by Kaje Harper
“Who is she?” Darien asked.
“You can see her?”
“She… flickers, in and out. Is she a ghost too? A stronger one?” Darien was clearly trying to stay calm, but the tremors in his voice echoed his months of possession.
Silas spun out another thread of power, wrapping her other wrist too. “Our poltergeist. Some call them revenants. Ghosts who can pull together the rags of who they were after death, and manifest as something more.” She wasn’t truly material, of course, and she might’ve tried to melt free of his hold, but she’d put so much anger and energy into keeping that human form, he thought she’d be reluctant to give it up.
“Who are you?” he asked her, making his tone deep and demanding. “Tell me.”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out.
“Tell me.”
Louise. Ketchum. The words floated from her like frosted breath on a cold morning.
“Why are you haunting these walls, Louise?” He felt her flinch in fear, vibrating through the ropes he had on her. “What are you afraid of?”
He— he said that too. What are you afraid of, Louise? As if I was too stupid to know.
“Who said that?”
And then when it was over, the thing came. The word “thing” was choked as if her throat had tightened and she trembled.
Silas’s attention sharpened. “What thing?”
Her anger suddenly boiled up in a shrieking, fighting explosion of fury. Why shouldn’t I be here? Why should they have peace when I don’t? I want them afraid, like I was afraid! I want to see them run! I’ll see you run.
She was strong, but he’d held demons with his spells. A revenant, no matter how powerful, was easy. He had her measure now, and her name. He wrapped his power around her, snugging her in the coils, throwing loop after loop around her until only her head and feet were free. Too late, she tried to vanish, to shift and thin out of his grasp, but the spells compelled her to stay now. Her face stretched and thinned, mouth oval like that famous painting, then came back together. Let me go. Let me go!
“Hush,” he told her. “Enough. It’s time for you to rest.”
I can’t rest. Not ever. It’s behind me. I’ll make them pay.
“What’s behind you?”
No. I won’t look at it. I got free. I’m not going back!
“You don’t have to go back, just go on. Tell me why you’re afraid.”
No. No!
He asked her questions for a few more minutes, but she was losing her grip on herself now. She wouldn’t talk about either the him or the thing that seemed to make her alternately furious and terrified. When he was getting nothing more than sobs and nos from her, he gave up. “Time for you to move on, Louise. Time for peace.”
He pulled her in carefully, reeling the loops of his power toward himself, guiding her through the open gate of his circle.
Darien said hesitantly, “Are you sure you want her in there?”
“Don’t worry. I’m just seeing her on her way, same as the rest.”
“Do you, um, want Grim to go with you?”
He wasn’t sure if that was sweet, or a bit insulting. “I have it under control. Thank you.”
Taking the revenant through the Veil was slower than with a handful of mindless ghost. She still held enough of her humanity that he had to free her legs and let her walk, tugging her with him. At the bank of the River, she tried to run away. He tripped her, rolling her into the water. At first she clung to his power, hanging on to the coils like lifelines and cursing him, crying, begging. But the water washed over her and her struggles eased, her tension softened.
There was a moment when she floated in the current, one loop of his power still around her, something close to peace on her fading face. Then she murmured Thank you and let go. He let the loop spin out, unrolling downstream, a string, a thread, and then it snapped back to him, and she was gone.
He sat back on his heels and shivered. Sending revenants on was always odd. He knew, down to his bones, that he wasn’t drowning a living thing in the silver, poppy-sweet oblivion of the River. But sometimes it felt that way.
Go in peace, Louise Ketchum. It’s time and past time.
Handling her had cost him a little of the power buzz he’d built up, but he was still riding a sweet wave and it was a matter of a few long strides to recross the Veil.
Darien hovered just outside his circle, as Silas found himself back in the world. “Are you okay? Is she gone?”
“Yes. All’s well.”
“What did she say? Did she answer any of your questions?”
“Couldn’t you hear her?”
“No.” Darien gave a quick headshake. “Her mouth was moving, the times when I could see her, but I could only hear you.”
“Ah.” He thought back. “She said, ‘he’ called her by name, and then ‘when it was over’ there was a ‘thing’ she seemed terrified of.”
“A demon?”
“I doubt it. Demons are interested in the living, not the dead.”
“Who’s ‘he,’ do you think?”
“Could be her brother, father, doctor, another patient. Might have been the one who put her in here, if she was a patient. A delusion, even. This is a mental institution. Who knows what she could’ve imagined?”
Grim said, “At least you snared her before she beat your apprentice black-and-blue.”
“Beat—?” He scuffed his lock and stepped out of the circle, reaching for Darien. “Did she hit you? Are you all right?”
Darien stepped back out of reach. “Caught my arm once with that stick, that’s all, and I had my shield up. It was just freaky. Do you think there are more like that here?”
“Shouldn’t be. Revenants are rare.” But then ghosts were supposed to be rare too. His net still pulsed with half a dozen, gathered around them.
He wanted to touch Darien, to check his arm and see if there was a bruise forming on his smooth skin. But Darien didn’t seem to want his touch, and the night was wearing on. “I should finish this up.”
“There are more?”
“Ordinary ghosts, yes.”
Grim said, “Keep going. The sorcerer and I will watch your back.”
Sorcerer? He almost protested that description of Darien, except it made Darien’s chin come up and his shoulders go back. Well, he is a sorcerer, or will be with more training under his belt. “I’ll count on that,” he said, and Darien’s nod was firm in return.
Stepping back in his circle, he bared his power again. Come on ghosts. Time to finish this.
***
Back in the rooming house, Darien tried to climb the uncarpeted stairs as silently as he could. It was past three in the morning, and he didn’t want to wake the landladies at this hour. Grim’s paws made no sound ahead of him, and Silas was almost as silent, but his own steps made the wood creak and groan.
I’m a clumsy idiot. He’d felt that way more than once tonight. He’d stood around like a lump while Silas cleared the other free ghosts, then followed him to a room one floor down, where a poor woman lay sleeping, her skin marked with a dark splotch Silas whispered was a ghost mark on a minimal-talent person. He’d stood guard on the door while Silas did his thing, then followed him to tell the director they were done, and out into the cold night. Keeping his mouth shut like a good assistant. Not much use of one.
Silas bounded ahead up the stairs, steps unfairly powerful and light. He’d fizzed, almost, on the cold walk home, like a man who’d had one too many drinks. And while it was amusing to watch, and his comments on the town and the ghosts he sensed were interesting, Darien was frustrated with his own ignorance. Luckily, he’d had those naps in the car, because to hell with late and bed, he needed to have this discussion now.
Silas strode into their room first, and Darien closed the door behind them. He heard Silas humming a tune as he unwrapped the necktie from the collar of his shirt. He’s in a good mood. Silas threw him a look out of the corner of his eye with heat and intent i
n it, as he unbuttoned his collar. It was tempting to let go of his questions and take him up on that, strip that lean body down and see if he could taste the power humming through it.
Not yet. He unbuttoned the top of his own shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. “Can we talk?”
“Sure?” Silas’s fingers slowed on his shirtfront and the heat faded. “About what?”
Everything. That was a childish answer. Darien struggled to put his thoughts into words. “About what’s happening here. What my role can be in this kind of mission.” In your life. “I’m not really your apprentice. You said my magic isn’t attuned to ghosts. I want to help you, and I don’t know enough.”
Silas leaned against the windowsill to face him. “I’m used to doing this alone.”
Does that mean he prefers it that way? “Isn’t there some way I can be useful? I don’t want to be your baggage or a pointless spectator.”
Grim said, “You were useful tonight. I was ready to jump for the chair leg that revenant was wielding, but you were quicker.”
“Yes. Thank you for that.” Silas rubbed his forehead. “Ordinarily, apprenticeship has rules, and mentors have decades of experience, the old teaching the young over a span of years. We’re starting this in a haphazard way. I’m sorry.”
“No. That was me. My fault.” Darien stood quickly and put a hand on Silas’s chest. “I barged in, and now I’m demanding that you teach me everything at once.”
Silas laid a hand over his and squeezed his fingers. “I’m glad you barged in.” He looked down into Darien’s eyes, truth in his steady gaze. “I want to teach you. I don’t want to give you, or your safety, up to someone else. But it’s going to be a bit of a rough road.”
“I can handle rough.” The heat that flared in Silas’s eyes tempted him to lose track, but he managed to gather his wits and pull his hand free. Information is safety for him too. “Right now, can you tell me more about the ghosts? What’s going on?”
Silas shook his head slowly. “This whole thing is weird. There are way too many ghosts for a town this size, and too many of them are strong and new. Luckily, talent and power seem to be rare among the local humans, so most ghosts are just wandering loose, with no one to possess. But it’s worrisome.”
“What does it take to make a ghost? You think someone’s killing people?”
“It takes a bad death, usually,” Silas said. “Unexpected, or terrifying, or deeply unfair. Plus strength of will on the part of the dead person, to hang on to the living world. Murder— yes, that can do it— but I laid fourteen of them tonight alone, including poor Louise. If someone had murdered more than fourteen people at the mental hospital, you’d think it would’ve been noticed.”
“Maybe it was,” Darien pointed out. “Just because that pompous doctor didn’t mention it doesn’t mean it wasn’t.”
“True. Maybe that’s one of the things you can do to help. Go to the library tomorrow and check the local papers. Most libraries keep microfilm of the past issues. Look for unexplained deaths, or a bad run of flu in the hospital in the past year, and particularly for Louise Ketchum. When did she die and how?”
“All right. I take it we’re not turning around and going home now that the job they called you for is done.”
“No.” Silas’s expression darkened. “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to the local necromancer. No matter how distracted he is, I can’t believe he missed the ghosts accumulating like this. There’s something fishy there.”
“You’ll bring me along?” Darien tried to make it more statement than question, but his voice rose at the end.
Silas didn’t meet his eyes. “He’s more likely to talk to me necromancer to necromancer, without an audience.”
That sounded logical. Maybe it was Darien’s imagination that made it feel like he was being coddled again. “You will take Grim, though?”
“Yes. Certainly.”
Grim jumped up on the bed and licked a paw. “I’ll take care of him for you, young’un.”
I’m not that young. He didn’t say that to the who-knows-how-old familiar, but it wasn’t just Silas who needed to see him as an equal partner here. Or as near equal as someone ignorant could be. Dammit. I wonder if there are textbooks. “Are you going to send the other local ghosts across the Veil too?”
“Probably. If the local man can’t be brought to do his duty.” Silas turned away, sliding his shirt down his shoulders. The muscles in his arms and back flexed as he stripped it off.
Unfair. Although Darien could even that score. His new older body might not be the one people had admired in dance clubs and frat parties, but apparently Silas wasn’t picky. He began stripping too. “It might be worth talking to our landlady. She seems like the kind of person who has a finger on the local pulse.”
“Good thought.” Silas was down to his boxers when he turned and smiled. “You should do that part. You’re more charming than I am.” He set his clothes neatly on a chair. “Although I have other talents, which I’m prepared to demonstrate.”
“Smug bastard.” A dark kind of heat rose in Darien. He tossed his own shirt aside and kicked his slacks to the corner. “Come here.”
Silas did, bending to kiss Darien. Darien met him with a fierce hunger and a driving tongue, biting at his lips. Silas opened for him, and when they eventually pulled back to breathe, Darien kept his fingers fisted in Silas’s hair. “Riding a ghost high, are you?”
“I seem to be a bit elevated, yeah.”
“Elevated. I do like the way you talk.” That silky voice and refined vocabulary made his gut clench, deep inside. “I like a lot of things you do with your mouth.”
From the end of the room, Grim muttered, “And that’s my cue to go hunt spiders. Unlock the door when you’re through.” He leaped and turned the handle, letting himself out into the dark hall. The door swung shut behind him with a thump.
Darien laughed, feeling as if some of Silas’s drunk had transferred to him. “If I were a proper sorcerer, could I flip that lock with a spell?”
“Sure. Wastes a bit of energy.”
“Might impress the guy I’m trying to get into bed.”
“If it’s this guy, he’d be more impressed if you conserved your energy for necessities.”
“Bastard.” Darien walked around Silas to go lock the door, then came back to stand behind him, running his hands from Silas’s shoulders, down his furry arms and over his hips to the firm shape of ass cheeks under his boxers. “Maybe this is a necessity.”
Silas’s breath stuttered. His voice came low. “Maybe it is.”
Darien pressed up close behind Silas, laying open-mouthed kisses on the base of his neck. He wrapped his arms across Silas’s shoulders and middle, and ground his growing erection into the folded fabric between Silas’s thighs. “You want me.”
“Yes.”
“You’d let me have you.” They hadn’t done this yet, either direction, but he’d noticed something in Silas melted at the suggestion.
“I would.”
“Not tonight,” he said firmly, pushing away. “Not first time in a strange bed. You can get down on your knees, mighty necromancer, and suck me off.”
Silas turned, his eyes dark, but his chin up. “Maybe I want you on your knees.”
There was a careful balance here, a rhythm they hadn’t yet mastered, but Darien thought he was getting glimpses of how it would go. He raised his own chin, kept his eyes steadily boring into Silas’s. “Do you?”
For a moment they exchanged stares, then Silas slid gracefully to the floor and reached for Darien’s underwear. Darien dared to set a hand on Silas’s dark hair and Silas froze again, as if having to decide all over whether to continue. Darien kept his hand still and eventually Silas’s long, cool fingers slid his underwear to his ankles and grasped his erection. Silas’s hot, wet mouth engulfed him, and they both groaned with pleasure.
Darien was no stranger to sucking, or being sucked, but Silas was exceptionally talented. Maybe it was j
ust the care he took, the way he used fingers and lips, tongue and breath. Maybe it was the soft sounds of pleasure that escaped his mouth, or the heat in his eyes as he glanced up, then lowered dark lashes to veil that stare. Maybe it was the heady rush of having a man like this, willing to kneel.
“You are so damned sexy,” Darien murmured, stroking the hollow of Silas’s cheek, rasping over the coarse stubble there. “Oh, Jesus.” Silas wasn’t drawing it out tonight. No teasing nips and feather-touches. He sucked Darien hard, tongue and throat working, his fingers firm to the point of roughness around the base. His other hand nudged Darien’s thighs farther apart and rolled his balls in a grip that sparked arousal through Darien’s groin. “Hell, yeah.”
Darien locked his fingers in Silas’s hair and held on for dear life, as the heat rose and his vision whited out. He couldn’t help thrusting forward, rhythmically, again and again, his cock achingly hard, needy, seeking oblivion in Silas’s mouth. Silas grunted but took him, bobbing his head harder, deeper.
“Ah, God! God!” Climax hit Darien like a firestorm, every nerve alight. He jerked and shook, shooting deep in Silas’s throat in pulse after pulse of pleasure. His knees shook and he dropped his hands to Silas’s shoulders, trying to stay on his feet.
Silas pulled off and let go of his dick to catch him as he slid down to his knees. He pressed tight against Silas’s body, burying his head in the crook of Silas’s neck and breathing jerkily in time to the shudders of his pleasure-wrung body. “Oh, man. Can’t catch my breath.”
“Let me help,” Silas growled, pushing back enough to catch his mouth in a bruising kiss. Darien tasted himself on Silas’s tongue and his body jerked again, smearing Silas’s thigh with one more aftershock of release.
Silas laughed roughly, desperately, and shoved a hand between them.
“Let me.” Darien pushed Silas’s waistband down and wrapped his fingers around Silas’s rigid shaft. One tug, up and over the head, two, three, and Silas roared and came. Hot spunk coated Darien’s fingers. Silas grabbed him, arms tight as iron bands, and jolted against him as his dick unloaded in Darien’s fist. Sticky heat coated Darien’s stomach between them.