by Kaje Harper
Darien said, “Where’s the lot you’re worried about?”
“Not so much worried. Annoyed, more like.” The man pulled one work-gloved hand out of his pocket to point down a rutted logging road. “That way. Seventeen’s just past five, off to the north.” He strode back to his hut without another word.
“Because of course seventeen is next to five,” Darien murmured. “What now?”
“Bundle up,” Silas said, even though he liked the rosy color rising in Darien’s cheeks. His lover looked so much healthier than just two weeks ago, though in bed that morning he’d found he could still count ribs in Darien’s lean chest— Focus. “I’ll bring my things.” He pulled out a brown leather satchel from the back seat.
Darien opened his coat and said, “Up, Pip.” The little dog leaped into his arms and he zipped the coat around Pip until just his head stuck out the top. Darien fished his mittens out of his pockets and tugged them on. “Where’s Grim?”
“Gone on ahead,” Pip said quietly. “Down the path.”
“Right. This way.” Silas led off.
The sun set as they walked, and vibrant colors spread across the sky. Darien stopped and tipped his head up, staring at the gilt-edged clouds overhead. “I’d almost forgotten how much I love sunsets. The library on campus had a tower with windows on all sides, and I’d sometimes sit up there to watch the sun go down.”
“Do you miss college?” Silas held his breath.
“Some things, yeah, a bit. But I’m studying and learning again now. Not hiding in that cold little room…” Darien’s voice trailed off for a second, then he glanced over and a wicked grin crossed his face. “There are major compensations.”
Pip swiped a tongue at his neck. “Like me!”
Darien chuckled. “Yep. One of them is exactly like you. But quit licking me. Tonight’s too cold for wet skin.”
“Sorry. You taste good.” Pip settled deeper into the front of Darien’s jacket.
“Are we working?” Grim’s voice came from the woods ahead. “Or are we sightseeing?”
“Coming,” Silas said. “What’ve you found?”
As they neared the first trees, Grim jumped down from a branch to the packed snow at their feet. “Nothing yet. The other humans are somewhere off to the east, too far to see or hear us unless you scream.”
“I shall endeavor not to then,” Silas said dryly, pleased to hear Darien snort.
They passed a wooden sign with a red-painted “5,” in front of rows of trees slightly taller than Silas. A hundred yards farther on, a split-rail fence edged a field of smaller firs. A bright red “17” drew attention to a gap in the fence halfway down, but no recent footprints broke the new snowfall leading off from the road. Grim eyed the foot-deep white snow and turned a demanding gaze up at Silas. “Give me a lift.”
“Sure.” He braced himself as twenty pounds of tomcat landed on his shoulders.
Grim draped himself around Silas’s neck, heavy and warm. “Onward.”
Silas was glad of his good boots, as they turned off the path and through the gap. The rapidly falling dusk brought a deeper chill, and their breath began to show in frosty vapors. A linear depression in the new snow marked a likely path between the trees. “I assume they’d have come this way, selecting a tree to cut.” He strode forward, keeping an eye out for signs of cut stumps where the encounters might’ve taken place.
They were about fifty feet into the lot when he detected a shift in the air. Sketching a rune, he sent a seeking spell out. There. One ping, strong and solid. “There’s a ghost, all right.”
“Now what?” Darien asked.
“We find a secluded spot and try the usual procedure with my power as the lure.”
Pip stuck his head up farther out of Darien’s coat. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Good idea.” Silas led the way between the small trees, then began tromping the snow down in a circle. As soon as Darien caught on, he started helping, one arm against his chest to cradle Pip, stamping the snow flat into a lumpy, widening clearing. When they had an area perhaps ten feet across, Silas said, “That should be enough.” Grim leaped off his shoulders to the packed snow, prowling the periphery.
Silas set his satchel down and opened the flap. He located the flashlight and passed the handle to Darien in the gathering gloom. An inside pocket held his pouches of powdered chalks, and he pulled out a bag of blue. “I’m going to draw the circle and see if we can bring the ghost near. Shine a light for me?” He pulled off his mittens to handle the bag more precisely, and managed a reasonable arc with his runes, as Darien led him around the circle with the flashlight beam. He left his circle-gate ready for the lock and tucked his chilled hand with the bag into a pocket.
Grim peered outward to the trees. “I hear something.”
“Me too,” Pip said. “Crying.” He wriggled out of Darien’s jacket and jumped to the trampled snow, sniffing hard.
“Yes.” Grim tilted his head. “That way.”
Darien shone his light off in the direction of Grim’s stare, but the beam petered out among ordinary firs and unbroken snow. They all stood silently, senses on alert.
A moment later, Silas made out a woman’s voice, or perhaps an older child, crying wordlessly. He thinned down his shields, ramping his power up a notch to make the lure shine clearer. Here, ghost, come on over.
Darien played his flashlight over the greens of the short fir trees and the sparkling snow. A soft breeze picked up, chilling the back of Silas’s neck, and he missed Grim’s warmth.
“There,” Grim said.
A hazy white shape drifted toward them between the trees. Usually with a poltergeist, Silas could make out a clear human figure, a form that echoed their appearance in life, but this one looked tattered and very translucent. The ghost came closer, then began to circle them. Silas saw Darien’s shields power up in a gold glow, as they all turned in unison to keep the spectral visitor in sight.
Here, ghost. I have what you need.
The poltergeist passed around and around, the weeping noise muffled to an occasional whimper.
“I’m getting dizzy,” Darien muttered after the fifth circuit. “What’s it waiting for?”
“Don’t know.” Silas raised his voice, pushing a little power into his words. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The spirit didn’t answer him, just whirled another faster circuit of the clearing.
Pip muttered, “I hear a person, but it doesn’t smell of anything.”
“Ghosts don’t,” Grim said. “You should know that by now.”
“What do you need from us?” Silas asked. “What do you want?” He thought about trying to power-snare the ’geist but it seemed so wispy and insubstantial that he might not be able to get a solid grip. I need more information first. He pushed more power into his voice. “Tell us who you are.”
The ghost flickered, disappearing behind a tree, then reappearing. Silas made out a thread of sound. Mary!
“Are you Mary?”
Where’s Mary? Where, where-where?
“Are you looking for her?” Ghosts were all about unfinished business. “Who’s Mary?”
Where, where? The ghost flitted off farther between the trees.
Silas thinned his shields more, opening up brighter, coaxing, “I have power. If you had power, you could find Mary.”
The specter came closer again, lifting higher off the ground and more amorphous, clearly not invested in any human appearance.
“Come on. Power is what you need.” He called a ball of green light to his palm, holding the lure out. “I’ll help you find Mary.”
Liar! No one helps! A sudden whirl of snow and pinecones rose from under a tree and flew at them in a cloud.
Pip barked and the debris cloud thinned and dropped, but a cone struck Silas’s cheek and bits of crusted snow stung him.
The ghost shouted, Go. Go, go, go, go! More and more snow and slivers of ice rose and began pelting him.
Pip’s rapi
dfire barking reduced the spray. Then Darien’s golden shields with a fire rune layered against them came up in a blazing wall between Silas and the snow. The ice and debris hit and hissed and dropped at the foot of that barrier. When the air cleared, the ghost had disappeared. No crying disturbed the still woods.
Silas tossed out a probe. There. Moving away from them at a fast pace. “Damn.”
Darien eased down his shields and turned in a slow circle. “Is it gone?”
“For now. Retreating.”
Grim stretched. “The only clear word I made out was ‘Mary.’”
“Yes,” Silas agreed. “‘Where’s Mary?’ and ‘No one helps.’”
Darien asked, “Man, woman? Could you tell?”
“No idea. That wispy appearance suggests age, usually a spirit severed from the body for so long that memory of the original shape is becoming lost.”
“But if it’s old, why didn’t people notice anything in all that time? The crying, at least?”
“That’s a good question.”
“Do you have a good answer?” Darien flashed a quick smile.
“Nope. Some research is in order.”
“How often does that happen?” Darien began dusting Silas’s front with his mittens, brushing off the clumps of snow. “That a ghost doesn’t want to come to you?”
“Very rarely. Usually simple ghosts want the warmth, and the ones with more agency, like this poltergeist, want the power. Part of their anger is usually powerlessness, helplessness, and they’re searching for something more. I’ve had a couple, over the last decade, who were so obsessed with their anger or pain they were harder to lure.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried to figure out who they were. Knowing their names helps reel them in—” He caught Darien’s hand, which had started brushing a bit too low and intimately, and mock-glared at him.
“What?” Darien made wide, innocent eyes.
“I think I’m clean enough.” He bent and scooped Grim up, a bit surprised when the cat let himself be arranged around his neck without protest. “Our next step is research.”
Darien grinned. “My favorite.”
“Collect your pup. Let’s head back.” As Darien secured Pip back under his jacket, Silas smudged out the sprinkled runes of his circle, hiding the colored chalk in a scatter of snow and footprints.
They turned back to the lane, Darien using the flashlight to show the way. Night had fallen and a hundred stars were emerging in the eastern sky. To the west, a remnant of rose and crimson glowed behind the trees. The new snow squeaked under their boots, and from somewhere an owl hooted, soft and low. Side by side, they made their way toward where the tiny points of colored light on the tree lot beckoned.
Silas realized that despite the chill, despite the failure, he couldn’t imagine being happier than this. A soft, still night, Darien at his side, Grim warm on his shoulders, Pip for once quiet, cuddled under Darien’s chin. They had a puzzle to figure out that wasn’t life and death. He’d replenished some of his power last week, and the hollows in Darien’s cheeks were filling in. Life is good. He almost wished they could just walk like this forever.
“I’m freezing my feet off,” Darien murmured at his side. “Can’t wait to warm them on yours in bed.” He snorted a low laugh, and Grim coughed by Silas’s ear.
Well, maybe not forever. “I’ll buy you warmer socks,” he suggested. And gladly take you to bed.
“Spoilsport.”
“Hardly.” He pulled his mind back to the problem at hand as they reached the parking lot and Grim leaped down from his neck, melting away into the dark. Mr. Stevenson came out of the hut.
“Got that sorted out, then?”
“Not quite yet,” he admitted. “You have something lurking up there, but we’ll need another visit to finish the job. I’d recommend keeping customers away from seventeen one more day.”
Stevenson grunted. “Time’s short. You’re gonna take care of the problem, right? I’m not paying you extra—”
Silas waved a hand. “The price is for the result. No extra charges for a second trip.”
“Well, all right then.” Stevenson frowned. “You’re sure this haunting isn’t just their imaginations?”
“We heard sounds that would spook an ordinary customer. We’ll be back tomorrow to finish up.” I hope. “Have you owned this tree farm long?”
“Ten years, near enough. Before that, the business belonged to my uncle, and my grandfather before him.”
“Are either of them around to talk to?”
“Nope. Passed, both of them, years back. Why?”
“A ghost usually hangs around somewhere they lived, or died. Do you remember any stories of someone dying back there? Anyone named Mary that you recall?”
“Can’t say as I do.” Stevenson scratched his beard and appeared to ponder. “I didn’t have much interest as a kid. Was gonna see the world. I only took over when no other family wanted it. Well, and when the Army let me go.” He raised his other arm which ended in a hook-like prosthetic.
Silas had only platitudes to offer so he said, “Is there anyone who worked here years back, who might remember more?”
“Maybe my uncle Bert. He’s a lawyer, but when he was a boy, he helped with the family business. He doesn’t want anything to do with farming now, of course. Not interested in honest work.” He grinned mockingly. “Too good for it. You know ’bout lawyers.”
“How would we find your uncle?”
“Bert Stevenson. His office is in Fordham. He’d be in the book.”
“Thank you.” Silas held out a hand. “We’ll be back. If you think of a death, or a Mary, the Guild has our number.”
Stevenson held out his good left hand flipped over and offered a crushing grip. “I hope so. Business is trailing off for me. Gotta make the most of these last days.” He nodded to Darien. “I hope your pup had a good run, at least.”
“He had an interesting time,” Darien said. “Thanks.”
As they made their way to the car, Silas tried to keep his mind on the case, but he couldn’t help noticing the way Darien’s warm breath left his lips and the shift of his hips under the loose jacket. Not much chance to do research at this hour…
Darien tilted his head Silas’s way. “The phone line’s fixed but the library will be closed, law offices too. I’m thinking our investigation might have to wait till morning?”
“That was my thought as well.” He didn’t say anything more, but their eyes met, there in the dim lot, and he wondered if the flash of heat between them was visible to ordinary eyes.
Grim rejoined them at the car, murmuring, “Any information?”
“A possible source,” Silas said softly.
“Good. While you track that down, Junior and I will work on that godawful mess of a Fetch effort.”
“I got some bits,” Pip protested, as Darien lifted him into the car. “Lots of them.”
“You did fine,” Darien said. “We can survive a few pinecones and snow.”
“We got lucky.” Grim leaped in after Pip. “We’ll have to figure out what the pup can do with a bunch of small objects, not just one big one.”
“I will,” Pip said. “I’ll work hard. It’ll be fun.”
Grim settled on the back seat. “Well, I will say, he’s not work-shy. Take us home, O horny one, and don’t forget to lock the bedroom door.”
Silas tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks, and the plaintive question of “What’s horny? Silas doesn’t have horns,” from Pip, as he pulled out of the lot, heading home to his big bed with Darien.
Chapter 4
Darien tipped his head closer to Silas’s so he could listen in on the kitchen phone, as Silas called the law office next morning. Silas rolled his eyes at him, but didn’t pull away.
“That’s right,” Silas said. “I have an important question that will only take a moment of his time.”
“Mr. Stevenson is a very busy man.” The secretary on the other en
d sniffed, as if to show how little she thought of someone interrupting her boss. “His time is valuable. He does charge for telephone consulting.”
“If his response takes more than a few minutes, I would be happy to pay his fee.” The frost in Silas’s voice could have withered an entire cornfield.
“I’ll put you on hold and see if he has a moment. Who shall I say is calling?”
Darien could see Silas’s jaw clench as he repeated, “Silas Thornwood.”
“Hold, please.” The line went dead.
Silas muttered, “If the man is like his secretary, we may not get much help from him.”
“Let me.” Darien put his hand over Silas’s and tipped the receiver to his own ear.
“What?” Silas frowned at him.
“I bet I schmooze better than you do.”
Silas’s frown deepened. “I can be conciliatory.”
Darien waved him to silence as the secretary came back on to say, “Please hold for Mr. Stevenson.”
After a moment, a man’s voice said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Thornwood?”
Darien put eagerness into his tone. “Mr. Stevenson. So good of you to spare us a moment of your valuable time. I’m Mr. Green, Mr. Thornwood’s research assistant. My employer is compiling a very important history of the local area, with a particular interest in some events you might shed light on. Everyone says you have a sharp memory for facts others might forget.”
“Perhaps.” Stevenson sounded reserved, but not displeased. “What do you want to know?”
“There was a death or tragedy of some kind, associated with your father’s Christmas tree farm, perhaps years ago. Everyone else says, ‘Oh yes, there was something, but I don’t remember much.’ My employer’s hoping you might be the one person who does recall the details.”
“A death?”
“Yes. Perhaps a person named Mary?”
“Mary does not ring any bells.”
“Perhaps someone who was with a Mary? Or the name might be wrong.” Silas drew breath, probably to deny that, and Darien elbowed him in the ribs. “Some other loss?”
“I don’t—” Stevenson paused. “Tragedy. Yes. But that was well before my time.”