but he felt sorry for him. The death described by Lorna was too horrible to contemplate. To walk the halls of the dead alone, forever alone, wasn’t his idea of a great way to spend eternity.
And then there was the spirit trap. The net Tonia tossed so casually. He saw the pain that seared through the entity, causing it to lose form. What would have happened if she tossed it his way? It was bad enough when Mia accidently shot him with rock salt. He survived that, but he knew that the net was a one way trip. He would have to stay away from Tonia Toh in the future.
“I told you he was in the stone house,” Tonia said as they cooled down the horses. She picked up a brush and asked, “So what’s next?”
“We need to get in that house,” Lorna said simply.
“There’s a skin-walker in the house,” she warned. “WE saw it when we followed the ghost flower inside. I didn’t want to alarm the others, but Mrs. Blackwell has embraced the dogma and has become a skin-walker.”
“Nonsense, skin-walkers are Navaho. There are no skin-walkers this side of the Mississippi.”
“Do you think the evil magic of the skin-walker is First People only? Anyone with hate enough to kill their kin can become a skin-walker.”
Lorna put her head on Airgead in frustration. “Couldn’t it have just been a demon?”
“Don’t worry, there’s a demon there too. Mia saw it standing in the doorway leading to the cellar steps. Besides, you’ve got deer-woman genes, Lorna. The skin-walker doesn’t stand a chance.”
“You have a lot of faith in my abilities, Ton.”
“Tonto always believed in the Lone Ranger. That’s why he was so amazing,” Tonia said.
“About that…”
~
Margaret Mary, M&Ms to the pediatric patients, had been a nurse since she completed her coursework as a young woman. She’d seen the rise and fall of several healthcare conglomerates. She had bore up under the weight of supposed labor saving devices and managed the advent of the computer age with grace and dignity. Margaret had seen young interns turn into great doctors and others quit under the pressure of no sleep. She’d seen just about everything that could go on in a hospital setting and managed not to have nightmares at night. She learned to leave the patients in the care of the next shift in order to have a life outside of the hospital.
Leaving her concerns at the hospital door was probably the hardest part for a caring nurse. Margaret Mary wasn’t a devout Catholic anymore - a divorce had formed a chasm between her and her religion - but she still felt that her faith in a higher power had saved her sanity in this regard. She never left the hospital without first stepping in the chapel and having a conversation with God. When she left the small, cozy room and exited the hospital, she left with the knowledge that she had put her patients in the best possible hands.
This morning her arthritic shoulder was bothering her. It usually was a portent of rain on the horizon, but today’s ache was a leftover from the transfer of a tall, heavy patient from the emergency room. The transport help neglected to take in the height of the man when they lifted him from the gurney to the bed. Unconscious, the patient’s arm flailed around, catching the edge of the spirometer and sending it hard into Margaret’s right shoulder while she valiantly kept the IVed arm stable. Doctor Walters checked her out and warned her that she would be sporting quite a bruise in the morning. That was an understatement.
She walked into the man’s room and glanced over at the window. This room was rumored to have the spirit of a nursing sister in it. Mia Martin vowed tha
t the sainted nun had helped her and her coworker Burt in their time of need. Margaret had seen many things that couldn’t be explained in her years at the hospital; a ghostly nurse wasn’t that far out of the ballpark. She nodded in the direction she had seen Mia and Burt look and said, “Sister, we’re in for a time of it. ER is sending up Thaddeus Maynard the Third. He’d been driving his Mercedes under the influence and met with a stubborn tree. Evidently it, along with an acre of parkland, jumped in front of his car.”
Margaret stopped making up the bed and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not getting any younger, just more devastatingly beautiful. Yes, I know vanity is a sin, Sister, but a girl’s got to have something.” Margaret felt a warm hand on the back of her shoulder. She turned around, but no one was there. She smiled, imagining that, yes, the nun was real and was providing her comfort. “Thank you, dear, that feels much better.”
Margaret finished her prep and left the room to check on her other patients.
Sister Agnes watched Margaret Mary leave and anticipated the arrival of this Thaddeus Maynard. If he was being plagued by the drink, then he would be needing comfort while he worked his way through the DTs. Agnes had seen it all in her tenure as a nursing sister. Drunks, attempted suicides and recovering adventurers had found their way into her private room. A few were able to see her, and for this she was grateful, but she didn’t mind being an unseen force of comfort. The concealment of the veil between worlds gave her the opportunity to observe the patient as no other nurse could. She saw the tears the bravest of patients hid from the others. She saw the fear and was able to lend a comforting hand to dispel the horror of waking up in an unfamiliar place.
She watched as they brought in Thaddeus. The man was younger than Agnes expected. Normally, anyone bearing the title the Third was pushing seventy. This man was thirty-five tops. His brow bore no worry lines, and even in his state of unconsciousness, Agnes could see that this man had wanted for nothing. “So why have you taken to the drink?” she asked him.