Echo spins toward me and sighs in relief. “Tell them they can’t come, please?”
What a surprise. Meeting each of their gazes, I say, “Not a chance, boys. Official business. Neither of you have clearance to be involved.”
“How am I supposed to protect her if you’re always dragging her off places without me?” Malachi growls.
I want very badly to remind him that he is the one who left her in the alley last night. Instead, I say, “She’ll be fine. I have a little experience with this sort of thing.”
Malachi’s jaw grinds. There’s more he wants to say, a lot more, most of which has nothing to do with my refusal to let him tag along. He keeps his misplaced jealousy and frustration bottled up for once and folds his arms across his chest. I turn to Kyran and pin him with an expectant look.
Sighing, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, but can I at least offer an opinion on what the light has to do with all of this?”
I glance over at Echo and she cringes. “Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to tell him stuff, but I thought he might know about the light. That’s all I told him, though.”
She says that last part a little too forcefully, drawing not only my attention but everyone else’s. I decide to add subtly to the list of things Dad needs to teach her. I don’t need her hint to know neither Kyran nor Malachi will appreciate knowing we spent the night together, even with as platonic as it was. Where and how her trip to Timothy’s Dreamside happened aren’t something either guy needs the details of right now.
Turning away from Echo, I look at Kyran. “What is it?”
“He’s storing or collecting souls.”
I’m not completely surprised by his response. It had been my guess as well, though not based on anything concrete. Kyran has a knack for finding the right info, so I ask, “What makes you think that?”
“Realizing I was wrong about what Timothy is.”
We’re supposed to meet Mrs. Bridger in half an hour, and she lives twenty minutes from campus. “You’ve got five minutes to explain,” I say.
“He’s not a dream traveler, because he’s not in a dream world. He’s in the Field of Reeds.”
“The what?” Malachi asks, his face screwed up in confusion.
“I had the wrong mythos before. I needed to go to Egyptian lore to figure out what this kid is doing,” Kyran says quickly. “The Field of Reeds is the Egyptian Afterlife, a mirror image of your life on Earth. People go to the Field of Reeds after being judged in the Hall of Truth by Osiris and the Forty-Two Judges, by having their heart weighed against a feather on one of those balance scale things. The better you lived your life the lighter you heart is, and the worse you lived the heavier it is. Light hearts are saved and the souls are sent on to the Field of Reeds while heavy hearts are thrown to the floor where it’s eaten by a monster and the soul ceases to exist. Sound familiar?”
Echo’s eyebrows are so high they’re hidden beneath her long bangs. Fear holds her body tight, no doubt thinking of the sounds she heard with Timothy last night. She stays frozen like that for a moment before her expression clouds in confusion. “But, if the souls only go to the Field of Reeds after being judged, why would Timothy have to keep it hidden, and why are there monsters there? Shouldn’t they stay in the Hall of Truth? And what does that make Timothy if he’s not a dream traveler?”
Kyran hesitates. “I’m not sure. Maybe one of the judges—a replacement for his father? There are a few different gods involved in this judgment process, but I didn’t have time to get all the details yet. Regardless, I think there’s something seriously messed up with the Hall of Truth right now if their monsters are loose and eating souls in the Field of Reeds.”
As used to strange and bizarre as I am, this is a little out there even for me. Rolling with whatever weird is thrown my way is what’s made me so good at my job, though. Pointing at Kyran, I say, “Keep researching, see if there’s any explanation for the monsters getting loose, and report back tonight.”
Echo looks at me expectantly when I turn to her. I motion for her to get in the car and turn to focus on Malachi. What I want to say is rather different than what I actually say. “Keeper or not, you’re not allowed to be involved in this, or pressure Echo to tell you anything she shouldn’t. Do you understand me?”
His eyes narrow, but he nods.
That’s about all the patience I have for him at the moment. Turning away, I stalk toward the car and climb in. Echo is quiet, glancing at me as though she expects to get in trouble. “Relax,” I say as I pull away from the curb. “You do need to be careful about sharing case information, but asking for information from an expert, of sorts, is part of the job. I’ll talk to Dad about Kyran as a source of information. He already trusts him, so I don’t think it’ll be hard to convince him you need to be able to discuss things with him.”
“Oh,” Echo says, “thanks.” She’s quiet until we’re a few miles away from campus. “What about Malachi?”
“What about him?”
Echo shrugs. “You don’t want me asking him for help?”
It takes me a few seconds to formulate my answer. “It’s not about what I want. He’s simply not an asset when it comes to this case, not based on his knowledge of the supernatural. Kyran is.” She nods, but gnaws on the corner of her lip. I can guess what she wants to ask and decide to answer without her having to voice the question. “No, I don’t like Malachi much, on a personal level. I’m sure it’s not completely fair to judge him on his actions the last few days when a lot has brought him to this point, but it is what it is. My personal feelings have nothing to do with not considering him an asset, though. He honestly doesn’t have the expertise to justify it on an informational level, and he doesn’t have the discipline to keep his personal feelings under wraps when the job demands it. Again, I understand why, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t think he’s reliable enough to risk his involvement right now.”
She hesitates for a moment before saying, “He did save me last night.”
“After you alerted him to the danger and commanded him to,” I argue. “If he’d been in control of himself, he would have dealt with the threat before it even became one.”
“We were both upset. That’s not really fair…”
“I know,” I tell her. “He’s a twenty-year-old kid dealing with things he didn’t think were even real a few months ago, and suddenly has a heap of responsibility he didn’t ask for, all on top of an emotional crisis he’s probably not mature enough to deal with yet. I get it. It’s not fair. It’s reality, though. He’s got to figure his shit out if he plans to be of any real use, and I’m sure he will at some point. Once he gets over his jealousy and frustration and whatever else he’s got going on. Hopefully it will be soon enough to keep you alive.”
Frowning, Echo hunkers down in her seat. She’s not mad, more frustrated and worried than anything else. She knows I’m right about him. Hearing me criticize him makes her want to defend him but, she can’t, and that puts her in a conflict she can’t muddle through quite yet.
“Were you able to find out more about how Timothy’s dad died?” Echo asks after a while. We’re only a few miles from Mrs. Bridger’s house so I give her the short version. Not that there’s much of a long version to start with.
“Found deceased in his car in the parking lot of a grocery store in Decatur North, no injuries and no explainable cause of death in the ME’s report.”
Echo sighs. “After what Kyran said, that’s about what I was expecting.”
Her response catches me off guard. “Really? Why? Timothy has had bruises and broken bones since the monsters started going after him.”
“Because he tried to get away from him,” she says.
Confused, I ask, “His dad didn’t?”
“He didn’t even see them coming. Why would he? If he was delivering a soul to the Field of Reeds after having been judged, why would he expect any kind of danger?” she asks. “I bet they blindsided him.”
&nb
sp; What she’s saying makes sense, but there’s a problem with her logic. “What about the soul he gave to Timothy? If they attacked him and ate his soul…”
Echo shakes her head. “They didn’t eat his soul. They didn’t kill him.”
“They didn’t?”
“No,” she says. “He killed himself.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” I admit.
That doesn’t surprise her. Her gaze goes to the little house when I pull to the curb in front of the address Mrs. Bridger gave me. “Let’s get the box,” she says. “I think it’ll make more sense afterward.”
She gets out of the car and leaves me to follow. On one level, it’s amusing that Dad keeps sending me out on assignments with the instruction to take care of Echo and guide her through whatever this is, yet she’s the one who keeps taking the lead. It’s slightly irritating, as well, but I’m too curious about her and what she’s already figured out that it doesn’t stick.
Getting out of the car, I follow her up to the house and almost smirk when she gestures me forward to knock. Mrs. Bridger answers the door quickly and asks us to come in. Fidgeting, she points toward the box. Her nerves are on edge, more so than I can immediately explain. If Echo notices, she doesn’t comment and goes straight to the box. She slows, almost coming to a complete halt, before reaching it. One hand reaches out as if trying to feel something.
From next to me, Mrs. Bridger sighs in relief. “You feel it too? I wasn’t imagining it?”
More curious than ever, I glance at Mrs. Bridger to make sure she’s all right, then move forward to stand next to Echo. What I feel is…unexplainable. It’s clearly not affecting me to the level it is Echo, but an unsettling sense of immediacy and danger hovers around the box. It’s so heavy, I have the urge to wave my hand around it in hopes of feeling something physical.
“Is it safe?” I ask Echo.
She nods, but doesn’t move to touch anything. “I think you’re going to have to open it.” She pulls her trembling fingers back. “It’s too close to the Devourers. I can’t…”
“I’ve got it,” I say calmly.
Based purely on facts, it’s difficult to say for sure if the monsters from Timothy’s dreams are the same beings she encountered in Malachi’s grandmother’s house. I’ll trust Echo’s gut intuition over facts any day. Reaching forward is more difficult than I expect. Something is resisting me, forcing my hand back, but I can’t stop. We need to understand what’s going on with Timothy if we have any chance of helping him. Fortifying myself, I thrust my hand forward and grip the lid of the box.
It feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds, but I eventually pry the lid off. Lying atop a handful of pictures, military medals, and newspaper clippings is a small, leather-bound book with a hieroglyph imprinted on the front. The strange ferry boat doesn’t mean much to me. Echo seems confused as well, but gestures for me to pick it up.
That is easier said than done. I reach in for it, but I can’t get more than a few inches away from it before something stops my progression. After putting every ounce of strength I have into it, I’m eventually forced to pull back. “You try,” I say.
Echo’s complexion pales by a small degree, but she nods. It takes her a few seconds to work up the courage to extend her hand. I’m not sure what her fear is grounded in, only that it’s alive and well. I watch as her hands slowly descend, past the point mine could, and she touches the cover of the book. The moment her finger brushes against the leather, it flies open.
What happens after that, I have no idea.
She’s screaming before the cover fully opens. Pages flip open at a faster rate than anyone could possibly read, yet Echo’s eyes are locked on the book, her eyes wide, her mind shut off from everything but whatever the hell is happening between her and the book. I blink, and suddenly her hands are on her head, pressing as though the pressure might hold off, or hold in, the effects of touching the book. Her screams intensify and my body reacts before I can get my thoughts in order.
I dive for her…and slam into a wall of…ice. I can’t see anything. Feeling, though…it’s as if I were in the Arctic with nothing more than board shorts and a tank top. Numbness spreads from my fingers and I attempt to reach through the frozen whatever. Frost forms on my skin, which—I’ll admit—really kind of freaks me out, but I keep pushing and pushing until my fingertip barely brushes against her skin.
Then everything really goes to Hell.
Images, words I don’t understand, voices, flashes of lives long since winked out, they all assault me like physical blows. Agony shreds my senses and I’m instantly useless. My hand is on Echo’s shoulder. She doesn’t feel me. I don’t feel her, either. My mind threatens to burst apart, and suddenly I’m screaming. Then as fast as it started, it’s over. The abrupt exit of the psychic attack takes my strength with it and my knees buckle. I’m not real thrilled that Echo is the one who ends up beneath me, keeping me from cracking my head open on the tile.
Her body is heaving with each breath, trembling beneath me, and cold as a North Dakota winter wind. “What…the hell…just…happened?” I managed to demand between gasping breaths.
Echo offers up a weak, shaky laugh. “Me and dead things…” She shrugs, though it’s more of a twitch than anything. “Can’t help talking to me, I guess.”
That makes zero sense. Probably shouldn’t surprise me, but it does piss me off. Forcing strength back into my limbs, I push myself up off Echo and lean against the coffee table. “How can a book…be dead?”
Leaning her head against the couch behind her, she closes her eyes and breathes for a few seconds before making an attempt at answering me. “Not the book, exactly. What it contains. Or…is linked to?” She shakes her head. “I’m not totally sure. I need a few minutes to process everything it just shoved inside my head.”
I’m usually quicker than this. Whatever just happened has left me a little fried. “What?”
“It’s real, it’s real, it’s all real,” Mrs. Bridger whispers. I hear a sound and drag my gaze over to her in time to watch her slide down the wall, white-faced and terrified. That’s a pretty normal reaction to this kind of realization, though, so I’m not too worried.
Glancing back at Echo, I say, “Explain.”
Dragging in a deep breath, she holds it for a three-count before exhaling. “The book it’s…linked…to the dead. To their souls. The Field of Reeds, I think. The second I touched it, it just started dumping info into my head like Archer used to do. It’s not sentient, though. Just a…thumb drive, I suppose.”
“Ancient Egyptian thumb drive.” I shrug. Why not? Definitely isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever heard on a case. “What exactly did it say?”
Echo frowns. Her hands press to her temples and pain shoots through her body. This hiss that slips past her lips worries me, but I let her continue. It seems to be a struggle, but eventually the words come. “Kyran was wrong…partly,” she says slowly, “not a judge. He’s a ferryman of some kind. He does transport souls to the Field of Reeds, though. The monsters, they’re loose. The judges have lost control. It’s war between them. Souls are disappearing all over the Field of Reeds and they can’t stop it because they can’t leave the Hall of Truth. Robert, he was the only one who could enter the field, but…he’s gone, and Timothy isn’t ready.”
It’s pretty much everything I didn’t want to hear. “How do we get him ready?”
“No!” Mrs. Bridger yells, panic pouring off her in waves. “No, please! Don’t get him any more involved. Don’t make him do this! They’ll kill him too. Please, please.” Dissolving into sobs, she buries her face in her hands.
I feel callous doing it, but I turn away from her and back to Echo. “Can we pull him away from this?”
Sadly, she shakes her head. “He’s the only one who can save the souls.” Tears well in her eyes, but she’s unrelenting. If anyone understands the impossibility of escaping your fate and destined purpose, it’s her.
“Did the book give y
ou any ideas on how to help Timothy?”
Echo’s features compress in pain. “I…I don’t…know.” Her hands press against her head again, and the increase in pain isn’t due to the pressure. “Most of what it tried to show me was in hieroglyphs I couldn’t understand. It was meaningless.”
Her fingers were shaking before she ever touched the box. They shivers have traveled up the length of her arms now. Pain creeps over her, and I know she’s on the verge of shutting down again. I’m on my feet a second later, hauling her up from the ground and flipping the lid back onto the box and sticking it under my arm. Mrs. Bridger is still huddled against the wall but I walk past her on the way to the front door.
“Where are you going?” she pleads.
“We’ll figure this out,” I tell her, my tone less than comforting.
“But…what’s going to happen to Timothy?”
I glance back at her, wishing I had a real answer. Echo slumps against me, stealing my focus momentarily. After making sure I’m not going to have to carry her, I turn back to Mrs. Bridger. “I don’t know,” I admit, “but we’ll do everything we can to save him. I promise.”
It isn’t enough. She breaks down into tears, and I can’t blame her. I also can’t stand around comforting her, either. Echo needs help. She needs to not shut down. Blocking out what just happened in order to shield her mind will mean losing the knowledge. A repeat interaction with the book would be a really bad idea. So I yank the door shut behind me and drag Echo back to the car, all but shoving her into the passenger seat.
“Where’re we going?” she mumbles.
“Work’s not over yet, Echo. Stay awake. Focus.”
She turns away from me and whimpers, hands coming back up to her head. I hate doing it, but I grab her chin and jerk her across the center console to face me. Eyes as wide as they can go when she’s barely hanging on to consciousness, she stares at me in surprise and maybe a little fear. I regret that last one, but I can’t baby her. “Stay strong and stay awake. Giving up when things get hard means Timothy dies. Got it?”
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 10