Phantasm

by Phaedra Weldon

  Bonville. Shadow door.

  . . . little mess back in December . . .

  . . . was here briefly in January . . .

  This guy was talking about that little Shadow People incident I’d run into with Rhonda and—

  He moved his hand away from my eyes. I blinked once, and his face came into sharp focus.

  DAGS!

  Dags winced, closing his left eye. “Yow—you need to dial down the astral yelling, lady.”

  I stared at him, taking in every inch of him. I hadn’t seen Dags since he’d brought me coffee in the hospital that day when Joseph vanished, his tether to the physical world severed. Dags had disappeared not long after. I’d tried calling him in the two weeks since I somehow released Holmes in the warehouse, but his number had been disconnected.

  It’d been over a month since I’d seen him—and he’d changed so much in that time. Something about him was different—physically as well as astrally.

  Before Christmas—a week or so after Hirokumi was killed and Susan was saved—and of course I made the deal with TC to become the Wraith again—Dags, Rhonda, and I became involved with a Ceremonial Magician named Allard Bonville. Or rather—Rhonda and I became involved with him because Dags had joined the man’s circle of spooky friends. We learned that Dags had received magical tattoos on his hands and could summon a weird light that blasted out shadows.

  That little side adventure had nearly cost him his life when Bonville dragged him physically through the Abysmal plane. He’d died briefly in the hospital later—and been revived.

  By me.

  I admit the events were a bit hazy—and before now I’d been a little uncertain with him even when he’d come to the hospital with Joe to see me.

  But that didn’t stop me from grabbing him up and hugging him as tightly as I could despite the screaming pain in my shoulder. I also couldn’t stop the embarrassing flood of tears that spilled over my cheeks and nose. It’d been so long since I’d had any real contact, especially with anyone I considered a friend—my mom was always a big hugger. And I’d gotten so used to Daniel’s smile . . .

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Dags said as he pulled away but didn’t let go. He kept his right hand in my left one and wiped at my tears with his left. “Shhh . . . take a deep breath.”

  I nodded and did what he asked—though it was hard. I was afraid I’d do that hiccuping crying I used to do when I was a kid—the big cry that usually put me out for a good couple of hours.

  Watching him—I was amazed at how much he’d changed in just a month. No wonder I hadn’t recognized him.

  For starters, his ponytail was gone. He’d cut the back off pretty short though I noticed strands of hair that hugged his neck, but the top and sides looked more like he’d just rolled out of bed. And he had sideburns. His face seemed older somehow—as if he’d grown up in a short amount of time. And his eyes . . .

  There was something different about his eyes. Had they been like this that day in the hospital when he coded? I couldn’t remember no matter how hard I tried. There were so many other problems back then—I’d sort of dismissed him as being a sort of side character.

  “Let me do something about that shoulder.” He put his hands together, palms facing each other kinda like he was praying. Abruptly, a soft white light leaked out from between the two of them.

  That’s when I remembered the tattoos on his palms. I’d completely forgotten about them.

  He reached out with his left hand—palm glowing, and I could just make out the circles—were they spinning? He held it over my shoulder. Then he held out his right hand, palm facing down, and the light shone through the hardwood of the floor.

  My shoulder stung, and I winced.

  “Be as still as possible,” Dags said in a very deep but firm voice.

  I did as he said. And within seconds the pain vanished. He sat back and rubbed his hands together. I looked at my shoulder. My jacket was still burned—but my shoulder was—

  How’d you do that? I turned and looked at him. I’d seen him use the light from those tattoos to banish the oogy from dark corners—namely Shadow People.

  But—I’d never seen him use it for healing.

  “A lot’s happened in the past month.”

  I’ll say.

  His hand was on my forehead again. “Jemmy’s right, Zoë. You feel okay? You’re very warm.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes. I knew I had a fever—felt the heat in my eyelids. But I was afraid I’d been fighting off a cold for over a week. I’m fine. I just—Thanks for coming in when you did.

  Dags frowned at first, then nodded. We discovered pretty early on that Dags could hear me, but not like Joe had. For Dags, communication with me was more like images in his head. And he sometimes had to interpret what he saw to understand what I was saying.

  “Hey, Jemmy?”

  “What’s wrong?” Jemmy came out of the botanica, a broom and a black candle in her hands.

  “Do you know where a thermometer is? I think you’re right—Zoë’s sick.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. Especially with the smell in here. But I know where Nona keeps them. You stay here.” She set the broom down and ambled off.

  He released my arm and turned to pick up the now-cooled cup of tea. “You drink this and tell me what the hell you were doing opening a doorway.”

  I took the tea and sipped it. It was sweet, and I recognized hibiscus, as well as something else in there that was familiar. You know what’s happened?

  He nodded. “Most of it. I’ve been up to see Nona myself. Archer—you call him TC—was the one that took her soul?”

  Yeah—but how could you know what’s happened? I haven’t seen you—or spoken to you. And your phone’s been disconnected. Even Jamael didn’t know where you’d gone.

  He smirked. I didn’t like it much. Reminded me too much of Joe. “I have my sources. And like I said—I’ve got most of it. TC’s never contacted you?”

  No. And I thought that he’d eventually contact me somehow—threaten me with a ransom or something. I mean, why else take my mom’s soul, right? I sighed. I’m doing this by myself—I’ve always had Mom and Rhonda to tell me what to do. You know, what something means, how I use it, what’s wrong with it. But I’ve been alone at this—and I finally decided I needed to just open a door to the Abysmal and go get her myself.

  Dags pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “You know traveling through the Abysmal in a physical body can kill you.”

  No shit.

  “Why magic? That’s not really your forte, is it? Something wrong with just going OOB and stepping into the Abysmal?” He nodded to the botanica. “Instead of trying to burn yourself?”

  And here it was—the truth. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to face his sympathy either.

  But Dags was a smart guy, and he was watching my face. He tucked a finger under my chin and looked into my eyes. “What is it, Zoë?”

  I blinked back tears again—because I knew I was going to have to admit to something I didn’t want to. It’s because I can’t go OOB anymore, Dags.

  I’m no longer a Wraith.

  2

  Still the same day—keep moving

  THE look on his face was priceless. And I might have laughed—that is if I weren’t so upset.

  He cocked his chin down, looking at me through his dark eyelashes. His palms glowed a soft blue-white, and I felt my eyes widen as I pointed to them. Hey . . . your bright-light thingie’s coming on.

  With a smirk, he held his hands out to his sides, palms facing up. Abruptly two women in glowing white appeared on either side of him. On his left was a handsome, elderly woman with soft, wavy white hair. She almost looked like Veronica Lake’s mother.

  On the right side was a younger woman with medium-length brown hair. Her eyes were dark and her face familiar.

  In fact, both of them were familiar . . . like I’d talked to them before.

  “That’s because you have, Zoë,” t
he older woman said. “You were there when we were originally fused to the tattoos in Dags’s palms.”

  Ah! That old memory of mine kicked in, and I felt myself smile from ear to ear. Alice and Maureen! Rhonda and I were investigating their deaths.

  “You remember!” Maureen, the younger of the two, smiled.

  Dags looked from me to Maureen and then to Alice. “So . . . you’ve met.”

  Alice, the older woman, nodded. “You were unconscious at the time, dear.”

  He nodded. “Oh.”

  And then I did remember it all—the Shadow People and the souls. Bonville and his shadow door. The sound of Dags screaming beside me and a field of flowers as we moved through the Abysmal plane. I put my hands to my head and gave a silent groan.

  Dags was beside me again and put his arms around me. “Hey . . . what’s wrong?” He put his hand on my forehead again. “Zoë—you really are warm.”

  A sharp pain between my eyes came and went. I pulled my hands away and looked into Dags’s gray—were they gray before?—eyes. Ouch.

  “We tampered with her memory,” Alice said. “Up until now she didn’t remember much about Bonville or—”

  Or the fact that I pissed TC off. He’d shown up then as well. I rubbed at my nose and gave a silent groan. I saw it all now in my mind’s eye—TC taking Allard’s soul and me—me betraying him and blasting him to kingdom come.

  Again.

  Hell, no wonder he took my mother. He’d been pissed. But I at least had a better understanding of it now. I just wish I’d remembered it earlier.

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Maureen said.

  Dags pulled his hands from my shoulders and gave me that quirky smirk again. Joe had had that kind of smirk. But on him it’d looked smart-ass. On Dags it just looked—damn he looked different.

  “I am different,” he said, taking in my thoughts again. “In several ways. One difference is the girls here.”

  And they’re familiars, right? I kinda remember that part.

  Maureen nodded. “Yes—we protect his Abysmal—”

  “—and Ethereal being,” Alice said.

  I didn’t remember that. I looked from one to the other. You’re telling me that Dags has both parts of the planes?

  “Yes.” The two women said this together.

  “It happened when Bonville pulled me through the shadow door,” Dags said. “A physical presence can’t exist in the Abysmal, Zoë. And since I was already halfway to phreak-city”—he held up his hands to indicate the tattoos—“the touch sort of changed me—a lot like it changed you when TC touched you. But we can talk about that later.”

  But you never said anything about this when you saw me in the hospital!

  “No—but then what happened to me wasn’t the soup of the day, was it?” He made a face. “Girl—get a grip. I’m fine. I’m actually now just as freaky as you—and I’m here to help you any way I can to get Nona’s soul back.”

  I nodded at him.

  “So”—he sat back—“what do you mean you’re not a Wraith anymore?”

  I held out my hands. Just that—I can’t go OOB. No matter how hard I try, it just sticks.

  “Sticks?”

  My soul. It’s stuck to my physical body like it was before.

  He reached out toward my right hand. “Let me see the mark.”

  I held up the arm. That’s gone. It disappeared when I helped Holmes move on.

  I got that look again. “You did what?”

  And so I gave him the Reader’s Digest version of what’d happened in the warehouse—all the way down to Daniel walking in on me at the end.

  He looked very serious and pursed his lips. Then he chewed on his lower lip. “Have you seen Daniel since then?”

  I shook my head. No—not much. He called about a day after it happened—after driving me back here in silence. Said he had some thinking to do. It was nearly a week later before he wrote me an e-mail—saying he needed some time.

  I knew it was a Dear John Letter. The memory of those days—that anxiety of not knowing what to do—of not wanting to take another breath if I didn’t know where he was or what he was thinking. Trying to understand what it was I’d done wrong—wishing I’d told him sooner about what I was. Replaying what had happened over and over, and wishing I hadn’t let him go with me.

  I couldn’t eat, or sleep. Tim and Steve had been incredible, reminding me how important it was to keep up my strength—otherwise, what was Nona going to come home to? I had been a real mess.

  And if I was being honest with myself, nothing had really improved much.

  “And Rhonda? Why haven’t you asked for her help?” He paused as he looked at me. “Okay, Zoë—take it from the top. Tell me everything you can remember.”

  The beauty of being able to communicate like this was that I could sort of zap it in—just ball all the memories into one painful cup and throw it on him. Dags had gotten used to my delivery being a bit forced when I was upset—since getting blown out of his chair the first time back in December.

  This time wasn’t any different—except he didn’t fall out of his chair. He did close his eyes and wince. And his nose bled. Damnit.

  After sorting out the conversation and attempted kidnapping from Francisco Rodriguez, Dags’s expression hardened. He looked older suddenly—mature. And then I realized it was his face that was a little different. He’d matured some. Wasn’t covered in the baby fat so much.

  “Baby fat?”

  Ooops. Gotta watch those thoughts again.

  “So you kicked Rhonda out.” He sat back and folded his left arm over his chest and rested his right elbow on his arm. Then he rubbed at his lips with the index finger of his right hand. Dags looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure Rhonda’s as big of a threat as you think she is.”

  It’s not the threat part—it’s that she lied to me. I pointed at him. Even you broke off a relationship with her. Was it because you suspected something weird?

  “No, it was because I couldn’t return her feelings, that’s all.” Dags shrugged. “I’m not going to lie to someone in a relationship—that just ends up hurting both people.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt at that—I’d lied to Daniel and not told him what I was. And now—

  “Don’t beat yourself up about Daniel, Zoë. He’ll come around. And if he doesn’t”—he lowered his arms—“screw him. But”—he leaned forward—“what I want to know is why you can’t slip your astral body out.” He looked at Maureen, who looked at Alice, who looked back at Dags. It was a Ring-Around-the-Rosy sort of thing. “Any thoughts?”

  Alice shook her head. “No—senses tell me she’s still Wraith—and a very powerful one. Her abilities have doubled since we last met.”

  I sighed in frustration. Then why can’t I OOB?

  Dags stuck the pinky of his right hand in his ear and wiggled it. “Okay—remember—we still register volume with your inner voice.” He lowered his hand. “But as to why not? I have no idea. When did it happen? As in when did you notice it?”

  What happened with Holmes was Valentine’s Day—and Daniel didn’t call for a while. I got so wrapped up in getting the shop running, getting Mom settled, insurance bullshit—before I knew it, about four weeks or so had passed. I pursed my lips as I thought about the calendar in the kitchen on which I’d been marking the days—the days with no call from Daniel. Just this past Monday . . . the seventeenth. I was in the kitchen looking for coffee—and I climbed a chair ’cause Mom sometimes left coffee up on the top shelf. But all I got was dizzy, then I fell backward. Woke up about an hour later.

  “Zoë—you hit your head?”

  I nodded. No biggie. I’m thick-skulled. But just after that I heard something in the basement and tried to OOB to see what it was—because I’m really not that scared of spiders when I’m astral, and there are a lot of spiders down there. But nothing happened. After a few days of not being able to OOB—

  “You took the initiative to do a little b
it of magic?” Dags said. “Do me a favor—don’t do that anymore, okay?”

  I nodded. No problem there.

  He pointed to my head. “The white streak’s still there.”

  Not as much as it was. It’d gotten to be about an inch and a half thick. Now it’s actually fading.

  “You’re kidding.”

  I arched my eyebrow at him. Do I look like I’m kidding?

  He laughed. God, I loved that laugh. Mainly because it was the first laugh I’d heard in weeks. Emotion welled just beneath my eyes, and I moved forward and tackled him, hugging him again as tightly as I could.

  And he responded to me, taking me in his arms again and rubbing my back as my shoulders heaved, and I drowned again in one of those damned tidal waves of sorrow I was getting so prone to.

  God, I was a basket case.

  I also noticed offhandedly that the girls weren’t there anymore. I didn’t know if they hung out in Dags’s hands or if they were invisible. It was kinda like they were letting me have some privacy.

  “Shhhh . . .” Dags said in a soothing voice in my ear, and he kissed my hair. “It’s okay—I’ll help you find out what’s happened, okay? And we’ll fix it—I promise.”

  And I knew inside that he meant it. Unlike a few of my fickle friends who disappeared when the pot got too hot. Namely Joe Halloran. One kiss and poof—he was outta there.

  And it wasn’t even a good kiss.

  . . .

  Not really.

  . . .

  Well . . .

  Jemmy came down the stairs then, a long white stick in her hand. “Sorry—but this wasn’t where I thought it was. Oh . . . what’s wrong? Thank the great electron—she’s finally crying. Praise be you came, boy. She hasn’t cried not once.”

  That wasn’t really true. I had cried. Just not around Jemmy.

  Dags deftly touched my cheek even as I buried it deeper into his neck. “Zoë—lean back. We need to take your temperature, okay? You feel really hot to me.”

  I did as he asked, and sniffed, trying to hide my face from him. ’Cause you know how faces get all puffy and blotchy red when the crying jag starts. But Dags wasn’t having any of that and pushed my hair behind my ears. I looked at him—and again was amazed at how much he’d changed. He turned and took the electronic thermometer from Jemmy, pushed the button till it clicked, and coaxed me to let him stick it under my tongue.