His mouth fell open and a trickle of pure white smoke began to pour over his bottom lip, looking almost liquid as it left his body. He sighed—one last, long exhalation and then went completely limp. There was no way to describe the difference between sleep and death, but she knew immediately he was gone.
She'd never seen someone die before, never seen the soul leaving the body. She kept her gaze focused on the body, which now seemed empty of life, and waited.
"I-is it over?" she asked, hesitating to break the profound quiet that had filled that foyer.
Her mother gave a sharp headshake. "Not yet; we still have the ghost to deal with and not a lot of time." She sounded worried and April was about to ask why, when her grandmother interrupted.
"Foshi. Quiet," Mary snapped. She exchanged a secretive look with her daughter, who finally shrugged.
"Yeah, yeah, not like it's going to matter if he doesn't show himself," Foshi muttered under her breath. She rolled the chair forward until her feet stopped just inches from the white lines.
"If you're unable to be quiet, I will roll you out the—"
It seemed like the two women were about to get into one of their infamous arguments, though April was confused as to exactly what they were arguing about. They were glaring at each other with identical dark eyes, when there was a sudden change in the room. The temperature dropped dramatically, sinking a noticeable amount. She looked down and shivered as bumps rose on her arm.
The bickering stopped immediately and the women turned their attention to the lifeless body with an air of expectation.
John, who had been silent throughout the whole ritual, suddenly spoke. "I don't feel his spirit."
"The salt, I think," April whispered. "John says he doesn't feel anything, Appo, but I do," she said in a louder voice, explaining. The words came with a visible mist as her warm breath hit the rapidly chilling air. "Cold." That was definitely a sign of a ghostly presence, and John no longer caused that.
Something was happening inside the circle. The corpse was still, no movement there, but an indistinct shadow form was rising and separating from the body. She stepped out of John's arms, kneeling to get a closer look and hoping that the barrier was going to be enough to keep Harold's spirit in check. She gasped.
John crouched down next to her, asking, "What do you see?"
The form was hazy but growing firmer with each passing second as it hovered above the body, but that wasn't what had shocked her. "Well I-I just realized I've been seeing Harold the whole time. Charles looks nothing like I thought!" she exclaimed.
Mary, perhaps thinking that the comment was for her, addressed it. "Of course. You're a medium, Chepota. You were seeing the real presence, not the shell," she said impatiently.
Upstairs in the hidden room, she'd seen one face superimposed over another for just a few seconds and had begun to suspect then, but this confirmed it. Now she knew she'd never seen the same man the others had seen; that explained the confusion over his eye color. It was just starting to hit home that she'd never met Charles Bruebeker at all. That man had ceased to exist before she'd set foot in the house.
When she'd tapped into Harold's memories, she'd gotten more information than she'd had time to process. There were still pieces that didn't fit, and it contributed to the feeling of not knowing what the hell was going on. Foshi and Mary worked in tandem, a flawless team as they began to deal with the true problem—Harold Tiding.
In her whole life, April had never seen them cooperate with each other so seamlessly. She watched, taking it all in and trying to understand what was going on. There was a sense of urgency to their movements. The haste made her hesitate to ask for an explanation so she remained silent, on her knees outside of the circle, watching.
She knew the exact moment Harold became aware that he'd been evicted from the stolen body; his head turned and his eyes locked with hers. The hazy shape of his body firmed, looking almost solid for a moment, and then he screamed with rage and it shattered, exploding into an unrecognizable ball of—she wasn't even sure what he was comprised of. It looked like a swirling mass of vitriolic colors, all oozy and nauseating.
He grew, puffing up and filling all the space inside the salt lines until the empty body was completely hidden and then he lunged at her. Shrieking his outrage, he tested the prison again and again, but the lines were thick and solid; he was trapped. He seemed to exhaust himself, using whatever energy he'd had, attempting to reach her. Finally, spent, he collapsed. The billowing miasma funneled down to a point and an image was slowly rebuilt until she could recognize him as the man she'd known for the past month.
He knelt, mirroring her. His hands were raised to press against the invisible shield between them, fingers curled as he tried to gouge her. He attempted to calm himself with great effort and then switched tactics. "April, listen, John hasn't told you the truth. He lied to you; he was part of all of this. Let me out and I'll protect you," he said, sounding like a reasonable man.
She wanted to laugh, but in truth, she was terrified. Her heart was rattling in her chest and her skin felt cold and clammy. Every time he'd rushed at her, she'd been sure he'd break through. She could almost feel his hands on her throat, choking the life out of her, and she swallowed hard.
"You're the liar, Harold. I saw what you did. I saw it in your own memories. The rape, the torture and murder. You killed Charles and stole his body!" she accused.
His face contorted and he snarled. "Half-breed whore! Release me and I might let you live when I'm through with you," he hissed.
"How stupid do you think I am?" April demanded, and now she did laugh, because he clearly was so used to being obeyed that her defiance surprised him.
"April! Don't talk to him, you'll make him stronger," her grandmother snapped. "Ignore him."
Harold slammed a hand against the barrier between them, and she flinched, scuttling back quickly against John's legs, and she stayed there. It felt safer, but she couldn't take her eyes off the malevolent spirit. On Harold's spectral form, she could see darkened wounds around his wrists, just where she'd tied the braids of sweet grass on his vessel. Somehow, it had hurt him, searing deep grooves that reached through the body to his very soul.
"Appo, how did the rope burn his spirit form?" she asked, still staring at the brands.
Mary looked over to see what she meant and then shrugged. "Sweet grass binds—"
"Excuse me, Mother! Am I doing this on my own or what?" Foshi demanded, her eyes snapping as she glared. "Time, remember?" she added.
Mary actually looked embarrassed, as she frowned and nodded her head. "You're right. Start us off, Foshi," she said.
It wasn't like her grandmother to give in so easily and April blinked in surprise. Foshi began to sing again, as Mary dug through her bag and pulled out a thin bundle. She unrolled it and presented April with a long white feather, making waving motions towards the smoke so April understood what she was supposed to do.
Mary pulled out a large, smudging bundle of sage leaves next, wrapped tight with red thread; April knew next to nothing about most of this, but sage she understood. They'd burned it in the house frequently when she was growing up, to cleanse and clear negative energy. Harold was nothing but negative energy so that made sense.
She got up and moved over to her grandmother as the older woman let the fire flare at the tip of the bundle for a few moments before blowing it out. It continued to smoke, filling the open space with white heavily scented clouds as she began a slow walk around the circle. April followed, using the feather to guide the smoke towards Harold with an awkward arm, waving. When Mary looked back over her shoulder, she nodded, so April assumed she was doing it right.
The smoke didn't act normal, and she noticed that right away. She'd have expected it to disperse immediately in the wide foyer, drifting away on air currents, but instead, it stayed, hanging around them, dense and heavy. The feather actually did seem to be guiding it, sending it rolling into the trap where Harold glared
menacingly.
The slow pacing, in rhythm with Foshi's chanting, gave her time to herd all of the sage mist into the circle, by their second pass, it was starting to affect Harold. Not coughing or gasping for air the way a mortal would, but he began to shake violently. By the third time they'd walked the circle, they could barely see him behind the smoke, but they could hear him, or at least April could. She tried to ignore the screaming, interlaced with curses and threats of what he'd do to her when he got his hands on her.
Her family couldn't hear what he was saying, and that was a relief because she wouldn't want them to hear the things he was saying to her. Especially awkward would have been the shouted details of things he'd seen her do with John on camera. He dissected those moments of love and turned them into tawdry moments of lust until her stomach turned.
John was just as restricted by the salt as Harold was, only he was on the outside. When Harold began to scream obscenities at her, John threw himself at the barrier in an attempt to get at his former partner. He bounced off harmlessly but that didn't keep him from trying a second time, and then a third. As the threats and descriptions got more violently descriptive, her lover seemed to lose his mind. So furious, he could only snarl his rage as he tried to reach Harold, needing to cut off the vile words, by choking if necessary.
"April! Tell your friend to control himself and to get back before he ends up getting booted out of here, as well," Mary snapped. "I'm trying to target just the negative energy, but it's not easy when they are an inch apart."
John didn't need April to tell him anything; he heard the warning just fine and reluctantly moved back from the smoke, leaning against the staircase with an intensely displeased look on his face. His eyes glared daggers at Harold, who started to mock him, but then stopped.
A flash of fear crossed Harold's face. He'd realized something was happening. At first, he'd been sure that their 'heathen rituals would do nothing to remove him from the house' but now, he didn't look so certain. "Stop that! Stop what you're doing, redskin bitches!" Then his voice changed, rising in pitch with his panic. "Stop!
He was wasting his time, only April could hear him, and she was doing her best to block it all out. It was a struggle, at first, but suddenly, she froze, sneakers squeaking a protest on the polished wood floors as she came to an abrupt halt and stared at Harold. "Wh-what's happening to him?" she whispered. It had been more shock than an actual question, but she heard John behind her.
"He's breaking apart," he said in surprise.
And he was. Strips were peeling off of him, curling in the air and then bursting apart like sparks from a campfire. It started small, barely noticeable, dust motes of his shape broke away and vanished, but then it escalated, long ribbons pulling free to leave gaping holes in his form.
He looked terrified, screaming as he tried desperately to hold himself together, his hands flailed at the departing pieces, trying to gather them back in. She wasn't sure if the process hurt or if watching pieces of himself tear away was too much for him to handle, but his eyes were wide and crazed as pained screams burst from his lips in an unending stream.
What was happening was apparently expected since neither of the other women looked surprised. Her grandmother stopped her circling and dropped the end of the sage bundle into the kettle, releasing another cloud of smoke. She added other herbs to it and then she took up the chanting song with her daughter; their voices combined, making the music stronger.
Larger chunks began to tear away from Harold, no matter how he tried to hold himself together. The edges of the frayed gaps sparkled as they peeled away until, gradually, he just stopped being there. His voice, no longer making threats or screaming, but pleading with them to stop, was there after his corporeal form had vanished, and then it, too, was gone and there was nothing.
Mary had settled next to Foshi, stirring the glowing coals that simmered in the kettle, but now she rose, and with a firm motion, she broke the barrier with her foot, scattering the salt. She moved to the body and quickly untied the grass braids that had bound it. She tossed them to Foshi who dumped them into the kettle quickly.
The embers roared to life with new energy as they ate the grass, and as soon as there was nothing but ashes, Mary turned to her granddaughter. "April, remember what I told you about the dead? That they could only live again if they took a body?" she asked urgently.
April nodded slowly, not understanding. "Of course, but you said it was evil. Stealing what doesn—"
Mary cut her off with a sharp motion of her hand. "April," she said with a specific intensity. "This body is empty now. There's no one to steal it from. No crime, only waste, if you don't take advantage of it."
For a minute, April was clueless, but then her breath caught in her throat and she turned to look at John, then back to her grandmother, with a desperate hope in her eyes. "But Charles is dead now. Will it work?" she asked.
"Only if you hurry! He's dead because there's no soul in there to give it life. If John enters, we might still be able to revive him, but the longer it takes, the less chance we'll have. Listen to me; there is a risk." Mary snatched April's hand up in hers as she stared into the girl's eyes intently. "It uses all of a spirit's energy to take up residence in a body. If we can't revive it, John might not have enough left to get back out. It could force him to the other side, whether he wants it or not. So, you need to decide together, and fast!"
April's mouth went dry and her heart lurched. "John? Wh-what do you want to do? This could solve all of our problems but—" She trailed off, uncertain. It was an all or nothing gamble, and she'd just finally adjusted to the idea of spending her life with a ghost.
John preferred to listen rather than talk when out of his depth. Since his lover's family had arrived, he'd felt like he was lost, so he'd watched and remained silent for the most part. Part of him wished he'd been able to deal with Harold himself, but he was grateful for the help of the women, since they were clearly more effective than he would have been. He couldn't evict a spirit from the house; he could only patrol and try to subdue them.
Now that Harold was gone, forced across the veil, he'd been happy to know she would be safe from his evil. He'd expected nothing more than that. The chance to live again had never crossed his mind, and he wasted precious seconds thinking it over.
"April, this is not one of those things I can decide for us. We must make this decision together," he said, holding out his arms to her. She tugged her hand free from her grandmother's and rushed into them, clinging to him.
"I'm scared. What if it doesn't work? What if I lose you?" she whispered into his chest.
"What if you don't? What if we can have a real life together, with marriage and children?" he said in return. His arms tightened around her. "We could leave this house and you could show me this new world."
Her heart ached over the choice. To have the only man she'd ever trusted enough to love free of his curse, to see him walk in the sunshine for the first time in over a hundred years, wasn't that worth the risk?
"I think. I-I don't know, John!" she wailed in anguish.
"April, look at me," he said in a low soothing tone. She tipped her head back, eyes meeting his. "I think we have to risk it, don't you?" he asked gently.
"John, I love you. I don't care if you have a body; I swear I don't. We'll make it work," she insisted.
"I believe you, but, April, what happens, fifty years from now, when you look back on your life and there's nothing but this house, and the ghost of a man who died well before you were born. And I…" He paused, sighing. "I would like to see the world beyond these doors, with you." There was a need there, in his voice. He hadn't let himself think about how flat and empty his life was inside the walls of his house, until offered another option.
She closed her eyes. Slow tears leaked from the corners as she nodded once, slowly. She turned to her grandmother. "We'll try it," she said in a hoarse voice that cracked.
"Great, now that you've wasted a few minutes
doing what we all knew you'd do, get him in the body! Hurry!" Foshi snapped impatiently. She had no patience for sentimentality and anguished decisions, not when the clock was ticking.
They hadn't had the forethought to bring the broom down from the attic but Mary dispersed as much of the salt as she could to make a clear path for John.
"I'm not certain what to do," John said, hesitating.
"He's not sure what to do," April repeated for the others' benefit.
Mary sighed. "I've never done this before, either. I suggest you start by lying on top of the body and then just will yourself inside of it," she said with a shrug. It wasn't part of her skill set. Her job was to send ghosts to the afterlife, not to settle them in a host, but this was a special circumstance. "You need to figure it out fast."
John brushed past April, moving easily to the body, now that the salt was out of his way. He knelt down next to it with a look of nervous uncertainty on his face. He reached out a hand and then pulled it back hurriedly with a yelp. "It-it pulled at me," he said as he looked up at Mary.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she thought about that. "No, it makes sense. It's empty and it senses you can fill it. Let it guide you," she advised.
"Nature abhors a vacuum, "April whispered to herself. She'd never thought much about what that statement meant before, but now it made sense. The evil spirit of the banker had left a hole inside, and only another spirit could fill it.
John moved, superimposing himself over the dead lawyer and then he slowly sank out of sight, disappearing. The three women watched, waiting for something to happen. It would have been nice if the body had suddenly come to life, but that didn't happen.
"Foshi, start a healing chant. It might not help, but it can't hurt, either. April, you remember your CPR?" Mary asked.
April nodded and hurried over to kneel next to the body. It had been a few years since her certification was active, but she'd been a lifeguard at a summer pool for a couple of seasons during college. She'd never needed those skills before, but she used them now. Pressing the heel of her hand down on the center of his chest, she began to pump quickly, counting in her head.
Awakened with a Touch (Gifted Affinities Book 2) Page 22