Sisters of Blood and Spirit

by Kady Cross

  I hung up. “I don’t know if that was Bent or not.”

  I heard a sob and looked up. Roxi was crying, and Gage had his arm around her.

  “Don’t,” I told her. “That’s what he wants.” Just knowing it was a guy gave me courage to push on. “We’re being messed with. Tested. It wants to scare you. You taste better when you’re scared.”

  She nodded and wiped at her eyes. I had to give her credit for pulling herself together. I gestured down the hall, and Ben shone the light in that direction. “We need to find the stairs.”

  We moved quickly. None of us wanted to be there any longer than we needed to be. “Anyone feeling anything?” I asked. “Did something touch you?”

  “I think so,” Roxi whispered.

  “That was me,” Gage answered with a sheepish grin.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Just a little release of anxiety.

  That was when I heard the snarl—it came rushing at me like a hot gasp of decay, hitting me hard in the chest. It was angry and vicious—twisted. Visions of blood and gore danced behind my eyes. I saw those bodies again, strewn on the floor of this place, and Wren perched like a bizarre bird, a clutch of eyeballs in her sticky, crimson fingers.

  And I felt pain—hot pokers deep behind my retinas.

  “Stop laughing,” I commanded. “It’s making him angry.”

  I straightened, and took a look around in the dark. Our flashlights were the only break in the shadows before casting their own. “You know what I don’t like?” I called out. “Cowards. Why don’t you come on out, coward? Give me back my sister.”

  “Lark,” Kevin warned. “Something’s coming.”

  I kept going. “Come on, don’t you want us? Don’t you want us to see your big scary self? I’ve been told I taste really good. Don’t you want a little taste of me? I’m fresh meat.”

  In a movie there would have been a loud noise, or maybe a ghost would appear. That didn’t happen. Instead, Kevin turned to me, and I realized too late that he should have stayed behind.

  Because he wasn’t Kevin anymore.

  WREN

  “Hello, child.” His voice was like sandpaper.

  I looked at the man who had grabbed and pulled me away from Lark, transporting me to his domain without much effort at all. He was medium height and lean. He had short hair and a handsome face. Ghosts usually looked in death as they had in life—unless they went the horrific route. Ghosts like this were more frightening, I thought. He looked perfectly normal, except that his eyes were black mirrors reflecting every horror he’d ever inflicted. He was the kind of thing mortals went insane after seeing.

  I was impressed. Not afraid, but impressed.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  He smiled at me—he had good teeth, too. I couldn’t identify his time period from the way he was dressed. Lark probably could have, but she knew fashion better than I did. Not like it mattered—ghosts could dress however they wished. “Now that would make it too easy for your little breather friends to find me, and I do so enjoy a good game.”

  I committed every inch of him to memory. “So long as you’re the hunter, I think.”

  “Clever girl.” He stepped close enough to touch my hair. “I do so love me a clever little girl.”

  “I’m not new-dead,” I informed him. “Your practiced charm doesn’t influence me.” Because he wasn’t charming, or sweet, or even nice, and I was insulted that he thought I’d be so easily fooled.

  That sugary-sweet smile faded from his lips, leaving me staring into that soulless abyss that was his face. “That’s better,” I said. “Why hide your true nature?”

  I thought he sniffed me then—something leftover from when he could actually breathe? We went through the motions of these things at times, but obviously they weren’t necessary. I didn’t understand how I was even able to conjure such experiences, when I hadn’t been alive long enough to have any of them. When I felt like my heart was pounding, I knew my heart wasn’t really pounding, though I was sure I had one.

  Somewhere.

  He smiled. “Dead Born. Yes, I realized it the first time I saw you.”

  Lark hated that title, but it held some prestige among the dead. Think of it as class snobbery. The higher your death-to-life ratio, the more pure you were. I was a rarity because most babies didn’t linger between worlds, but moved on to whatever came next.

  “Dead Born and naive as a new foal. Aren’t you an interesting one? Why have you forsaken your kind, child? Why wallow with the breathers when you could be something truly special?”

  I gave him a bored look, even though his words struck something inside me. I clung to Lark like she was some kind of safety net, watching her live her life while I had nothing. But I knew that wasn’t really true. She was what kept me from becoming like the once-a-man standing before me—a creature that trembled with the effort it took to appear to me in an even remotely human guise. Did he think I’d be afraid of what he really looked like?

  Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.

  “You’re wasted on them,” he continued. “You and your sister could be truly powerful in our world.”

  “My sister?”

  He nodded. “Just think of what the two of you could achieve if she were to join you in the Shadow Lands. No more watching—the two of you could actually be together.”

  He spoke like he knew me, like he understood, but he didn’t. He was just guessing, trying to sweeten me up. Trying to seduce me. “She’d never go for it. She likes breathing.”

  He made a face, as though the idea disgusted him. “The living.” He made a spatting noise. “So afraid of dying, when they ought to embrace it.” No, he didn’t really know anything about me or about Lark if he thought she was afraid of death.

  I humored him. “Foolish creatures.”

  “Exactly!” He had completely missed my sarcasm. “You should just join us and leave her to rot and wither.”

  “Us?”

  I should have known better, but I was trying to uncover his secrets. As soon as I asked, I regretted it. And when the ghosts started sifting through the walls, filling the hall where we stood, I knew I was in deep trouble. Their compulsion wrapped around me, drew me close. These were my people, my kind. They called to me—needed me. To be needed was a powerful thing in my world. They whispered to me, promises of knowledge and power, a gentle stroke of my ego, a compliment to my vanity. I didn’t know how else to describe it, even though there were no words involved. It was as simple as the fact that they wanted me, and I wanted to be wanted. Maybe because I was Dead Born and they were drawn to that.

  It felt amazing. Powerful. Terrible.

  It had happened before, this test of my strength. In the asylum where Lark had been kept, the ghosts there had almost convinced me to join them. They had started to turn me into something I didn’t want to be, a creature of fear and hate. Most ghosts are little more than whispers in the living world, and those ghosts tempted me with promises of screams.

  We liked strong emotions—those were the ones we were actually able to feel. Passion. Loss. Anger. Fear. Love was lost to destruction, but I was lucky. I had Lark as my tether. She made it possible for me to feel. She kept some small part of me mortal.

  I grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and hauled him close. I looked into those black, black eyes of his and saw the terrible things he’d done there. All those delicious moments of suffering he’d caused. I loved it and hated it, and I despised myself for being able to hold on as long as I did. I tore through his memories until I hit upon the thing I needed to see.

  The place where he felt most powerful. The place he considered his own. It wasn’t where we stood at this moment. This place was his as well, but the other place, that was where he’d lived while here, the place he still considered his.


  The place where my sister could do him the most harm.

  I shoved him backward, knocking him into several other ghosts. They kept calling to me. I needed to make them stop or I’d soon give in. I wanted to give in.

  “Josiah Bent,” I said with a triumphant grin. “Got you now.”

  His face twisted into something no one could ever mistake for human. This was Bent’s real face. I saw it for a split second before he lunged at me.

  Then I turned and ran.

  LARK

  Kevin swayed unsteadily on his feet. His eyes had rolled back into their sockets so that only white remained.

  “That is so not right,” Gage murmured behind me.

  Suddenly, Kevin’s head turned so that he stared right at me with those sightless eyes. “Third floor,” he said in an old woman’s voice. “Room 314. That’s where you’ll find him.”

  “Bent,” I whispered. “You mean Josiah Bent?”

  Kevin’s shoulders slumped and his knees sagged. Ben stepped forward and grabbed him before he fell. Mace quickly took his other arm, and the two of them pulled their friend upright.

  “You okay, man?” Mace asked.

  Dark curls bobbed as Kevin shook his head. Then he lifted his gaze. This time I could see the bright blue of his eyes when he looked at me. “What the hell just happened?” he demanded.

  “You were possessed,” I replied. “Don’t you remember?”

  He glared at me. “Yes, I remember. I remember an old woman’s voice telling me she was sorry and that it would only take a minute. That she would have gone right to you, but that you scared her.”

  I blinked at that. “I scared her?”

  He just kept glaring at me like I was the villain. “Any idea why she would be afraid of you?”

  Now I frowned. I shook my head. “No. And it’s really not important right now. She told us where to find Bent, and hopefully Wren.”

  At the mention of my sister, Kevin’s expression softened. “Let’s go, then. Where is it?”

  Weird that he didn’t remember actually being possessed, but maybe that was normal. Whenever Wren or another spirit had hitched a ride with me I remembered all of it.

  I turned on my heel and hurried in the direction of the stairwell. I hadn’t felt Wren’s absence so completely since Bell Hill. I couldn’t sense her anywhere—it was as though she’d ceased to exist—something I refused to accept. I ran up the stairs to the second floor, then rounded the corner and sprinted to the third.

  I was in pretty lousy shape.

  There was a set of double doors at the top of the stairs—the kind they used to lock to keep the patients from getting out. They slammed shut the second I started for them—so hard the floor seemed to tremble beneath my feet. I grabbed the handles and pulled, but they wouldn’t budge. I knocked like I had on the entrance door, then pounded with my fists when nothing happened.

  “Let me in!” I shouted. “Open the damn door! Wren! Wren!”

  The others stared at me like I’d lost it. They didn’t know crazy. I knew crazy, and I wasn’t even close. Not yet. I pressed my forehead against the cool, reinforced glass panel in the door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the scar on my right wrist. I pressed it, and the one on my left wrist, against the wood.

  “I’m one of you,” I whispered. “I’ve cut myself, wanted to die. I’ve been drugged and told that I’m too wrong to be around normal people. I know that you’re real and that you hurt, and you should know that I’m not leaving without my sister. Don’t make me burn this place to the ground and salt the ashes. You know I’ll do it. Open. The. Door.”

  “We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” Gage said. “She’s losing it.”

  I gave the door a knock with my forehead. “We’re not leaving her.”

  “Fuck that,” Gage said. “Something already possessed Kevin, and you’re sister’s gone. We’re next. I’m outta here.”

  I straightened and turned with the intention of punching him in the face. I even had my fists balled. Ben grabbed Gage by the arm, and Mace put himself between Gage and the stairs.

  “We leave together,” Mace said.

  Gage shoved Ben, but the taller boy only moved back a step. “You’re not leaving, G.”

  “Gonna stop me?” Gage demanded.

  Ben just looked at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “Me, too,” Mace added.

  Roxi and Sarah joined them. They all stood by Mace, blocking the exit. Kevin came and stood by me, which was oddly touching. “We’re in this together,” he said.

  Gage looked at his friends. I could see how scared he was, but their determination to see this through seemed to calm him. “Fine. So, what now?”

  “We go back downstairs,” I said. “There has to be another way to access this floor. Stick together, and if you see Wren, don’t approach her.”

  “See her?” That was Sarah.

  I so did not want to have this conversation, but it had to happen. “She might manifest. If she does, stay the hell away.”

  “What does she look like?” Sarah again. Really? Did she miss the part where Wren was my effing twin?

  Kevin looked down at me. “Do you really think we’ll be in danger if she manifests?”

  My jaw tightened. “Yes.” Sweet hell, yes. “Let me deal with her.” And if she didn’t tear me apart we might survive.

  Mace jerked his head toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

  I took one step, that was it. Just one step before I heard the thunk of a heavy-duty lock slipping out of place, followed by an ominous creak. I glanced over my shoulder.

  The doors swung open like arms waiting for a hug.

  “Oh, hell.”

  I smiled. Poor Gage. He really wasn’t cut out for this stuff.

  I led the way across the threshold into the ward. “Don’t touch the walls, don’t open any doors, and for the love of God, don’t go into any rooms.” When we found 314 I would be the one going inside.

  The phone at the nurses’ station started ringing—it echoed through the corridor. Its bell grew louder and longer each time, until it sounded like it was simultaneously gargling and screaming.

  “Knock it off!” I shouted. “It’s not scary, it’s just fucking annoying!”

  The ringing stopped.

  “Did you hear that?” Sarah’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. I could see her trembling.

  “Yes,” I said. “I did.” After the phone stopped ringing someone had laughed.

  “I want to go home,” Roxi announced. “Just putting that out there.”

  “We all do,” Ben agreed.

  I was about to say that we weren’t going anywhere without Wren, and then I saw her. Standing just outside one of the patient rooms, hair flowing around her shoulders as though lifted by a gentle breeze.

  There was no wind in that corridor. Any energy came directly from her—not a good sign.

  “That’s your sister?” Gage asked. Again, not good. If they could see her...

  “Lark!” she cried. “This is it! This is his room.” She knew better than to say his name—that would summon him. As it was he was going to come for us soon.

  As soon as we entered his room, I bet.

  I didn’t care about Bent at that moment. I ran to Wren and hugged her. “You’re manifesting,” I whispered.

  She nodded. “I know, but it’s all right. I’m in control. Um, Lark? You’re squishing me.”

  I let go of her. “Sorry.”

  Behind us the doors slammed shut again. A warning, but was it friendly or hostile?

  I beckoned for the others to join us, and then I turned to look into room 314. Wren was right behind me. It was like walking into a beehive, the buzzing was so loud.

  Josiah B
ent wasn’t the only madman to have thought terrible things in this room, to have left part of himself behind. Every corner had someone hiding in it, smiling or wailing. A young man leered at me from beside the window.

  “I’d like to taste your insides,” he said.

  Wren hissed at him, her hair flying out around her head like tentacles. I squeezed her hand when my own hair lifted. I could feel her pulling at my soul—feeding on it.

  “Stop it,” I said.

  Luckily for me, she did. The young man grinned at her before flickering out of sight.

  “Oh, my God,” Sarah said, covering her mouth and nose with her hand. “What’s that smell?”

  “Rot,” I replied. “Death and insanity. Pain and suffering. Take your pick.”

  “What are we looking for?” Kevin asked.

  Wren turned her head to look at him. “His razor. Oh, and Adele says she’s sorry for scaring you.”

  From the way his face tightened I guessed that Adele was the ghost that had possessed him. She had to be one of the many in this asylum under Bent’s control.

  “How could he have kept a razor in here?” Mace asked. “Don’t they take those away?”

  “They do now,” I answered. “They may have then, I don’t know. But it’s here. Somewhere—and probably someplace hidden.”

  We began to scour the room. The ghosts zipped in and out, yelling at me, poking at me, pulling my hair. I swatted them away. I checked baseboards and in the closet, but found nothing.

  “Here,” Ben said. He was at the window—where the leering ghost had stood. Had the young ghost wanted to distract me rather than discuss the edibility of my inner organs?

  Ben gave the windowsill a quick, hard kick. It crashed to the floor, revealing a hidden cache behind it. There were several items there, but only one I cared about.

  A straight razor with a pearl handle.

  “Don’t touch it,” I said, tone sharp. If Ben picked that thing up, Bent might possess him, and then we’d be in a lot of trouble. Worse, Bent might decide to take a ride in Kevin’s head. Mediums were so open to spirits they were sometimes easily influenced. The last thing we needed was Kevin killing people.