Ghost Maker

by Robin D. Owens

  “I think so, yeah.”

  Clare frowned. “Someone was having trouble . . . dying.”

  “That’s what it sounded like to me when I thought about your voice memo.”

  “Pain, and helping someone die, and not again.” Clare’s expression shadowed. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Nope.”

  “But, maybe . . . travail. ‘Travail’ is originally women in childbirth.”

  “Maybe.” He kept his tone neutral.

  Clare sat up straight, not at all relaxed, and Zach realized he’d made a mistake broaching this topic in the hot tub. Whatever relief she’d have gotten for tense muscles would stop now. “I experienced an . . . incident today.”

  “What kind of incident? Crap, Clare, what happened? Why didn’t you tell me right off?”

  Whisking a mass of hair aside, she rubbed her forehead, gave him a direct look. “Like I said, you sent my thoughts in a different direction as we drove back here.”

  Zach grunted.

  “I felt a . . . darkness . . . after I helped the young couple transcend. And other spirits that might have been interested in crossing over, too, vanished.”

  Oh, yeah, his muscles had tensed, too. He didn’t like how all this added up. Not again. Pain. Aid the separation. Darkness. Fearful ghosts.

  He stretched, and some of his tight tendons popped. A third concern piled on the two other burdens. Anxiety for Clare, bad feeling about Tyler. This new damn situation shaping up. But he wouldn’t say his conclusion out loud. Not until Clare figured it out herself.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Get info,” Zach said shortly. “Talk to the nun—Julianna Emmanuel. She should be able to tell us what’s going on.”

  Clare set her feet on the floor of the hot tub and stood. “Let’s go.”

  “Sit back down. Try to relax. I’m not taking you into Manitou Springs at night.”

  “The weather is nice.”

  “Doesn’t mean you won’t get cold with thronging ghosts.”

  An incipient scowl formed on her face.

  Zach made a production of stretching out himself, leaning his head back on the rim of the tub, closing his eyes. He heard additional splashing of Clare getting out. She’d call for a car.

  “You really want to parade around Manitou Springs on a busy Saturday night looking like you’re talking to yourself?”

  A wave hit his chin, then Clare’s body touched his as she subsided beside him.

  “No,” she muttered, curving her hand over his right knee. Enzo, she called.

  Zach opened his eyes to see the dog materialize in the tub. That was just wrong.

  Hi, Clare! Hi, Zach! Enzo wagged his tail enthusiastically, but didn’t stir a droplet of water.

  “Hi, Enzo. Did you follow Sister Julianna Emmanuel?”

  The Lab’s head ducked a little. No, she went away too fast, and her scent is not familiar to my nose yet.

  “All right,” Zach said. He raised a hand. “Were you in Manitou?”

  Yes, it is fun there tonight. Lots of live people and some new ghosts.

  “Anyone I need to be aware of?” Clare sounded reluctant.

  I don’t think so, Clare. You must be healed by Julianna Emmanuel, and then you must help her move on. That’s what’s important now.

  “That’s all?” Zach demanded.

  The ghost dog’s forehead wrinkled. The Powers That Be are all very interested in Julianna Emmanuel.

  “Good to know,” Zach said.

  Can I go back to the town and play now? It is not very interesting around here.

  “Sure, go play,” Clare said. “Can you course up and down the canyon for the nun?”

  I can do that!

  “Great.”

  Enzo disappeared. Clare glanced at the window. The last of the fading twilight had been replaced by darkness.

  Zach leaned over and kissed the corner of her drooping mouth, thought he sensed a restlessness from her that the tub would not settle. It mirrored a disquiet in himself. “Let’s get out of here and eat at the fancy resort restaurant,” he said.

  She then turned and kissed his jaw. “All right.” She hesitated. “I might look in the clothing shop. They have one; I saw it on the brochure in the nightstand.”

  Great. Shopping with a woman. Zach suppressed his sigh. Anything to keep Clare here and safe with him.

  * * *

  That night Clare found herself walking in mist again or, rather, more like floating through an oppressive fog of low-lying clouds no matter how hard she pretended her feet hit the ground. Dark gray-bellied clouds with a tinge of lavender. Resignedly, she figured that she’d be meeting the Other once more, so she just stopped and let the entity come to her.

  It—he? They’d been thinking of the spirit as a he, though it might be better because the being lacked what Clare thought of as humanity. But probably better to continue with the gender designation of male. The arrogance of tone had always struck her as male.

  And he showed up after a full ninety seconds of counting in her head. She’d also deduced that calculating numeric problems in her head kept both Enzo and the Other from reading her mind, though Enzo felt her emotions anyway.

  There you are, Clare Cermak, daughter of the Cermaks, the Other said, flapping up to her like a lavender bedsheet. Easy to discover in this dream dimension due to your muddled thoughts.

  Clare shrugged, concentrating on the physical motion, the pull of muscle and tendon as she lifted and dropped her shoulders, even as she replied, It’s a dream. Usually in humans, the unconscious reigns supreme in dreams.

  Humans. If the Other had been physical, he would have curled his lip.

  So he didn’t like humans any more than he did her family, the Cermaks. That was too bad for the Other and her, since they had to deal with each other.

  His long-fringed, big lavender eyes opened, scrutinizing her. She’d liked the color lavender, once.

  Humans’ etheric bodies are too small. Now the Other looked more like a puffed-up sail.

  Clare sniffed, concentrated on projecting the resonance of that sound. She’d put the measure and mass of her soul up against that of the Other’s any day and expect to win the contest.

  Today I sensed that you aided some very minor spirits to cross over from what you refer to as the gray dimension to their next state of being. He sniffed and the sound wasn’t nearly as good punctuation as her own. A stray question rose in her mind as to whether it—he—had ever been human, and, if so, how long ago that had been.

  Let us see whether during your mighty effort when practicing your gift, you continued to damage your tiny etheric envelope. He moved through her, not gently, and she shuddered. No coldness here, but a series of shocks so uncomfortable that she gritted her teeth to prevent from crying out, and she did feel as if she had teeth to clamp together.

  As she panted through the pain, she thought sweat beaded on her actual skin. Darn, she’d perspire on her brand-new and expensive beautiful scarlet silk nightshirt.

  What felt like bony fingers trailing static electricity plucked at her spiritual wound, tugging it. Trying to seal it? Then a pure electrical jolt seared the injury. She shuddered in reaction, wondering if the heat showed that the Other was spiritually more advanced than she. Cold for ghosts, warmer for advanced spirits? Julianna Emmanuel had been warm.

  There! The Other sounded smugly satisfied. You are patched up. He paused, and smug turned to standard sneer. For the moment. Do not continue any activities that will worsen the wound. I have little patience.

  Thank you, Clare forced herself to mutter. She didn’t care that the phrase came out grudgingly.

  Do not say that I was never kind to you, the Other stated.

  Yet stinging from her wound, the words flicked on an emotional raw
spot, too. Kind to me! When? She tilted her head. I haven’t known you to be kind to anyone, Clare shot back. Without waiting for an answer, she went on the attack. And kindness is a quality that does not count cost or demand remembrance and telling. Doing something, like patching my wound, because you want something from me is not kindness. It is self-interest.

  YOU KNOW NOTHING AND ARE FOOLISH! the Other thundered in her mind, then with a disgusted tone, ordered, Go find the healing ghost and bother me no more. Even you should be able to sense her.

  Yes, I met Sister Julianna Emmanuel today, she said.

  The lashes descended and the large eyes disappeared, replaced by a pulsing expanse.

  Clare received the impression that the Other felt a little too vulnerable when it manifested eyes as opposed to being a sheet of lavender.

  It seemed taken aback at her statement. The sheet retreated a couple of yards, and the lavender became the palest tinge of purple on gray. You DID? I did not sense— It broke off.

  We didn’t speak much, Clare murmured. But we did make a connection, and the sister examined Zach’s wound.

  Zach’s wound?

  Just how clueless was this being? You can’t sense Zach isn’t whole? Probably never gave Zach enough thought, never looked at him long enough to realize that. Just part and parcel of the Other’s hubris. And Clare had learned lately that not paying attention to the details of spirits—and people—could get her killed.

  But she had an opportunity, here and now, to get information about the situation in which the nun had involved herself. The healing spirit, Julianna Emmanuel, had to leave quickly after we met, as if on a mission. She seemed very concerned about something or someone. Do you have any idea what’s going on? Clare tried for a mocking note to goad the being.

  I cannot say— It stopped.

  A sorrowful time, Clare said.

  All human emotions are extremely transitory.

  Not if you’re experiencing them. What is going on!

  Concentrate on your tiny wound and emotions and goals. Do not attempt to aggrandize yourself, to grasp greater concerns beyond you.

  What greater concerns? Something involving Sister Julianna Emmanuel? What can you tell me about HER goals?

  I am done with you. You should not expire today unless you are more stupid than usual. The Other sneered, turned translucent, and left.

  He’d tweaked a deep-seated sense of alarm, but she didn’t understand why. Not here and now.

  And he’d hurried away. Recently spirits had vanished quickly. Even the couple, Alger and Nelle, had crossed through their heaven’s gates in less time than it usually took for Clare to move a ghost on. Was there a reason for that?

  Other questions buzzed in her brain, drawing her from this lucid dreaming back to the threshold of consciousness. The Other had said, I cannot say. Did that mean he didn’t know? Or did that mean he wouldn’t tell her because he was a pompous jerk? Or did the words mean the spirit was forbidden to say anything?

  She forced herself to wake up so she could record everything, shivered with cold and eased from bed as Zach slept. Pain shot through her. She stifled a gasp, clapped a hand over her ribs, curled her toes into the rich carpet so she wouldn’t fall, and again regretted the sweat soaking into her nightshirt. No, the Other wasn’t a good healer. Crap, crap, crap. She breathed through her teeth until the hurt drained away and left her limp, then she half fell back onto the bed, hand still pressed against her etheric wound.

  No, she couldn’t suffer under the Other’s tender ministrations of her wound for very long.

  “Clare?” asked Zach sleepily. He kicked off the thick feather-filled duvet, pulled her into his arms, and again she nearly wept at the warmth of him. She gulped back the last tears of pain, those new ones that had sprung up at the mere love of having him touch her in comfort.

  “We need to talk to Sister Julianna Emmanuel,” she said, moving her cold nose to his warm neck. He smelled like Zach and sage and dust.

  He grunted, sifted his fingers through her tangled hair. “We gotta find out where she went. Maybe see if, uh, your minor spirit dog companion might have any clues.”

  “You’re avoiding saying his name?”

  “Yeah, I don’t want him to show up right now, and he might hear it.”

  “Ah.” She slid her hand down his hip toward his groin and he did the same. His fingers brushed over her etheric wound and she flinched.

  “Clare?” He sat up, eyes fierce and totally awake.

  She reached for his morning erection and he intercepted her fingers, stared at her for a minute, then brought her hand to his lips, turned it over and pressed a kiss to the hollow of her palm, all the time with his gaze on hers. She felt herself flushing at the romantic gesture.

  He placed her hand on his heart where she could feel the rapid beat, then scooted away and out of bed, stalking naked to the bathroom. By the time she untangled herself from the covers, he’d locked the door and hard water spray sounded.

  She shouldn’t feel bereft. She understood he went alone so he wouldn’t hurt her. But she found herself grinding her teeth anyway.

  She washed up in the half bath and changed by the time Zach appeared in the living room, dressed as in his casual professional wear. He grinned when he saw the croissants she’d picked up at the bakery the night before after dinner. Two on her plate and one on his. Picking his up, he moved back to the small refrigerator and put it back in the box, got out a glazed and a chocolate iced donut. “I really appreciate your generosity,” he said, before biting into the frosted donut. He ate rapidly and swallowed. “But I’m really glad we got donuts, too.” He took a bar towel and wiped his hands, glanced out at the window. “Looks really quiet. Let’s head out and get some info from the nun.”

  Clare stared at him. “It’s Sunday morning before nine a.m. I’m not at all sure we’ll find her at kiddie rides near a penny arcade.”

  He grimaced. “Forgot the day. What are the standard times for masses for nuns?”

  She touched her phone, then pushed it away.

  Zach chuckled.

  “I have no clue,” she said.

  Raising his voice, he called, “Enzo!”

  Chapter 23

  Enzo appeared, sitting at Zach’s feet and panting, a wistful expression on his face.

  “What?” Zach asked.

  Doooonuts! I MISS donuts!

  “Really sorry about that,” said Zach. He finished it off. “So, Enzo, you know where the nun is? Up the canyon, or here in Colorado Springs, or floating through the Garden of the Gods?” Zach slanted Clare a look. “At the tearoom in Miramont Castle?”

  Well, yes, Clare had a weakness for tearooms, but the croissants this morning should be treat enough for the day. “The tearoom doesn’t open until eleven a.m. today.”

  Enzo turned his head to meet her gaze, and she saw white sparks in his dark gray foggy eyes. When his mind spoke to them, it sounded like a whisper. I think she is stuck at Navajo Spring.

  Clare coughed as she inhaled croissant flakes and downed some tea. “Stuck, really? A nun?”

  “Hard to believe,” Zach murmured.

  “Yes. The people who I’ve helped who were stuck . . . they had reason to be.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Zach, as if it didn’t matter at all.

  To Clare, every detail carried significance. She picked up her phone and tapped a note, saved it in her work database.

  Standing, she wiped off the table crumbs with her napkin. “Let me tidy up and we can go.” She glanced at the clock. “Fifteen minutes at the max.”

  Good! Enzo and Zach said together.

  * * *

  Sure enough, when they walked through the empty arcade, their quiet footsteps seeming loud, Clare saw the ghost of Sister Julianna Emmanuel as a wavering outline against the bright sun.

  Hand in ha
nd with Zach, Clare said mentally, We didn’t dare hope you would be here this morning. She and Zach and Enzo had decided to start low-key and perhaps discover the nun’s issues before moving on to the current travail and death.

  The sister turned to her, but even in the bright light, Clare didn’t make out more than a pale blur of face and a standard nun’s black-and-white habit that appeared more like black and grays.

  Julianna Emmanuel’s skirts swayed. I am stuck, she said mournfully, and made a futile gesture with a pale hand-shaped shadow. I can only leave this spot if called to heal or help, and I can go no further than a few of your miles away from the town.

  All right, a good chunk of data. Clare slid her eyes to Zach. He dipped his chin that he’d heard.

  I can’t help enough. I can’t . . . The edges of the phantom frayed.

  Careful, veer away from the event last night . . . anything that would escalate the situation so the young woman would hide from them again. And Clare would speak aloud. So she soothed, “We’ll just talk about why you might be stuck, why don’t we?” She tilted her head toward Zach, and he faded back toward a coffee cart they’d passed on the street. She sat at one of the red picnic tables outside the closed candy shop. Enzo drifted toward the nun and smiled up at her, tongue hanging out.

  After a few moments of silence as Clare sensed the ghost’s emotions calming, she said, “I know some spirits are bound to a certain locale.” Most the ghosts she’d known could range many miles. Those stranded had a reason to be.

  I am stuck here.

  Clare thought Julianna glared at Navajo Spring, set in the back wall of the candy store. Arms flung wide, the nun’s mental voice rose with her next words. Look what they have done to such a beautiful spring. This spring was one of the first discovered! And situated next to a huge boulder, higher than a man! She pointed at a rock set next to the stream. It looked as if the ground had been raised for the building that had been constructed.

  Blinking, Clare recalled the old photographs and looked at the white wall with the mosaic surrounding the basin of the font. “Ah, I don’t think the spring was exactly here.”