by Kady Cross
He smiled. Actually, it was more of a smirk. “Guess I agitate you, too.” Then he unfastened his seat belt and got out of the car. I had no choice but to follow him, and for once, I had no smart-ass comeback.
It was dark in the cemetery, but it was a clear night and the moon cast everything in a silvery light. I recognized our surroundings as we walked deeper into the stone garden. “Do you mind if we make a stop first?” I asked. Cemeteries weren’t just calming to ghosts—they were calming to me. There was a sense of peace here, and I needed a minute to center myself.
“Really?” He arched a brow. “Are you serious?”
“It will just take a minute.” Without waiting for his response, I veered right, down a worn path, and kept walking until I reached a familiar stone angel bowed over a matching bassinet. Both were smudged with age and dirt, with patches of moss clinging to them. Someone had left a bouquet of flowers—like the kind you got at the grocery store—on the small, flat headstone that was set into the grass. I couldn’t see the name on the stone, but I didn’t need to. I knew whose grave it was.
“Someone’s been here,” I said—like it wasn’t obvious.
“Kevin,” Mace replied. “He’s been coming every couple of weeks ever since it happened.”
No need to say what “it” was. My opinion of Kevin rose a little. Before I had tried to kill myself I had visited this sad little plot once a week, making sure it looked good, cleaning the stone. This was my first time back since returning to New Devon. I would have to thank him for taking care of Wren’s grave while I was gone.
“Is this the stop you wanted to make?”
I nodded as I picked a bit of moss from the angel’s head.
“Sorry I gave you a hard time about it.”
I shrugged. “They bought room for me, too.”
“What?”
I crouched down and moved the flowers so that he could see the headstone. “My parents.”
Mace peered over my shoulder. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” I traced the letters of my own name, carved there beside Wren’s. Unlike her, I had no expiration date below mine. I couldn’t even begin to articulate how I felt about having a grave all ready for me to move in whenever I needed it. “You know, I’m okay with not being there yet. I meant what I said earlier—you did the right thing. Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”
I stood up. “Okay, let’s go. Take me to the spot where you guys sneaked onto asylum property.” The old hospital campus was locked up at night, but kids from New Devon had been sneaking in for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t remember any stories about people getting hurt, though I’m sure there were some. Maybe Mace and his friends had pissed off a ghost, but the more likely explanation was that recent construction on the site had stirred something up. Ghosts weren’t big on change. My newfound “friends” had simply stumbled in at the wrong freaking time.
Or something there was getting stronger.
We walked back along the path, then took a right on the main trail. It wasn’t long before we reached the stone wall. It had crumbled in spots, but was about eight feet tall, and topped with rusted barbed wire. The grass was tamped down around one particularly large tree. Someone had nailed boards into the trunk a long time ago—we’re talking the ’70s from the look of the wood. The bark there had been chipped and worn away from years of traffic.
“There’s a rope ladder on one of the branches,” Mace explained. “We climbed the tree, then went down the ladder.”
“Awesome,” I muttered, looking down at my cute shoes that were so not made for climbing trees. Neither was my dress. I felt completely ridiculous.
“Want me to go first?” he asked.
“Unless you want to be scarred for life by the sight of my granny panties, you’d better.” They were boy panties, but who could tell the difference in the dark.
He gave me an odd look, then scampered up the tree like he’d been born to do it. I followed a lot less gracefully. My shoes had smooth soles, so they couldn’t grip the homemade ladder. I still had the salt, too, so I was only holding on with one hand.
“Ow!” Damn splinter in my palm.
Mace’s hand appeared before me. “Your hand or the salt—give me one.”
I gave him the salt. I didn’t want him to get the idea that he was my freaking knight in shining armor or something.
Once I made it to the branch he was on—a limb thick enough to hold both of us—he held on to another branch for support and walked out over the wall. I inched along behind him. It would be just my luck to fall and break my fool neck on the asylum side. By the time I got to the rope ladder, Mace was already on the ground, holding the rope steady for me. There wasn’t any graceful way to descend a ladder that swayed and diped with every movement. I swore the entire time down—under my breath, of course.
“You’ve got a mouth like a sailor,” Mace commented when I joined him. The grass was brown and flattened by dozens of feet. That was good.
I opened the salt and began pouring it. “Met many sailors, have you? Is there something Sarah should know about you, Mace?”
“I love me a man in uniform,” he quipped. “What are you doing?”
“Making a salt circle around you.”
“Why?”
I didn’t look up. “Because this thing has had a taste of you and will be able to sense you’re here, and I don’t want to have to explain to Sarah that it took you on my watch.”
“Your concern is touching, Lark. Really.”
It wasn’t his sarcasm that made me look up, though I appreciated his skill at it. “I owe you. That means I’m going to do everything I can to keep you alive. You okay with that?”
“Yeah, I think I am.” His gaze locked with mine. We stood there, staring at each other. Awkward.
A cold breeze brushed my bare legs. I turned my head in its direction. “Feel that?”
“Yeah.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand go to his chest as if it hurt. The ghost was coming.
I checked the ring I’d poured around him—it was a good, thick mound of salt that could withstand a spectral wind. Good.
I took a deep breath as my hair began to stir. In Bell Hill I’d faced several malevolent spirits, and I’d done it stoned on antidepressants and antipsychotic and antianxiety meds. I could deal with one in a field.
Even if it was the one who had sent me a vision of my sister eating eyeballs.
The chill cranked, raising goose bumps on my arms. My hair rose at the roots. This thing was hungry and pissed. It wasn’t even trying to be stealthy as it came at us. It had sniffed out Mace and was eager for another taste.
Honestly, I couldn’t say that I blamed it—aggravating as he was.
There was no one way to describe encountering a ghost. Yeah, there was the cold, but that was about the only thing they had in common. Every ghost—in my experience—had their own energy and their own weaknesses. I guess I knew this stuff because of Wren, or because of our situation, or maybe because of my brush with the other side. So maybe I didn’t know why I knew these things, but I did know when there was a ghost around, and I could usually tell how strong they were.
This one was strong. Old and strong. And angry. I could feel its rage in my bones, in the pressure of my teeth grinding together. It swirled around me like a snarling dog trying to catch my scent. It hadn’t bothered to take form, and it looked like nothing more than a swarm of flies circling me. If those flies had frozen razor blades for wings, that was.
“Lark?” Mace looked concerned.
“I’m good,” I shouted over the noise of the ghost. He probably couldn’t even hear it. My heart hammered in my chest.What are you? Its voice was like screeching brakes in my ears.
I ignored it. Holding my hands o
ut to my sides, I sifted the ghost through my fingers, inviting it to reveal its personality. It was like a thousand paper cuts as its angry energy flicked over my skin. I’d felt ones that were like sandpaper, an itch, even feathers, but not this. I would be left bleeding afterward—no invisible wounds for me. Fortunately, I didn’t wound like normal people. Scratches like Mace’s hurt me, but didn’t last—I assumed because I was connected to the dead. That didn’t mean I was willing to go through it again.
Come on. Show yourself. Images began to swim in my head—flashes of blood. Screams. It was what I’d seen when I touched Mace but sped up and fragmented. This was the right ghost, all right. Now I just needed to hold on a little longer so that it could show me something useful. Something personal.
The ghost withdrew from me, as though it could read my intent. Crap.
I watched as the buzzing black vortex of dark energy leaped at Mace. It smacked against the protection of the salt like bugs on a windshield. Its roar of rage shook the ground beneath my feet. I could tell that Mace felt it, too. It was a warm September night and his breath came in puffs better suited to late November. The ghost charged again. This time, the line of salt quivered beneath the assault.
Not good. It had lost interest in me for the time being and was going to snap at Mace until it managed to break the circle. All it needed was a hair’s width of a crack and it could get in. I couldn’t risk that.
I cupped my right hand and filled it with salt. Damn, but it stung when it hit those cuts. My eyes watered. I stepped forward and flung the salt at the ghost. The breeze caught most of it, but the spirit hissed in pain.
“When I tell you to run, I want you to get back to the graveyard as fast as you can,” I told Mace, pouring more salt into my stinging palm.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I can save myself tonight, thanks.” I closed my fist around the salt and drew back my arm, “Now run!”
He didn’t argue, he just did what he was told, which actually kind of surprised me. Not too many people would trust that I knew what I was doing. Or maybe he just wanted to get the hell out of there.
I flung the salt just as the ghost reared back to give chase. The tiny grains got caught up in the wind, and barely grazed the spirit. It wasn’t enough to scatter it, but just enough to piss it off. Great. It whipped around, gathering itself into a vaguely humanoid form. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, and right then it didn’t matter. I barely had enough time to pour more salt into my palm as it lunged. Instead of throwing the salt, I wrapped my fist around it, drew back, and punched the ghost in the “face.” The force of the blow reverberated all the way up my arm. It was like hitting a brick wall. My fist opened and salt poured out.
The ghost hung suspended in the air for a second and then exploded into black dust and salt shrapnel. I turned my head to protect my eyes and caught the blast on the cheek. Ouch.
I didn’t waste any time, either. I’d only wounded the thing. It wouldn’t take it long to regroup and come after us again, and this time it would be really mad. I didn’t want to face that kind of anger with nothing more than a can of kitchen salt and cute shoes. I ran.
The rope ladder was harder to go up than down, and my bloody hands didn’t make it any easier. Neither did the pounding of my heart. I was going to die of a heart attack if I didn’t get to hallowed ground quick.
Mace waited for me on the Fairfield side of the wall and helped me down from the tree. It wasn’t until I was on the ground that I realized how badly I was shaking.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded. My teeth were chattering.
He grabbed my hands and turned them palms up. “Shit.”
“I’ll be f-fine. We g-gotta go.”
We ran to the car. I honestly didn’t know how I managed it on my wobbly legs. Mace practically shoved me into the passenger seat. I was still fumbling with my seat belt when we tore out of there, headed back to Kevin’s.
“You saw it, right?” he demanded. Other than being pale and a little wild-eyed he’d come out of this in surprisingly good shape. I’d seen grown men turn into bawling babies in the presence of lesser specters. “What was it?”
I leaned back in my seat. My heart was finally slowing down. “I don’t know,” I told him, looking at my bloody hands. “But for all our sakes, I’d better find out.”
WREN
Lark was in trouble. I could feel it.
“They should be back by now,” Ben stated, watching out the window at the night. He sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. It smelled really good. Lark let me have coffee with her sometimes. It smelled better than it tasted. He took a drink, then turned to look at his friends. “Shouldn’t they?” He was worried about Lark—I could feel it. Did he have a crush on my sister?
Kevin rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He was worried, too. The light above his head reflected in his glasses, preventing me from seeing his eyes. “They’ve only been gone half an hour.”
Gage helped himself to the box of donuts that sat on the table. “Think they went to the asylum?”
“They’d have to climb the tree,” Roxi remarked.
My sister had not been dressed for tree climbing.
“In those shoes?” Sarah shook her head. “I should have lent Lark my sneakers.”
The bunch of them traded looks that increased my anxiety. I had promised Lark that I would stay there so she didn’t have to worry about me, but that didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. I wanted to go to her. I knew better, though. Despite my worry, it wouldn’t have been a good idea for me to suddenly show up where she was. I would attract more ghosts. Lark and I together could possibly attract them all if we didn’t take precautions, for which we didn’t have the provisions on hand. In my wanting to help I might have only made things worse.
Like I had in Bell Hill.
Still, if I couldn’t go to her, I could reach out. “Normal” twins often had an incredible bond, but Lark and I weren’t normal—at least not in the common sense. Most humans were bound to the earth by the physical anchor of their bodies. Ghosts were often bound by their remains. There wasn’t much left of me in that little grave, but Lark’s body was made up of the same DNA, making her body almost like my own, which was why I could possess her so easily—and how I could find her without really trying. All I had to do was let go of the place I was in and let my consciousness (because, really, that was almost all I was in this world, along with some potent energy) reach out to the one that was the most like mine.
Something brushed up against me—not physically, of course. It was like another consciousness rustling against mine. Just a tickle and then it was gone. I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t care. Probably just another ghost. Maybe one near my sister.
I found her. Latched onto her.
My heart—and I do have one, just not in the mortal sense of the word—fluttered desperately inside me. My sister was afraid. Lark, who was always so foolishly brave, who defiantly stared down danger and dared it to come for her, had encountered something dark. Something that scared her despite the fact that she didn’t fear death.
And she’d done it for me, because I wanted to help these stupid kids. Because I wanted them—Kevin—to like me. Because I wanted friends. They just wanted out of the mess they’d blundered into. And they had no idea of what that mess was all about. And while my sister might not fear death, I very much wanted her to live. I wanted to witness every day of what ought to be a very long life.
I pulled back, returning to myself. I looked at the teenagers gathered in the kitchen. They looked worried. And bored. Why weren’t they talking about how to get themselves out of this mess? Why were they so ignorant of my kind and the damage we could inflict? From what I could tell, television was positively crammed with programs about so-called ghost hunters.
Surely there had to be information available? And yet, here they sat, staring at one another, or the walls. Even Kevin seemed at a loss.
If Lark got hurt because of them...
“Do you feel that?” Sarah asked, lifting her head. She was a gorgeous girl, with all that blond hair and bright blue eyes. The wraith’s infection would make short work of her looks.
Ben glanced at her, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “It’s cold.”
Roxi shivered. “It’s really cold.”
“Wren?” Kevin was on his feet, coming to stand in the middle of the kitchen, not far from where I was. “Is that you?”
Oh, dear. It was me. My emotional state was making me manifest. Kevin’s breath came in visible puffs. Sarah rubbed her arms. The others looked at each other.
And then they looked at the cupboards as the doors flew open. Cutlery rattled as the drawer jerked out. The overhead light began to flicker.
They were worried now. Afraid now, but not for Lark. For themselves.
One of the lightbulbs above Kevin’s head cracked.
“Move!” I yelled at him.
He heard me, lunging out of the way just as glass exploded and rained down where he’d been standing.
“What the hell?” Gage half ducked, arms over his head. “What’s her problem?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” This was so embarrassing.
“I know you are,” Kevin replied. The one benefit of a manifestation was that I was easier for mediums to hear and communicate with. He turned.
He looked at me. I mean, right at me. He saw me. I have to admit, my hand went to my hair. I had no idea what I looked like at that moment—I could have tentacles or rot-face, something horrible, meant to terrify.
Kevin smiled a little. Probably no rot-face, then. “I know you’re worried about Lark. We’re worried, too, but I need you to relax, okay?”
Roxi looked in my direction. “Yeah, Wren. We’re worried about her, too.” Then, to Kevin, “Anything we can do?”
“Ghostly shoulder rub?” Ben suggested. Kevin frowned at him.