by Elle Cross
The last thing I remembered was hearing a scream so powerful, it rippled the atmosphere around me, bending and warping the air as I winked out of the Fold and passed into this realm—what my people called the Shadow Realm—and it was all thanks to the Oracles.
That was about three years ago.
Three years of living on my own here in this limbo among the mortal Humans—Shades—and their bland lives. So easily distracted and blown off course with any suggestible mental imprint. It was a wonder any of the Shades were conscious of anything in their life.
Such a waste of energy. No wonder ghosts liked to dwell here. They were perfect complements.
I sighed, and my breath misted in front of me. It only took a solid second for me to realize why. It had actually gotten cold, and was becoming even colder in this subway train.
Considering it was late September, and it was a muggy eighty degrees outside, this was a problem.
The windows fogged over, crystalline frost lines forming on the glass.
The train had just pushed away from the platform and continued down along its track. My building was a few more stops away. But what I feared was up ahead.
A tunnel. An in-between place where the veils between the realms thinned.
The subway train plunged into total darkness, and I froze.
The lights flickered, and then, I felt it. A pressure, like lightning over my skin. I didn’t lift my head, only shifted my eyes from side to side, on the lookout for what could have come aboard or entered within my proximity without my knowledge or consent.
Slowly, slowly, with each flicker of light, the Shades aboard the train car became still, flattening out into less-dimensional versions of themselves. It was as if they were wind-up toys whose gears were slowing down to a stop. Colors leached from their skin. From their clothes. Reds, blues, yellows all faded to a dull gray, an echo of the life they had.
Dread grew thick and heavy in my stomach. I focused on my breathing, controlling the quickening of my heart, the racing of my mind.
I coached myself to stay calm. There was no reason to believe that anything was after me. There had been no rumors or alleged sightings.
A blip of blue lightning sizzled through the car before it was plunged completely into the silent world of the Fade, a slipstream that existed as an echo of our current world. The Shades who rode the train with me froze mid action. The lady across from me was still discreetly yawning behind her hand. A boy’s arm stopped mid-air as he played with a toy. Even the lights outside seemed to stretch into slow streaks like pulled taffy.
The ghost however was not affected, but continued to stand still.
I followed suit.
I strained my ears to hear past the noise-cancelling earbuds I wore. Any sudden movements seemed like a mistake.
A distant tremor rankled the air. It sighed against me like the sound of knives skimming over chalkboards. Suppressing a shiver, I darted my eyes from side to side, making out as much of my periphery as I could.
There were no visible threats, no warning that someone had spotted me or intended to challenge me to a duel.
I smelled them then, a mix of smoke and frost that hearkened images of an endless winter. And then I saw them. Hell Hounds. Twisted and terrifying creatures with taut gray flesh over sinewy muscle. Each leg had too many joints and segments. They seemed more like reptiles or insects, rather than the puppies their name would suggest.
What they shared in common, though, were the fact that they were also great pack hunters with a keen sense of smell.
And right now, they were hungry.
My fingers twitched, compelled to press the tattoo on my wrist. An old habit, one I fought daily to resist. The glyph was my failsafe and would call my old bodyguards around me. Loyal men that I had abandoned.
I curled my fingers into fists. It used massive amounts of power, and there wouldn’t be a guarantee that it would work to pull people across the veils. No matter. I had survived for three years without them. I could suffer through this, too.
The Hounds were inside now. Shadows flitted and faded as the arcing electricity surged over the train car, marking the way of their passage. Hounds on the hunt behaved this way, but what was peculiar was not knowing who or what held their leashes. They rarely hunted without a master.
As if in answer, Wraiths uncurled from the shadows like ink in water. Their bodies formed drip by drip gaining weight and substance until they appeared in the subway car, impossibly thin gentlemen with their signature rictus grin. They hissed along the car as if leading a macabre parade that sniffed the air looking for a lost little Brightling among the Shades.
There was movement outside of the car where there should not have been a place for anyone—or anything—to stand on. Grim, skeletal faces stood out in stark contrast against the outside of the glass.
Banshees. Searching.
Waiting.
Well, now, what were banshees doing in the same hollow as Wraiths and Hell Hounds?
An incessant tapping of nails from above gained purchase in the metal, the unholy sound of it being peeled back filled the air. The Hell Hounds came closer, and I could see even better this peculiar alliance of races peering into the cars, inspecting people, and getting away with petty acts of annoying behaviors.
Something moved, and it was a pixie that was snuffed out quickly, its light being swallowed down in a blink.
So, that was the kind of end that would be waiting for me if they got their hands on me. Excellent.
Good thing I didn’t intend on dying.
The tattoo on my wrist throbbed in response to the mounting danger. Desperate, I resolved to press it when the ghost made his move.
Many things happened at once, probably within the span of heartbeats, but it all seemed to unfold in slow motion.
The ghost glowed brighter. I could see through the whip-like, inky aura to the man within. He could have been on his way to a sales appointment with this drab suit and tie. A perfectly polite and mild-mannered man in his previous life.
Except he turned to face the approaching hunting party, and sparks arced over his face. He opened his mouth and yelled, surging toward them.
In his wake, something beyond the train pried the subway doors open. Instead of the dark tunnel walls that it should have opened to, was what looked like…a starry night.
A portal? Here?
A small hand thrust in from the darkness, palm up, a clear invitation to follow. Whatever waited for me on the other side seemed to breathe calm and acceptance. Warmth.
I pushed off from my seat, looking back as the ghost hurled itself over the hounds. Their snapping jaws took in the scraps of energy that the ghost contained.
My movements alerted the Hounds belatedly. The Wraiths shrieked, joined by the Banshees. I focused on the waiting hand.
Energy brushed along my back, like skeletal fingers of power, but it was too late. I grasped the hand with all my strength, and the dimensional portal swept me away into the endless night.
Karina
I REALIZED THAT THE person pulling me along was another ghost, and she pulled me through what should have been a brick wall, or whatever subway tunnels were made up of here in the Shadow Realm.
I couldn’t quite see her, but I could feel her. She was newly dead, within the last month, because of the energy that I seemed to get from her. The dull and stale feeling of being in the Fade slowly fell away from me, and instead it was as if I could breathe deeply again. Like I was going from some place that was two-dimensional into a three-dimensional space.
With each step, it was like pinpoints of light expanded until darkness bled to gray and then the next step, I was on a subway platform.
The transition was jarring. It was as if I’d been trudging along in mud and muck, and suddenly, I was on solid ground again. I hadn’t realized that I was in a torpor until the moment I was out of it.
I looked behind me and it was solid wall.
I recognized this platf
orm as the stop before mine. It had the stillness and quiet of the Fade, but this was different. It smelled vibrant here, like morning dew on freshly shorn grass. There was not this feeling of being squeezed and pressed. It had more a feeling of expansion and potential.
It was still a little off from what felt like normal, and I could not put my finger on it, but the important part was there were no hounds in the immediate vicinity.
I was about to exit the platform toward street level when the ghost beside me—who was still not visible to me—made me wait. It was odd, because she didn’t talk to me, or attempt to touch me. It was more like I suddenly saw images in rapid succession.
A wall.
A watch.
A train rushing past.
So, it evidently wanted me to wait here.
And then, just like the gradual light of dawn, color seeped into the space.
More smells and sounds rushed in. The screech of the subway, the susurrus of a crowd of people, and then from one blink to the next, a crowd of people walking along and living their lives rushed along the platform like little ants about their business.
It was like for a moment in time, we had glimpsed a possible future among many.
The train had arrived, and didn’t have any of the Hounds, Wraiths or Banshees trailing after it. For a moment, I wondered if my ghost passenger was still on there, maybe minding his business while holding onto a pole. I didn’t realize that I searched for him until the train disappeared, and he was not there.
He must have burned off the last bits of energy rushing those hounds.
A small hand joined mine. When I turned my attention to the ghost, I nearly jumped when I saw her. She was a she but I hadn’t realized that she was a young girl. Too young.
And then images flitted into my mind of crime scene photos in a too-plain manila folder.
She simply nodded. She didn’t press images or memories into my head like she had before about waiting. Whatever the reason I was glad for it.
I didn’t quite know what she wanted to do or where she wanted me to go. But thankfully it didn’t involve me needing to run out and find her killer, though I was sure that finding her killer would be at the top of her agenda.
It would have been the first thing on my to-do list. Then again, I grew up in a bloodthirsty family.
For now, though, she seemed content to just hold my hand.
And I was content to let her.
Images of a home and food popped into my head. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
She shook her head then slowly pointed. She thought I would want to go home and eat.
“Are you sure you want to go back to my house? It’s kind of boring there.”
She showed me a picture of blankets and fluffy dogs running around. I guessed that was her version of safe and protected.
I looked around for good measure. The coast was clear. Thankfully, no Hunters would be following us back home.
Let’s go home then.
There was no way I was stepping foot on another subway, so I walked back with my new companion.
I chose this neighborhood because it was a block away from good food, metro access and was beautifully quiet. But now, the quiet held an eeriness that clung to me like stinging nettles. Thank goodness we were home.
In the comfort of my warded house, I was finally able to exhale. My stomach answered the silence with a loud grumble. I threw together something quick: frozen things were placed in pots and pans to simmer while I figured out what to do with my new companion.
Even though she was a ghost, I felt the need to show her things as if she were my guest. It seemed the polite thing to do and had nothing to do at all with the fact that I was starved for company.
I showed her the living room and turned on the television for her. I didn’t know what would be appropriate so I just put it on a non-controversial home design channel.
“I’m going to clean up. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable here?”
I didn’t think she would, but she sank down on my couch and started watching, transfixed by the television screen. Were ghosts attracted to the electricity? After all it was a type of energy. Or, was this another muscle memory from being a Shade—being transfixed to a glowing screen?
I cleaned up and put my dinner together. She was still merrily watching how a young couple could afford to buy a house with little to no income. I watched along with her. As I ate, the girl gradually began to glow.
Hells, maybe she is feeding off of me. I asked her about it, and she sheepishly shrugged.
Huh. Well, that answered that question.
“So, we’re here now. And I can see that you are feeling better.” I waved my hand at her body. She was practically glowing, a faint blue-white that would look like a wink of light even to Shades without the gift of sight. To a daughter of Nightmares, ghosts were as obvious to me as the sunrise. “By the way, thank you for saving me from those Hunters.”
Gratitude was extremely powerful. A whisper of something flushed over her, something that reminded me of an abashed smile. “Tell me, why did I need saving? Do you know who sent them?”
She didn’t know, but she pressed upon me a series of images.
A night sky with no stars.
A mirror.
A knife.
I groaned as the images repeated. Waving my hand around as if I could swat the mental pictures away, I told her that I understood what she was trying to tell me.
Oracles. Of course it stood to reason that they would send me a messenger that needed an interpreter. Everything they did was always full of double speak and shaded meaning. Slippery.
“I got it, thanks…uhm, what should I call you?”
For a second, the manila folder flashed in my mind. I hadn’t seen much past the photos, but I could likely see the name of the case file or something if she wanted me to.
Please don’t want me to.
The television winked off. The sudden silence made me jump. Then it came back on, the channels switching fast. I was about to tell her to stop playing and pay attention, when I zeroed on repeating syllables and letters.
I pieced together the sounds and words she seemed to linger on.
Under, Uber, Luna, Una—
The television skipped to the ding-ding-ding trill of a winning answer in a game show. “Una?” I said aloud.
She glowed, and I thought I saw what could have been the outline of her body, and not just a shimmer.
“Well, Una, nice to meet you. I’m going to find my mirror. Did you want to stay here?”
The television went back to the home design channel.
Now that I knew she could manipulate the television, it was funny that she chose that channel. She just better not get any ideas about rearranging my stuff.
I crept to the basement, somehow feeling guilty that I kept my one connection to the Fold hidden away down here like it was a dirty secret.
It was a secret, of course, just not a dirty one. No one else knew I was alive.
I didn’t keep any mirrors in this house. I didn’t need the temptation of looking back at my old life. Besides, that was also a pretty big invitation for potential enemies to find me. Just too big of a liability.
The one thing I was worried about was being detected while contacting the Oracles. But I hoped that the energy of a ghost being here would dampen my aura.
I found my box labeled ‘Home Goods’ and pulled out a tattered, ratty old tote bag. Inside was plain wooden box with ancient symbols and carved markings on it in a language so old I doubted anyone alive in all the universes had ever heard it spoken.
I didn’t need to know how to speak it to know what it meant when I drew the glyphs with intention.
Caressing a finger over the symbols, I asked for the box to open. The locks whirred, and the pressure of the lid released with a sigh. Inside, gleaming as if impervious to dust and time, was a simple mirror and a blade nestled in a velvet cloth that was darker than black.
&n
bsp; The mirror looked like an ordinary piece of glass except it didn’t show a reflection. I lifted it by its beveled edges, careful not to touch the surface itself. The box lid had a built-in prop for this mirror so I rested it there. The blade sang a little as I lifted it from its rest.
With a breath and a prayer, I nicked the side of my left index finger, nothing more than a paper cut. Blood welled up on my skin and I let it drop on to the glass.
The surface rippled like it was liquid, drinking up the blood. Black swirled where the blood would have been, stretching out until it took up the frame as if traveling through a tunnel or void until it became more like a window into a familiar room.
I could pick out three hooded figures kneeling on a rough stone floor, a single candle lit in front of them.
“You received our message then.”
No formality. No recognition. No inflection. Directly to the point with no double speak.
Something was wrong.
“Yes, Oracle.” Though there were three that I could see, and likely more beyond my view, they spoke the collective voice of the Oracle. It was both their title and their calling. Their collective made them strong, though I’d only seen eleven at most when I left the court and found freedom here in the Shadow Realm.
There was a collective grumble, so I clarified. “I didn’t understand the message, but I have the girl, Una, who I assumed was the message. That she was supposed to find me and contact you.”
That seemed to be what they had wanted. For Oracles, ones that could speak truth and prophecy, it was frustrating that they didn’t communicate or interpret clearly. I often wondered if balance like that was part of the universal design of things. All-seeing, yet unable to communicate their visions, which were reliant on an interpreter.
Why would anything come easily anyway?
I was a Queen’s daughter, but needed to prove it to her court time and again.
I had a sister whose love was conditional and whose acceptance depended on her mood.
I had a champion who was willing to fight and die for me, but I refused to let him.