Spirits of Ash and Foam

by Greg Weisman

  Rain tucked her hair behind her ears and turned to look at the afternoon sun, sinking slowly toward its nightly resting place beneath the western sea. She wished the fiery ball would simply drop down with a splash and bring on the night, so that ’Bastian would appear. He knew these islands better than anyone. And he knows all the old names …

  Then she remembered: it wasn’t “Punta” that sounded familiar; it was “Majagua.”’Bastian had told her last week that the precorporate name for Sycorax Island had been Isla Majagua. So if there was a Punta Majagua, then Sycorax was where it would be.

  Almost embarrassed for not knowing the privatized Sycorax as well as she knew San Próspero, Malas Almas or Ile de la Géante, she turned to Miranda and said, “Do you know where Punta Majagua is?”

  Miranda lowered her binoculars and nodded. “Sure. So do you. It’s Witch’s Finger.”

  Witch’s Finger! Of course! Aycayia was First Witch! And every local knew the little peninsula on the northwest end of Sycorax Island looked like the crooked finger of a witch pointing toward the setting sun. “That’s where we need to go!” she shouted. “That’s where they’ll be!”

  Ariel’s head turned a few degrees—not enough to look back at Rain, but enough to acknowledge her words. Then the pilot turned toward Miranda, and a single eyebrow was raised a centimeter in question. Miranda looked from Rain to Charlie and back to Rain. Then Miranda swallowed hard, bit her lip and nodded to Ariel, who immediately put them on a northwest heading, accelerating with the wind at their backs.

  Now Rain’s untamed black mane was blowing across her face and over the binoculars. She’d tuck it behind her ears, and it would be back in her eyes before she could raise the binoculars. She was about ready to scream when Miranda appeared at her shoulder, saying, “Do you want me to braid that?”

  “Oh, yes! Please!”

  Miranda immediately set to work, her fingers nimbly intertwining three long strands of Rain’s hair almost as quickly as Rain could—on a normal day—do it herself. “It’s so thick!” Miranda said.

  “I know. It’s such a pain.”

  “No, I mean it’s gorgeous, Rain. I wish I had hair like this.”

  By the time the speedboat was hugging the southern coast of Sycorax and about to come around behind it, Miranda had tied off the end of the braid with the rubber band Rain had worn on her wrist since failing to make her hair behave that morning. It wasn’t quite the tight black rope she usually created for herself, but it was a big improvement over the Medusa thing she had been dealing with all day. Rain breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thanks, Miranda, you’re a lifesaver.”

  Miranda beamed, and Rain shot a look at Charlie, as if to say, Why don’t you ever braid my hair?

  Fortunately, that’s when Charlie demonstrated alternate talents. “There!” he shouted, lowering his binoculars and pointing. Dolphins breached the surface in front of them, one after another, as if leading them on procession. Not just any dolphins, either. Rain was sure this was the manatee’s pod—Aycayia’s Sisters, the Kimlets’ Aunties—even before she spotted one of them with Alonso’s camera strap between its teeth.

  Two of the Aunties teased Rain, tossing the camera back and forth between them. Rain only smiled. She felt certain that—intentionally or otherwise—they were leading the speedboat toward their pups. Toward Michael, John and Wendy. She stepped up behind Ariel and said, “Follow those dolphins!”

  This time, and despite the apparent downright silliness of the request, Ariel didn’t acknowledge Rain at all but instead maintained a steely eye on the marine mammals, pursuing them around the lower lip of Sycorax’s Back Bay, bringing Punta Majagua—the Witch’s Finger—into view.

  Rain instantly saw Back Bay wasn’t empty. A lone but familiar cabin cruiser was anchored just offshore. Stunned—but feeling less surprised than furious—Rain took a few steps back until she was even with Charlie. She whispered in his ear, “It’s the Bootstrap.” They both turned their binoculars toward the deck of the cruiser and saw Callahan using his own binoculars to look straight back at them. That’s why he was heading north out of the harbor, Rain thought, to come here! She still didn’t understand all the connections. Did Callahan have something to do with the Kimlets’ disappearance? With Aycayia? Is all this linked to the zemi somehow? She had no answers, and she didn’t like that Mr. Attack-of-the-Killer-Tourist himself was in the vicinity generating questions.

  Callahan wasn’t happy either. Those two bloody kids are everywhere! And this time they’ve brought witnesses. He especially didn’t like the looks of the blonde at the wheel of the approaching speedboat. He was still enough of a soldier to recognize the quality of a warrior in someone else—even at this distance. He’d rather not mess with her, with them, even in the dim light of the setting sun. If they stayed clear of him, fine. He’d let them go about their business. If they interfered—with him, his boat, or his search for the second zemi—he’d wait for dark and end them once and for all. He mentally settled in to see what happened next.

  On her own initiative, Ariel reduced speed and cut the engine. The dolphins began circling the speedboat. Still there was no sign of the pups or the manatee. Rain caught Miranda’s eye. “Is there diving equipment aboard?”

  Miranda shook her head. “No, but we have enough back home for all of us. I guess we could head back around the island and bring it here.” The idea of another dive did not excite her.

  Rain wasn’t thrilled either, though for different reasons. She didn’t want to leave and come back. She couldn’t be sure the dolphins would still be here. Instead, she was taking off her sneakers, getting ready to hit the water without equipment, when the sun finally set and in the low light of dusk ’Bastian materialized from out of the zemi.

  The instant he saw her, he said, “Rain, I’ve got news.”

  “Did you find the Kimlets?”

  Charlie groaned audibly as he watched his friend converse with her invisible grandfather, and as he watched Miranda and even Ariel stare at Rain addressing empty space.

  “No, no,”’Bastian said, “but I ran into the ghost of the man who died on Sycorax. He calls himself Cash. He followed me back to the Nitaino, but it was dawn before…” He paused, looking around. “Say, where are we? Is that Witch’s Finger?”

  Rain pointed toward the dolphins, circling the boat like would-be sharks. “We’re on the trail of the Kim kids. That’s the manatee’s pod. Her Sisters.”

  “The ones who took Alonso’s camera?”

  “Yeah, that, too. We were hoping they’d lead us to Wendy, John and Michael…” She quickly brought him up to speed.

  Miranda inched closer to Charlie and asked, “Is she okay?”

  “She’s just thinking aloud. I do it all the time. Like right now. I’m thinking howweird this looks!”

  But it wasn’t Charlie’s outburst that interrupted Rain and ’Bastian’s conversation. It was the sudden downpour. All eyes looked toward heaven. Right up until sundown, the sky had been cloudless and clear. Where had this rain come from?

  And not just rain. The wind was rising, blowing heavy drops into their faces. The temperature was falling rapidly, and all three teens—and even ’Bastian—struggled to suppress chills. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming in and coming in fast.

  ’Bastian scanned the skies, but Rain saw her first. It was Hurricane Julia herself, forming out of the wind and rain: her hair, a mantle of dark clouds; her eyes, the flashing lightning; her voice, the rumbling thunder. “There,” Rain whispered.

  ’Bastian nodded. He saw her. The creature that had killed his B-17 crew nearly seventy years previous. The Dark Man’s eyes narrowed.

  Even Charlie grokked that Julia had returned. He couldn’t see her spirit, but he recognized the locus of storm that he had helped Rain shoot out of the sky just over a week ago.

  Aycayia, Callahan, Julia. It was as if all their nightmares were having a party.

  The seas were high now, and the boat was ro
cking badly. Water washed onto the deck from wind-driven waves, and the rain came down at them like pellets. Miranda was again starting to freak a little. “I’ve never seen a storm come up so fast,” she said, screaming slightly to be heard over the wind and not-so-distant thunder.

  Charlie growled, “It’s getting to be a habit around here.” That only confused Miranda more.

  Ariel didn’t seem to be listening. She was making calculations. In the end, the equation was simple. There wasn’t much chance of finding the three lost kids behind Sycorax anyway—and certainly not in this storm. So there was little benefit in putting the boss’ daughter and her friends at risk. She fired up the engine and turned the boat around, heading for home and away from the storm.

  Rain instantly protested, “Wait! We can’t go!”

  Ariel ignored her.

  Miranda felt the need to make excuses for Ariel; she pled the obvious to little effect.

  “But the kids,” Rain said, “I know they’re close.”

  “You can’t save them if you drown at sea, Raindrop,”’Bastian said sternly; he was starting to admire this Ariel more and more.

  Aboard the anchored Bootstrap, Callahan was battening down the hatches. He ran a big hand through his soaked blond hair. Another bloody monsoon! ’Struth, it’s like those damn kids bring the bad weather! As if I needed another excuse to put ’em out of my misery!

  Rain was feeling desperate. She was aft, watching the dolphins, who remained behind, within view of Punta Majagua. There might never be another chance. She seemed literally on the verge of jumping off the back of the boat when Charlie grabbed her right arm and ’Bastian grabbed her left by wrapping his ghostly hand around her armband.

  “No!” they both declared in another moment of bizarre masculine unison, which was becoming all too common for Rain’s tastes.

  “Well, we’ve got to do something!” she shouted. A frantic epiphany found her sliding the zemi down her wet, slippery arm and holding it out to ’Bastian. Charlie glanced behind them to make sure his own body was blocking Miranda’s view. “Take it!” Rain hissed. “Take it and search Witch’s Finger. On it. Around it. I’m not sure. But I know Aycayia and the Kimlets are here somewhere.”

  ’Bastian hesitated. “Even if I find them, what do you expect me to do? Rescuing them may be beyond me. They can’t see or hear me, and I can’t touch them. And, you know, they’re dolphins!”

  “Then just find them and report back. I’ll figure the rest out … somehow.”

  “You know, we’re a long way from the Inn. I might not make it back before sunrise.”

  “Do what you have to do, Papa. But we have to get those kids back to their parents. We just have to.”

  A few long seconds passed. Finally, the Dark Man nodded and took the armband from Rain’s hand, slipping it onto his wrist. Then, with a little concentration, he allowed the boat to continue on without him.

  Rain watched as his receding, glowing white form floated above the churning seas … and then sank down beneath the waves. She said a silent prayer and leaned her head against Charlie’s shoulder. In the pouring rain, it was hard to tell whether or not she was crying.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  DEAD AS A DOORMAN

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16

  Where the hell do I go? At sunset, the Pale Tourist had materialized in the lobby of the Nitaino Inn. This was where the other ghost, that Bohique kid, had left him before heading upstairs to get the girl, the girl who could supposedly talk to the dead. The dead like me. He had been waiting only a couple minutes and had glanced up at the clock on the wall. Then it felt like he had blinked, and everything changed. The clock had jumped fifteen minutes, from 7:10ish to 7:25. It wasn’t just the clock, though: the quality of the light had changed too, and suddenly, there was a woman standing behind the front desk. Cash knew she hadn’t been there before. He’d have noticed this one: short dark hair, copper skin, nice curves. He couldn’t decide how old she was. Anywhere from her late twenties to early forties. She looked a bit like Bohique. Maybe she was the dead kid’s older sister. Or maybe all these locals looked alike to him. He stared at her awhile, then waved and said, “Hello, beautiful.” He didn’t really expect a response and received none.

  Cash turned away from Iris Cacique; she was a distraction, and he needed to focus. Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t lost fifteen minutes; he had lost twelve hours and fifteen minutes. The sun had risen and then set again. During that interval—that is, the entire day—he had simply ceased to exist. Where the hell do I go? Not to hell—or heaven, for that matter—unless oblivion qualified as either. There was no sense of the passage of time. Just here, gone, and back again.

  He thought about it and figured the same thing had happened to Bohique. He’d probably come downstairs any second. They might have to wait for the girl, though. She’d be in bed at dawn—who wouldn’t?—but there was no telling where the kid’d be at dusk. When I was that age, I pretty much never came home. Hopefully, this girl—Bohique had called her Rain—was a bit better behaved.

  Still, girl or no girl, he wished Bohique would get his translucent butt downstairs again. It had been a relief having someone to talk to finally. Or someone to talk to, who could hear him and would talk back.

  Cash had given up looking for the girl at the mall and had been wandering around the beach—though he had no real hope of finding her there either, certainly not at that predawn hour. There had been this dog following him around. Or at least it seemed like the yellow mutt was following him. Could dogs see ghosts? Or was it all just a coincidence?

  (Okay, yes, that was me. Maq was sleeping off half a beer he’d found in a bottle abandoned on a bus bench, and I was bored and curious.)

  Then Cash had seen him. This twenty-year-old kid with the dark eyes and the swooped-back hair. He was in the air force or something, and he was glowing softly white. They had spotted each other more or less simultaneously, and both stood there, kinda stunned. Then the kid had run up to him.

  “You’re dead!” he had said, demonstrating a tremendous grasp of the obvious.

  “You too?” Cash had asked, demonstrating an equally tremendous talent for asking stupid questions.

  “My name’s Bohique. Sebastian Bohique. Are you the guy who died on Sycorax last week?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Call me Cash.”

  They both motioned, as if to shake hands—then hesitated. For ’Bastian, nothing but the zemi had been corporeal to his ghostly form. For Cash, nothing period.

  ’Bastian shrugged and extended his hand. “It’s worth a try.”

  Cash reached for him, but their hands passed right through each other. For both, it had become a common enough experience. But still disappointing.

  The Pale Tourist stepped back. He looked around. “How come you’re the only other ghost I’ve met? Shouldn’t these islands be full of spooks walking around? You and I can’t be the only two guys who ever died here.”

  “I think most of them move on. That’s what happened with my crew. I think you only stay a ghost if you’ve got unfinished business.”

  “Huh.” Cash was distracted. This other ghost was wearing jewelry. Some kind of gold band around his left wrist. It looked … solid. Real, not spectral. Cash had a sudden urge to touch it, to take it.

  “And do you have unfinished business?” Bohique had asked.

  Cash refocused on the Dark Man’s eyes. He was giving Cash a look that said, Hands off, bub. Cash got the message. “I guess I do,” he said. “See, I was killed by this … Well, I guess it was kind of a vampire. But totally without the sexy. Anyway, it’s looking to kill some girl. So I’ve been looking for her. To warn her.”

  “Rain.”

  Bohique had told Cash a bit about Rain, the girl who spoke to spooks. He knew where to find her and led Cash to the lobby of this hotel or B&B or whatever it was. Then Bohique got a little squeamish and didn’t want to take Cash up to the girl’s room. He promised to bring her down.

  The sunrise
had gotten in the way. Now Cash waited in the lobby for Bohique or the girl or both, but neither came down. A couple hours passed. Cash thought about leaving, but where else did he have to go? He followed Iris around for a while. (Mostly out of boredom and a little because he liked her looks.) He noticed she kept checking her watch and staring at the phone. She cooked a meal that no one ate—not even her. Cash himself lingered over the food. He wasn’t hungry exactly, but he so wanted a little taste. It smelled so good. Or at least it looked like it did. He wasn’t sure if he could actually smell anything or if he just felt like he could. It was strange.

  Iris wandered back into the lobby, clearly at loose ends, and Cash followed. Another woman came down the stairs. Another looker, but totally different from Iris; this one was very tall and very pale, and not tourist pale like Cash. Judith Vendaval’s skin was creamy and white, and Milo Cash felt an immediate and intense desire to drink her in. Of course, she took no notice of him.

  Iris looked up. “Judith.”

  “Any word on those kids?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.”

  They stood there with nothing else to say.

  The front door opened, swinging right through Milo. It wasn’t a new sensation, but as yet, it hadn’t lost its disturbing and unpleasant qualities. Two men entered: guests of the Inn, Cash figured. They closed umbrellas and shook off the rain. They seemed oblivious to whatever was upsetting the two women. Both said brief pleasantries to Iris and headed upstairs, passing Judith with a three-way exchange of nods.

  Cash moved away from the closing door—and just in time. Before it had clicked home, a girl entered alone, looking every bit the drowned rat. Even so, Cash noticed a resemblance to Iris. The girl had the same copper skin and dark hair—and the same nose.

  Immediately, Iris began the interrogation. “Where have you been?” Now Cash knew she was the girl’s mother. That tone was unmistakable. His own mother—God rest her soul—had spoken those exact words in that exact tone more times than he could count.