by Pat Esden
She inched forward, her steps silent against the floorboards. The sultry aroma of soap and shampoo from a recent shower hung in the air. She set the towels on the dresser and switched on a small lamp. Turning on the overhead light made more sense for her housekeeping lie, but ghosts as a rule preferred to materialize in twilight conditions. And ghosts were why she was here—or at least, one specific ghost. Without the addition of Chandler’s energy, her chance of drawing the ghost away from its attachment to Gar was remote. However, the closer she was to Gar physically, the greater her odds were. They’d increase even more if she held something personal to him.
She scanned the room, letting her instincts guide her. Gar’s canvas duffel bag sat on the luggage rack, still zipped closed and bulging as if unpacked. She wiped her hands down the legs of her jeans. If worse came to worst, she could use a piece of his clean clothing to help with the summoning. But that was far from ideal.
She moved on to the bathroom. The clothes he’d worn running were hand washed and thrown haphazardly over the shower curtain rod. His toiletry bag, razor, and toothbrush sat beside the sink. Next to them was a metal box the size of a large wallet—and an elastic arm brace with what looked like a poison dart gun from Assassin’s Creed attached to it. The gun’s barrel was decorated with a golden arrow.
Unable to believe her eyes, Em took a closer look at the arm brace gizmo. Holy shit. It was an actual dart gun, the kind that was meant to be worn on a person’s arm. And definitely not a toy one.
She picked up the metal box and opened it. Sure enough, it held a selection of darts and labeled vials: Panaeolus cinctulus, Vinca major, Artemisia absinthium… She closed the box and put it back exactly where she’d found it. An unstable man with chemical weapons. Not a good combination—though she wasn’t surprised, nor did she blame him for bringing a weapon. She’d stayed in strange places and slept with her knife close by many times over the last few years. She wouldn’t have minded having something more intimidating than her knife. Not that Gar had to be afraid here at the complex, nor was a dart gun ideal for stashing under a pillow.
Her gaze landed on his hairbrush, bringing her thoughts back to the job at hand. She needed something personal for the summoning, and you couldn’t get more personal than that.
She snatched the brush and carried it to the bed. The quilt and sheets were pulled up, but the pillows still wore indents from where his head had been. As she sat down, the aroma of lavender and sage surrounded her. A second, fainter scent reached her nose: an earthy mix of moss and evergreen forest. The scent of Gar’s magic and spirit.
Em took a deeper sniff of the aroma and a sense of serenity stole over her as her subconscious drew a connection between the fragrance and her past. A river in the pines, a fifteen-year-old her, and hazy memories of a guy she’d known. Johnny Brighton. Skinny. Long, dark hair. Scruffy beard. Early twenties, maybe. She’d only known him for two days, maybe a little less. But since then, the smell of evergreens always made her think of him. His kindnesses. How he’d made her feel safe.
Warmth radiated through Em’s chest. She smiled and shook her head. This was definitely not the time or place to go on a sentimental journey. Besides, no matter what her subconscious thought, comparing Johnny to Gar was weird.
She turned the hairbrush over in her hands, feeling the soft scrape of the bristles against her palm. Now that she thought about it, maybe her subconscious had a point. Johnny and Gar really were similar in a lot of ways. Both had eyes full of secrets and raven-dark hair—and Johnny had also worked for the Council. In fact, Johnny was the first and only other person she’d met who did. Back then, that had soothed her fears. Her aunt and mother had only mentioned the Council a few times in passing, but always with great venom. To her, that automatically made Johnny someone she could trust. He’d proved to be more than that. He’d been her skinny rebel knight, the guy who helped her kill Violet Grace and get to Alice. Also—and she’d even admitted it to Alice—she’d crushed on Johnny something awful. He’d even regularly starred in her erotic fantasies.
A tingle of lust began to coil low in her body. She laughed at herself. Sure, she hadn’t hooked up with anyone since she’d gotten sober, but this was a ridiculous time to get horny.
With a sigh, she surrendered to her libido. I’ll make you a deal. Let me get my work done. Later, we’ll think about Johnny some more. In bed or the shower. But not now.
She took a deep breath, cradled the hairbrush lightly between her hands, and switched her mental image of Johnny for one of Gar with his broad-shoulders and the ghost’s hazy tempest swirling behind him.
Tension rose from her chest as she drew up her magic. It skimmed her neck, filling her sinuses with a coppery smell as she sent the command out toward Gar’s ghost. “I beseech you, spirit,” she murmured. “Show yourself.”
One minute passed. Two. Three.
She sent out her magic again. “Show yourself. I beseech you.”
Her skin prickled, anticipating the stroke of a presence. She tilted her head, listening for the slightest sound. Nothing.
She set the hairbrush on her lap, her voice firmer this time. “Appear to me. I summon you, come now.”
When she’d been Violet Grace—all those years on the road with those tight patent leather shoes on her feet and pink girly ribbons in her hair—she’d rarely had a problem contacting spirits. She’d sit across the table from some rich person or walk through an audience in a conference hall and ghosts would reach out from this world and beyond, scrambling for a chance to speak with their loved ones. The few times she’d encountered hauntings—four that she could remember, including Alice—the contact had been different. Those ghosts were aggressively stubborn, refusing to communicate and even less agreeable when it came to putting distance between them and the person they were attached to. Getting them to move on was even worse, sometimes impossible.
“Show yourself!” She drew up all her energy and visualized a wall of waves surging toward her, wind in her face. She thrust her power outward against the tide, a widening mesh of magic, a fisherman’s net casting for spirits. She drew the net back in, swift and hard, feeling the familiar pull of a spirit’s resistance.
The resistance vanished.
She tried again. Sweat soaked her back. Her hair hung heavy against her shoulders. The room around her came into sharp focus, her eyes now a force in the low light as she concentrated all her energy. She glanced around, looking for indications of a spirit’s presence. The white pillar candle on the table beside the bed sat undisturbed and unlit. No shadows in the corners. The air temperature hadn’t changed. No new smells.
Em focused her energy again and cast out her net. Gar was one story below with Chandler, almost directly beneath her. Not far at all for her to draw an ethereal being. She could clearly sense it again, firmly anchored to him.
Please. She tried a more persuasive tactic. You have nothing to fear. I won’t banish you. I want to help you.
The sensation of the ghost loosened its grip on Gar and moved toward her—
Abruptly it stopped and then spun away, every hint of it vanishing from her detection like a fish sucked down a whirlpool.
Em pressed her lips together. This was seriously strange. The ghost was gone, not just from her net. It was gone from the building. Gone from Gar. From her. From everywhere.
Something’s coming! Her sixth sense shrieked.
Every hair on Em’s body stood on edge as the air around her suddenly crackled with electricity. The floor began to shimmer, the knots in its wood darkening and spinning like the eyes of a hundred hurricanes. Energy ruptured through the boards, a geyser of exploding sparks: Gar’s ghost, agitated, terrified.
“Welcome,” Em greeted it, her voice shaking.
The vaporous form twisted, fighting to materialize. But as it fought, the air pressure in the room soared, cycling higher and higher.
; Em clamped her hands over her ears, unable to stand the forceful sensation.
Pop! The pressure vanished. And with it, the ghost.
Em froze. The room was silent; no lingering energy, nothing out of place, not a single indication that something out of the ordinary had just happened. Everything felt absurdly normal. It was as if the ghost had once again left the building. What the heck had happened?
She glanced around the room, searching for an answer, but nothing came to her. The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn’t afford to take time to puzzle it out right now. There was a strong possibility that Gar might have sensed what happened. If he was as smart as he looked, the chances of him suspecting her involvement were high. She needed to get out before he decided to investigate.
She grabbed the hairbrush from where it had fallen to the floor and put it back exactly as she’d found it. Then she slipped out of his room and tiptoed down the hallway to her bathroom. Once the door was locked behind her, she went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. That was one of the strangest summonings she’d ever experienced. She’d never had a ghost turn her down like that. And she wasn’t entirely sure this one had turned her down, either. It was almost as if a stronger psychic force had summoned the spirit in a different direction. She shook her head. But that didn’t make sense. Who else would want to call Gar’s ghost? And what were the chances of them both doing it at the exact same time?
Taking a steadying breath, Em glanced in the mirror over the sink. Her face stared back at her, made more waif-like by the harsh bathroom light. Pale skin. Long, mousy hair, hollows under eyes as steel-blue as Gar’s. Her six months of sobriety had added flesh to her hipbones and muscle to her arms and legs. In reality, she was looking and feeling better. It seemed like her abilities as a medium should also be strengthened. But yet, she’d failed.
Her mind went back to the first night she’d come to the complex. She’d felt like such a nothing compared to everyone else: Chloe with her stylish strawberry-blond pixie cut and chic clothes. Chandler, her sleeves of tattoos and flowing caftan, a force to be reckoned with. Midas, towering over her with his perfect dreads and button-down dress shirt. And her, a wasted thing in Goodwill castoffs, her throat tightening every time she tried to speak. She’d spent most of that night trying to blend in with the background, as well as making sure she didn’t pick up the wrong glass and sip wine or a mixed drink by mistake.
Em rested her hands on the edge of the sink and gazed into the mirror again, and another detail from that night slipped into her mind, one connected to a different ghost’s unnerving and untimely disappearance.
She, Chloe, and Midas had competed in an initiation test that required them to use their inborn gifts to move a ball through an iron maze. Midas had combined his knowledge of geophysics with magic to whiz the ball through. Chloe had used her energy and an athame to steer the ball. Determined to earn her place in the coven and live in the complex instead of returning to the halfway house, she had summoned a spirit to help her. That’s when the orb that eventually proved to be Athena’s spirit had come and been banished by Rhianna.
Rhianna. She was an incredibly skilled witch. She could be the one summoning Gar’s ghost. But why? Unless she was in league with Gar and trying to help him break the attachment, which seemed unlikely.
A chill pebbled Em’s arms. There was something else she hadn’t thought about until now. Why would a formidable high priestess like Athena materialize in the weaker form of an orb rather than a fully materialized ghost—not to mention allow herself to be banished from her own home with her coven all around? It was peculiar, as strange as the tug-of-war she’d just experienced with Gar’s seemingly powerful ghost.
Chapter 5
She never grabbed me where bruises would show.
She never left me alone too long
in the closet
or in the van with blacked out windows.
—“Alone” by E. A.
Em headed downstairs to find Devlin. She needed to tell him about the failed summoning. The whole thing was disturbing. He’d also want to know about Gar’s dart gun and the labeled vials.
Lost in thought, she reached the first floor. The door to the office was open. She couldn’t see anyone, but Gar and Chandler’s voices were so loud and clear she could only assume they were right inside the doorway.
She slowed, unsure how to pass without looking like she was eavesdropping.
“I’m not about to let you question him,” Chandler was saying. “He’s just a boy.”
“Exactly my point.” Gar’s voice was stern. “Who do you think creatures like shades are more apt to seek out? Who is easier to influence, adults or children?”
“I didn’t let Merlin’s Shade go near Peregrine. When things went bad, I took him to a safe house.”
“Oh, so you didn’t trust that the Northern Circle would protect him?”
“That’s not what I said.” A phone jangled, and Chandler fell silent.
Gar grumbled. “I need to take this.”
Em hurried her steps, hoping to get by the office before they started talking again. But as she reached the doorway, Chandler backed out of the room and right into her path.
“Sorry,” Em said, sidestepping.
Chandler latched onto Em’s arm and slid a distressed look her way, as if pleading for help. “Don’t be sorry. I was about to call you.”
“Oh—” Em wasn’t sure what to say.
Chandler glanced through the doorway to where Gar stood only a few feet away with the phone to his ear. “If we’re done”—she said to him—“I want to show Em… I want to help her set up a place for the kittens before Brooklyn gets back.”
Gar frowned at them. “Hold on a moment,” he said into the phone. In one swift movement, he was through the doorway. His free hand closed around Em’s arm. His gaze went to Chandler. “You can go. Emily is staying.”
Chandler’s eyes met Em’s, telegraphing worry. “You okay with that?”
Em licked her lips, not as sure as she’d been earlier about wanting to be alone with Gar. Plus, while she couldn’t see his ghost, her sixth sense insisted it was still attached to him—which was strange enough to make her feel deeply uncomfortable. He certainly didn’t sound—or act—any more reasonable. Experience told her that the greater the distance or the weaker the attachment between Gar and the ghost, the less influence it should have over him. Then again, she’d never dealt with a person who was both haunted and part loup-garou, not to mention the addition of the whole tug-of-war thing. Still, talking with him would give her a chance to try and figure things out.
She smiled at Chandler. “It’s fine. But do you mind telling Devlin I’ll stop by later? He was expecting me.” With luck, Gar wouldn’t think anything of her comment and Devlin would figure out that something had happened during the summoning.
“Sure no, problem.” Understanding flashed across Chandler’s face. “After that, stop by my workshop. We can do those meditation exercises we were talking about earlier.”
Em steadied her voice and kept up the ruse. “I don’t think they’ll help, but okay.”
“Great. See you later.” Chandler gave Gar one last look, then took off down the hallway toward the living room.
Gar ushered Em into the office and nudged the door shut.
The room was dark, a rich darkness that came from its thickly curtained windows and walls lined with bookcases. The only light filtered out from a gooseneck lamp, sitting on an executive-style desk. It was one of the rooms Em hadn’t spent any time in. It hadn’t even needed cleaning, at least before today. Now random stacks of books surfaced like skyscrapers from the desk and floor. Juice bottles, orange peels, and an empty potato chip bag littered the top of a file cabinet.
A straight-backed chair was stationed in front of the desk. Gar gestured for her to sit in it, then t
urned to face her with his hips resting against the desk’s edge. He put the phone back to his ear. “Sorry that took so long. Like I said, this isn’t a good time.”
Em settled into the chair, her feet and ankles tucked safely back into the darkness beneath it. She couldn’t help wondering what Gar was going to ask her. He was a special investigator, which no doubt meant he’d looked into all the coven members’ pasts, including hers. Not that anyone had to dig very deep to find that information, at least not from the years she was Violet Grace.
She squeezed her eyes shut, images of tabloid covers and headlines about her reeling behind her closed lids like ads for a horror movie. Child medium does this. Child medium does that. Rumors of bad things. Rumors of hell. All trending on social media. There was little chance Gar hadn’t guessed why she always wore socks and kept her legs covered in public, hadn’t guessed about the scars and worse. Still, she didn’t believe any of those things had been on his mind in the kitchen. The question in his eyes had struck her as more personal to him.
“All right,” Gar snapped at the person on the phone. “I’ll call you back later, then.”
She opened her eyes in time to see him shove his phone into a pocket. He braced his hands behind him on the desktop and studied her. “So what am I going to do about you?” he said.
“Ah—” She had no idea how to answer that. She wasn’t even entirely sure if he was asking her or grumbling to himself.
He shifted upright and huffed out a frustrated sigh. After a moment he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he looked directly in her eyes. The question from the kitchen burned in his gaze. Finally, he put it into words. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
She blinked him, biting back the urge to blurt out “No.” She’d never been good at recognizing people, especially not by their faces or voices like most people could. It was usually the touch or scent of someone’s spirit that would strike her as familiar, when she did remember them at all.
“I think I saw you downtown,” she said. “In your truck just before you arrived here.” She was certain that wasn’t what he meant, but it was easier to accept than the memories surfacing in the back of her mind. Moss and evergreens. She’d smelled that on his bed, and again right now, the scent of his spirit and magic, whispering in the air around him.