by Helena Maeve
She told herself she had to—whatever history there was between them, not wanting to kill anyone also implied that she didn’t want anyone getting killed on her watch, much less someone she knew so well.
They sped past the cloakroom and the wide gallery where temporary exhibits had been displayed back in the days when temporary exhibits were still realistic, before the whole world had become a museum piece showcasing post-modern misery.
“Why would there be a poltergeist in my museum?” Eve panted as she fought to keep pace. Her shape wasn’t what it had once been back when she used to hunt frequently. “There’s no— There’s no cemetery around here! We’re built on swampland…”
Neil came to an abrupt stop at the entrance into the Paleolithic exhibit and Eve nearly rammed head first into him. “What—?”
“Leave your keys and radio.”
“What?” Eve panted. “Why—?”
Clearly speaking in full sentences was more than she could handle right now. Mercifully, Neil seemed to puzzle out her confusion. “You’re jangling like a belly-dancer. And take off your shoes, too.”
Her shoes were heavy, rubber-soled boots. They were part of the uniform and she’d always enjoyed the thumping noise they made when they struck the tile floors. “You’re kidding.” Neil fixed her with a look. Eve recanted. “Okay, you’re not kidding.” It still sounded like a stupid request, but she knelt down and hastily unlaced her steel-toed boots. “What about you?”
Neil stepped forward gingerly. His shoes made no sound.
Asshole, Eve thought, following in socked feet as they ventured together into the distant past.
Corresponding dioramas of human evolution in the Paleolithic bracketed the entrance. Had there been enough electricity for it, the displays would have lit up as they walked past, highlighting similarities between visitors and their long-dead ancestors. Then came the skulls—Homo heidelbergensis, Homo neanderthalensis, Homo sapiens—all hollow-eyed and noseless. Eve had spent more than one evening trying to add human features to the frames of calcium on which these ancients had been constructed.
Most of the museum was plunged in shadow these days, but some light did penetrate the Pleistocene exhibit thanks to the skylights directly overhead. Eve fought to keep her gaze trained away from the woolly mammoths, rhinoceros and cave lions creeping across the frozen Siberian plains en route to some undetermined destination. Their glassy, taxidermied eyes always gave her the creeps.
“I don’t see anything,” she hissed, feeling her heart pound frantically in her throat.
“You will,” Neil muttered. “Be quiet.”
“Fuck you. If something’s in here, it’ll hear our heartbeats before it hears me talking.” She spoke with assurance born of ignorance. How hard could it be to catch something that was already dead? In her experience, it was the living who were more problematic.
Neil rounded on her with a scowl. “I forgot how much of a bitch you can be. Poltergeists can no more hear your heartbeat than they can smell you. They’re low-grade predators, but they can still hear you yapping away like a—”
“And do they look like a ghoulish mess of guts and blood?” Eve asked.
“Yes.” Neil seemed taken aback. “You’ve seen one?”
“I have now!” Eve shoved him out of the way and held up her stun gun. Not killing people wasn’t the same as not killing apparitions from the underworld. She fired, sending an electrified cartridge into the creature’s mangled body. It passed right through it, coming out on the other side to sputter uselessly on the floor.
The creature hissed, opening its yawning gash of a mouth like a wolf showing its fangs.
“Um…” Eve backed up. “A little help here?”
“Out of the way,” Neil gritted out, pushing up and away from the reindeer he’d toppled over. He hefted his backpack off one shoulder then tossed it into Eve’s hands. “There’s a greenish vial somewhere inside. Get it for me?”
Eve caught the backpack. The instructions took slightly longer to register. “Why can’t you—?”
Then she saw it, the sheer, awesome force of Neil’s progress from awkward young adult to a man powerful enough to shield them both from the poltergeist’s sudden onslaught. Eve ducked, throwing up an arm to protect herself from the creature’s bloodied mouth. There was no need. Neil’s control manifested in the form of a shimmering, impenetrable bell jar that saw the specter flow around, rather than through, them. Eve didn’t precisely know what the latter would do but she had a feeling it would be extremely unpleasant, if not altogether lethal.
“I need that vial!” Neil shouted over his shoulder. What little Eve could see of his profile revealed a man who was struggling very hard not to flinch or run. She recognized abject fear when she saw it—she had felt it often enough over the past ten years. “Eve!”
“Working on it!”
There was so much junk in his backpack that trying to dig out the vial was like searching for a pair of Louboutins at Walmart. She stumbled across a leather flogger, two fish-shaped amulets, one ugly-looking doll missing a limb, an assortment of chocolate eggs, a generous strip of condoms and finally, after rummaging through the backpack for what felt like a good five minutes, Eve closed her hand around something cool and bottle-shaped. She couldn’t see what it was until she pulled it out.
“You call this green?” she shouted as the poltergeist took another crack at them. Neil’s shield beat it back again, but there was something in the vicious howls that spilled from its throat that told Eve it was only growing more frustrated.
She pressed the vial into Neil’s hand as best she could. He couldn’t afford to turn around or even move his hands more than a fraction.
“I have to draw it out,” Neil said, red-faced with effort.
“What does that mean?”
The translucent bell jar that offered them protection fizzled out of sight like champagne bubbles. Sensing their sudden vulnerability, the poltergeist made another swoop as if finally going in for the kill.
It was a terrifying sight and Eve couldn’t help but huddle behind Neil, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she fought to ignore her trusty fight or flight instinct.
The creature came for them with gusto, hell-bent on slaughter—and found itself choking on the green smoke of whatever tincture was inside the vial. Eve smelled chicken broth as the vapors dispersed. Neil had tossed the vial at his feet just as the creature was about to make contact with their defenseless bodies. Shards of glass scattered this way and that. Fumes engulfed the poltergeist, which wailed and howled, soaring toward the rafters.
“Is it dead?” Eve asked. “Is that it?”
The tension in Neil’s rigid shoulders gave the answer before his mouth could. “That was round one. I told you these bastards were hard to kill…”
If he had, Eve couldn’t recall it and didn’t care to remember. “What happens if it takes a bite out of us?”
“It slips through us and separates the souls from our bodies piece by piece… We’re slowly crippled until we die. In agonizing pain, I might add.”
No, you might not.
“Oh. Great.” Eve dragged a hand through her tangled curls. “So… Now what?”
Neil knelt down and pulled the backpack toward him. The poltergeist was still out there, close enough that they could hear its menacing shrieks but far enough that it didn’t qualify as an immediate threat.
When he didn’t offer a reassuring quip, Eve crouched beside him, her panic mounting. “Neil—”
“I need a locked room. Something blast-proof.”
Eve clicked her fingers. “My control room. It’s as good as a bunker.”
“Let’s go.” He caught her glancing up at the skylight, where the poltergeist was currently licking its wounds. “Don’t worry, it’ll follow our scent. It wants revenge now.”
“Now why would I find that worrying?” Eve drawled, a question only in name. She gasped.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Keep going
.” In his cat-quiet boots, Neil was protected from the shards of glass that peppered the floor. Eve didn’t have the same luxury. She could feel the jagged slivers digging into her soles with every step. Her vision blurred. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t stop or slow her pace. The only outcome of dithering at this point would be death. Eve directed them, barking out commands through gritted teeth. There was no helping the crimson footprints she left in her wake. They weren’t trying to avoid drawing out the specter anymore.
They hit the control room in no time and Eve steadied herself against the wall, gripping the doorjamb with a white-knuckled fist. “Will this do?”
“Brilliantly,” Neil said, beaming a wide grin her way. He turned the backpack upside down, upending its contents all over the floor. “Anything in here you hold dear, now would be the time to get it out.”
Eve considered the offer. “I’m good.” She didn’t feel strongly about fashion magazines or bitter tea bags. “What are you going to do?”
“Set up a trap.”
“I gathered that much,” Eve scoffed. “And then what?”
“And then,” Neil said with a manic grin, “we send the damn thing back to where it came from.”
He made it sound easy, just like he’d done with his family—oh, they’re just a little out there—and cliff jumping at Table Rock Lake. Eve shook her head to dispel the memory. This wasn’t the time to get all mushy. Unlike some of her past friends, she’d never been much into snares and traps. Too much work, she figured, when the thrill of hunting was synonymous with the thrill of the chase.
They had already attempted the one, which left them with the other. And to his credit, Neil seemed to know what he was doing as he poured salt all over the room, oversensitive machinery that would likely not function again and floors that hadn’t been swept for dust in at least two months. He stopped at the door, leaving a gap wide enough for something large and very likely malevolent to slip through.
“Get in here,” he said, gesturing to Eve with an impatient hand.
She very badly wanted to reject the suggestion, but the refusal stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “This seems like a terrible idea.”
“Have a little faith.” That had never been the problem. Had she been any less trusting, she never would’ve left St. Louis in the first place, never gone to seek her fortunes in the Mojave Desert, and maybe she and Neil would’ve been married by now.
Maybe not, Eve thought as she felt Neil slide an arm around her waist. “I’m getting tired,” he explained. “Physical contact starts being necessary.”
“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Eve shot back. It was the best she could do to subdue the butterflies in her stomach. Now was really not the time for that.
In the blue light of generator-powered monitors, she saw the winged wraith approach like a fantastical mix between a man and a pterodactyl. Something straight out of one of her more violent nightmares. She could smell Neil’s skin, the slightly acrid flavor of his sweat. The urge to press her brow into the curve of his neck and close her eyes was near-overwhelming. She bit it back, determined to outlast the impulse.
You’ve been through worse. You’ve lived through worse.
Neil held up his free hand with fingers splayed out and veins drawn sharp in unnatural blue-black lines. He seemed to be straining for something.
“Nothing’s happening,” Eve shouted.
“I know!”
And the ghoul was still coming, hurtling toward them like a cannonball aimed at a perfectly still target.
“Neil!”
A burst of shimmering energy no bigger than a dinner plate deflected the poltergeist’s onslaught. Already injured, it attempted to sidestep the impact and veered around them, into the control room.
“Now! Move—”
They stumbled out drunkenly and nearly fell to their knees on the other side. Eve kicked the door shut behind her with a resounding bang.
“It can’t fly through solid matter?”
“Not unless it’s alive,” Neil panted huskily. His hands were shaking as he liberated a flat saucer swaddled in cloth. Something pale and liquid was sloshing about inside. Eve couldn’t make out the substance. She was too busy clutching the door handle tightly shut, in case the specter developed hands when she wasn’t looking. “Okay,” Neil said, “you open on the count of three.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not—”
“It’s only a matter of time before it gets into your head and makes you want to let it out.” Haggard-looking and infuriatingly familiar, Neil settled a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me.”
What could Eve say? I don’t trust anyone anymore was close to the truth, but it was also pathetic. She didn’t want him thinking she was some sort of victim.
“On your count,” she said, nodding, and let go of the door when he gave the word.
Chapter Two
St. Louis, fourteen days before
It was just like old times—Neil’s crazy schemes and her willingness to follow wherever he led. He counted out the seconds. At one, Eve couldn’t help but think that he had never looked so cold when they were kids. At two, she wondered why they were even struggling with this when they were doomed anyway.
At three, she let go of the handle and watched Neil lob the device into the control room. She felt his arms around her as he shoved her behind a wall and pinned her there with his body. The durasteel door banged shut.
A beat later, a clap of thunder echoed from within.
True to Eve’s expectations, the windows didn’t so much as crack. The control room held fast against the force of the discharge, even if the machinery within likely did not fare as well.
“You okay?” Neil asked into the press of her hair.
“Yeah… I think so.” She could move all of her fingers and toes, which had to be a good sign. “You?” She felt Neil nod. “Okay. Great. You can let me go now.”
Neil withdrew slowly, without acknowledging any awkwardness between them. That much was still the same. He remained the boy who kissed her cheek instead of her lips and pretended it was precisely what he’d been going for.
“Is it dead?” Eve asked as she stepped cautiously toward the control room.
“It was already dead,” Neil pointed out. “We merely helped it back out of the mortal plane… You’re bleeding.”
“What—? Oh.” Eve glanced to the floor, where her feet had left swirling, rust-colored streaks. “It’s fine. I’ll heal.”
“Not with those shards in your skin, you won’t.” Neil motioned her toward a bench seat near the main exit. They had to pass the remnants of the door to get there, but that was easy enough to do. Adrenaline had already curbed the worst of the sting.
Eve sat and peeled off her sodden socks. She wasn’t surprised to find that her toenails had elongated. Her body reacted to pain even if her mind was too distracted to acknowledge it. “You don’t have something on you for insta-laundry, I suppose?”
“I’m not Mary Poppins,” scoffed Neil. But he was kneeling down, putting a gentle hand on her ankle. “Does it hurt very much?”
“No,” Eve lied. “I told you, I’ll heal…”
“Let me help.”
It was a terrible idea. It was far too intimate to be done lightly. And yet before she could stop him, Neil was putting his fingers on either side of the worst cuts and methodically prying out the glistening shards. A warm rivulet of blood coursed down the hollow of her foot to drip on the floor. Eve giggled.
Neil glanced up, gaze flickering to meet hers. “Am I—?”
“No, I’m sorry. It tickles.” Her pain threshold was higher than most people’s, or she wouldn’t have survived the unpleasantness at the Briars—something she most definitely wasn’t about to think of now, like this, with Neil coaxing the shrapnel from her flesh. “You got over your distaste for blood,” Eve noted, for want of anything more anodyne to say.
“I did,” Neil confirmed. “Had to.”
“You’re in t
he family business now?”
He nodded. “Not much business left, though.” He liberated a penknife from his pocket and opened it one-handed by squeezing the blunt edge of the blade between his teeth. The sight of the switchblade didn’t bother Eve as long as she didn’t think of scalpels by association. Some of the smaller shards embedded in her foot had to be coaxed out with sharper tools than fingernails. She was fine with that. “Not much family, either,” Neil added absently and pressed the tip of the blade to her skin.
The last slivers of glass rained down like pebbles.
“I’m sorry,” Eve said. She had never been fond of his relatives—they had made no secret of their disdain for her kind and she saw no reason to pardon their prejudice now that they were gone—but that didn’t mean that she’d wanted them dead. “Your brother?”
Unlike Eve, Neil had had the dubious honor of coming from a big family. He had something like sixteen cousins, some with children his own age, but it was his brother he’d grown up with. Felix had shared his family’s feelings about Eve, but in his case that dislike had been compounded by envy. He’d despised Eve for taking his brother away from their games. He had ratted them out at the first opportunity.
“He’s all right,” Neil said. “I’m sure he’ll land on his feet, wherever he winds up.”
It had been ten years. Eve could say “I’m glad,” and mean it.
The same operation with the switchblade was performed on her other foot, silence once again creeping between them like a specter.
“Thanks,” Eve said, when Neil declared the task complete.
The calloused skin on her right foot had already scarred over, lacerations quick to close. By the time her shift was over, she would probably be able to walk home barefoot. She could also get her boots, of course, but the thought of going back into the exhibit after she had seen the poltergeist fly about so menacingly and real had her feeling less than enthused about that possibility.
“So… Is this your job now? You run around town chasing creatures that don’t belong?”
“Yeah, I’m a regular ghostbuster,” Neil sneered, levering back onto the balls of his feet. There was something mean in his laughter. He seemed to realize it, too, because he mitigated the guffaw a second later, shaking his head. “I felt the rift as it was forming. I didn’t know where it would open exactly, but I knew it was going to be tonight.” He shrugged. “I suppose I got lucky. Sometimes they’re in more populous areas. People get hurt.”