Author: Drew Hayes
Date: 2014-10-27 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Fantasy; Supernatural; Humor
Description: When Topher Nightshade and the other bumbling ghost hunters of Specter Quest were allowed into the abandoned camp, they thought it was a dream come true. That was, of course, because they didn’t know that Camp Tekonichia was home to boundless spirit energy, three very bored ghosts, and a powerful magic spell on the verge of completion. Now, these three will have to race against time and an ancient evil trying to stop the whole world from turning into a haven for restless spirits. Aided only by a mysterious medium and the camp’s resident ghosts, none of them have a clue how they’re supposed to
Publisher: Thunder Pear Publishing

Topher Nightshade vs. The Camp of The Undead Apocalypse

By Drew Hayes

Copyright © 2014 by Andrew Hayes

All Rights Reserved.

Edited by Erin Cooley (cooley.edit@gmail.com) and Kisa Whipkey (http://kisawhipkey.com)

Cover by Geoff Galt (gwgalt@hotmail.com)

Produced and Published by Thunder Pear Publishing LLC

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

I’ll be honest here: I sort of did dedications to all the main people in my life in the earlier books. I could keep cycling through folks, but that just seems like no fun. Instead, I think I’d like to dedicate this book to you: the reader who took a gamble on such a strangely titled work from a relatively unknown author. You’ve got some weird taste, but damn if I don’t like your style.

I also want to give a shout out to my butt kicking beta readers. To E Ramos E, Priscilla Yuen, and Bill Hammond; you three helped make this book the best it could be.

Chapter 1

Danger burst through the front door without so much as the courtesy of a knock. Danger, in this case, was a six-foot-tall man with spiky hair dyed a garish shade of blue and a black shirt barely containing his muscular torso. He barreled through the front of the office, hand clutching a piece of paper as though it contained the secrets to eternal youth, or hangover-free liquor. Within five clomping steps of his black boots, he let out a bellow that would have startled all those around if his door-slamming entrance hadn’t already done so.

“AUGGIE! We got it! We got permission for the camp!”       The blue-haired bundle of noise, muscles, and horrid fashion sense stopped, gazing across the room with all the anticipation of a dog waiting to be leashed for a walk. His eyes—biologically brown, but made green through contact lenses— rested on another man, this one sitting at a desk, instead of traipsing about.

August Parrish, a young African-American man several inches shorter and at least a hundred pounds lighter than the intruder, glanced up from his computer and tried very hard to keep the exasperation off his face. Once Topher got going, one simply had no choice but to hunker down and ride out the storm. Nearly two decades of friendship had cemented that lesson well.

“Topher, we currently have inquiries out to three camps, one abandoned mining town, an insane asylum, and a Denny’s. Could you narrow it down a bit for me?”

“The camp, Auggie, the big one! Camp Tekonichia, the haunted camp out in New Mexico that is supposed to be one of the most spiritually-infested places in America. When they let investigators in, everyone was getting voice recordings and visual anomalies and just a slew of stuff. It’s been locked down for twenty years, but they agreed to let us come investigate it! We’ll be the first ones to use modern tech. Think of all the phenomena we’ll capture.” Topher wasn’t hopping from foot to foot like a child waiting for a restroom, but Auggie could practically see the desire to do just that simmering beneath his massive grin. As patience-straining as it could be, that very enthusiasm was why Topher had found such success in his field.

Topher was Topher Nightshade (though that obviously wasn’t his given name), host of Specter Quest, the online web-show that (for reasons Auggie couldn’t comprehend) drew a massive audience with each installment. It had started with the two of them, a lost bet, and an illegal traipse through a historic graveyard, then rapidly ballooned in to an actual profit-generating business. Though Auggie was a skeptic at heart (and head, and gut, and like . . . liver), he did believe in the magic of a steady paycheck. He also believed in fine print and details, which made him the logistics man of their operation.

“First off, when can we go? We’re already committed throughout most of March, you know. Secondly, why are they letting us in? That camp has been closed for over two decades, and they stopped letting other investigators come in long before that. How did you change their minds? And bear in mind that if you say, ‘with half our location budget,’ I will booby-trap your microphone to shock you.” In addition to being competent and rational, Auggie was also the tech-guru for the show. He handled equipment checks, repairs, and maintenance. It was a waste of an engineering degree, according to his parents, but he also didn’t have to deal with idiots in management like his classmates struggling under the corporate yoke.

“No way; the guy in charge of it is a fan of the show,” Topher explained. “He likes how we treat the supernatural, with respect and all, so he was willing to open the gates up to us for only triple our usual fee.”

Auggie suppressed a groan. Instead, he just scowled. For Topher, that was actually pretty reasonable restraint. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, what about my first question? What’s our window of time?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the best part. I know we don’t have a conflict, because it’s this weekend. That’s the only time we can come.”

“This weekend? The one we talked about taking off weeks ago? The one meant to provide everyone a chance to rest and recuperate? That’s the weekend you want to spend gallivanting in the woods searching for dead people?”

“Come on, Auggie, we can rest any time. How many chances are we going to get to be the first investigators in decades to check out a place? We can take next weekend off.”

“No, we can’t,” Auggie corrected. “We have to be in Buffalo, shooting in a supposedly haunted taffy factory.”

“Weekend after?”

“Atlanta. Reports of ghosts in a trampoline store.”

“Weekend after that?”

“That’s . . . actually, we’re not booked for that yet,” Auggie admitted.

“Then there you go, we’ll take that weekend off.”

“How do you know I haven’t already made plans for this weekend?”

“Because you don’t do anything without me,” Topher pointed out. “And since I don’t have plans, you probably don’t either.”

Auggie drummed his fingers on the desk several times, trying to think of a coherent rebuttal to the argument. It wasn’t that he didn’t do anything without Topher, not really; it was just that, by his nature, Topher was often at the center of the most interesting things to do. Plus, he usually dragged Auggie in to said things; otherwise, the intellectual young man would stay at home, working on his own projects. But Topher would never see activities such as those as “plans,” so bringing it up would just waste everyone’s time.

“Fine. We can shoot this weekend. However, we are taking that next open weekend off. I don’t care if we get an offer to interview Dracula himself: we’re not doing a shoot. Clear?”

“No problem,” Topher said happily. “Besides, vampires aren’t real, anyway. We’re after the genuine paranormal article: ghosts.”

“Then, the ghost of Gandhi. You get my point.”

“Yeah, yeah, no work that weekend. It’s a deal.” He walked over and set the paper on Auggie’s sizable desk. Topher’s own area of the office held a mini-fridge and a computer where he did research on new locations to shoot in. The third member of their team usually occupied a space near the back—filled with screens and editing equipment—but she tended to come in at whatever hour fit her mood.

“Here are all the details.” Topher slid the page across to Auggie. “Do you need help with arrangements?”

“Just tell Kay about the change. If she has any plans, she’s probably forgotten them.”

“Who’s forgotten what now?”

Kayla Krupchyk wandered in from the hallway, which made Auggie realize that Topher hadn’t even bothered to shut the front door in his excitement. She was the shortest of the three, with a tangle of light brown hair that always somewhat resembled an unkempt bird’s nest. She dressed in flowing clothing, wore oversized sunglasses despite being indoors, a small silver chain with a pendant of a bear, and a bow situated on one of the upper-left mounds of her hair. In her left hand was a dark green thermos with the words “2004 Pie & Whiskey Wrasslin’ Champion” emblazoned across the front.

Auggie ignored the question and just gave her the relevant news. “Topher booked us to go to a haunted summer camp this weekend. Can you come?” There was a lot about Kay that Auggie could—and did—object to, but the quality of the footage she captured and edited was not something anyone could call in to question.

“Meh, why not? The parties were looking kinda shitty anyway.” She took a deep glug from her thermos as she walked past Auggie’s desk toward her own, and the smell of alcohol hit his senses like a wave.

“What are you drinking?” he said, half-gagging from the potency.

“Mimosa,” Kay replied, setting the mug down on her desk.

“There is no way on earth that is champagne.”

“It’s a Moscow Mimosa: vodka, with a splash of orange juice.”

“That is called a Screwdriver!”

“Hence, Moscow Mimosa. You think people in the mother country have champagne just sitting around? Jeez, Auggie, aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

Without thinking, Auggie half-rose from his desk. “Names aside, why are you drinking vodka at nine in the morning?”

“Social protest,” Kay said, falling into her seat with the grace of an epileptic rabbit. “Why is it only okay to drink certain booze in the morning? Beer with breakfast: alcoholic. Champagne with breakfast: alcoholic. Champagne with a few drips of orange juice: totally acceptable. Fuck that shit; I’m taking back morning drinking.”

“Kayla, even when drinking mimosas, people tend to do it on the weekends. Today is Wednesday!” Auggie wasn’t even sure why he was bothering with this fight; they had it so often, he might as well have put it in his schedule.

“Oh. Um . . . then, I’m going with the excuse that it’s a religious right.” Kay smiled at that one, pleased with her sudden burst of inspiration.

“For the love of . . . Ke$ha is not a religion,” Auggie snapped.

“Hey, this is the way people in my faith greet Wednesday mornings. Don’t persecute me.”

“Yeah, Auggie, tone it down. You can’t go crapping on other people’s faith,” Topher chimed in. He’d taken refuge at his desk during their battle, experienced enough to know a pointless exercise when he saw it.

“She doesn’t have a faith! She’s making things up on the spot,” Auggie said, aware that his tone was rising as he struggled to defend himself. He was the one in the right; this kind of activity made no sense, so why did he feel like he was losing? Again.

“Religion is whatever I have faith in,” Kay said defiantly. “I choose Wednesday Moscow Mimosas, and Thursday Old Fashioneds, and . . . bears.” The last one came after a quick glance down at the necklace resting on her chest.

“There are worse religions out there,” Topher added.

Auggie threw up his hands in defeat and slumped back into his chair. “I give up; drink your thermos of vodka, which was highly illegal to walk over here with, by the way. Just do your work quietly while I try to cram two weeks of shooting prep and arrangements in to a single day.”

“I asked if you needed help,” Topher pointed out.

“Yes. Yes, you did.” Auggie resisted reminding Topher of the other times he’d helped, several instances of which had resulted in them flying to the wrong town, waiting for transport that never arrived, and, in one particular low point, shooting an episode in some kid’s basement because he swore there was totally a ghost down there. There had actually been a busted radiator, which Auggie had fixed and for which he tried to invoice the family. It had not gone over well.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Kay asked, polishing off the remains of her thermos.

“Camp Tekonichia,” Topher told her happily. “It’s an abandoned summer camp that was legendary for its hauntings, even when it was still running.”

“It’s a summer camp,” she said skeptically. “What’s it haunted by, the spirits of underage drinking and lost virginities?”

“Trust me, it’s going to be soaked with spirit activity,” Topher assured her. “That place is probably crawling with ghosts.”

* * *

The ghosts of Camp Tekonichia were not crawling in the literal sense. They only did that on the rare occasions when they snuck down through one of the caves to where an old stash of nudie magazines had been smuggled in and abandoned by a camper many decades ago. Sure, they could just phase through the rock and stroll into the cave, but walking through stuff was an uncomfortable sensation. Art had once said it best: having other objects occupy the same space as one’s body felt like you really had to poop, but like . . . out of everywhere.

They were also not crawling in the sense that Topher had meant. Currently active in Camp Tekonichia were three humans’ ghosts, a multitude of animals’, and a few wisps that floated in and out of existence around the woods. Wisps were ghosts, or ghasts, that had slowly faded away without ever moving on, leaving only a few strands of ectoplasm bobbing about. They were the ghosts of ghosts, in their own way, and were incredibly rare save for in a few spots around the world. Camp Tekonichia was one such spot.

Art and Clinton were not wisps, though. At least, not for a while yet. They were both proper spirits, having died on the job while working as counselors and subsequently finding themselves unable to move on. Clinton had gone out first after falling down a ravine he’d been scaling in the dark while on the way to a midnight hook-up with a fellow counselor. Art had died roughly a decade later, flipping his canoe after downing half a handle of whiskey and inspiring the creation of the camp’s “No Boating and Boozing” sign. They’d both been dead long enough to reach acceptance with their early ends to mortality and to shed many of the trappings that the living carried around. Clinton and Art had found peace in their deaths.

The same could not be said of Irwin Pistole, who was currently sitting on the edge of the dock, glowering at the frogs nestled on the shore. Every few days, he would try and grab one, or a rock, or something of that nature, only to end up howling in frustration as his intangible fingers refused to find purchase. Irwin was newly dead, scarcely gone over a year, and he was far from the realm of acceptance.

“Something up with the island?” Clinton probed gently, pointing to the center of the lake, to which campers had once rowed to in order to splash around on the island’s banks. Despite the fact that it was early afternoon, a light mist seemed to have settled onto the center of the landmass. It might have been real, but it might also have been a spectral manifestation. Clinton had long ago lost the ability to distinguish between which realm he was peering in to. Then again, given that he’d died in the seventies, Clinton had been seeing altered realties long before he actually crossed out of the limited, physical realm.

“It’s fog, obviously,” Irwin snapped, glancing up for a moment. He disliked the other spirits, not because they were cruel or unwelcoming, but because they could do things Irwin couldn’t. Somehow, these two idiots had found a way to manipulate physical objects, albeit only a little bit. Few things irked Irwin like the sensation that someone might be better than he, despite the fact that countless people objectively were, which explained both his life’s near-friendless existence and his former employment with the TSA.

“Don’t look like fog to me,” Art added. He wore shorts well above his knees, a pink polo shirt, and a whistle around his neck—the counselor’s uniform at the time of his death, and his burial vestments when the waters pulled him under. A touch of envy burned in him toward Clinton, who’d died in late summer while wearing pants instead of the silly shorts.

“The word is ‘doesn’t’ and of course it’s fog. What else is it going to be? A magical gate opening up and finally letting us out of this cursed place?”

“Could be,” Clinton said, plopping down next to Irwin on the dock. “I always figured that the day we moved on would be something sort of like that: a big, grand gate opening into the sky, pulling us right to the throne where Jesus sits.” He waved a massive hand through the air, pointing to the throne amidst the clouds with his long fingers. Once upon a time, Clinton had had a promising football career ahead of him. That was before trying to make some extra summer cash and falling down a ravine chasing a pretty piece of tail, though.

“Nah, I doesn’t think it goes anything like that,” Art said, dropping to sit on the other side of Irwin. “I think we just float up in a ball of energy and merge back into the universe.”

“You mean ‘don’t.’ You don’t think,” Irwin corrected.

“I thought you said the word was ‘doesn’t’ a few seconds ago.”

“It was that time, but the second time it was—oh, fuck you.” Irwin jumped up from his seat on the edge of the dock and adjusted his royal blue pants that rode down just below the top of his ass when he sat. The matching shirt didn’t help to cover it up, as it was a size too small as well. The Irwin Pistole who first joined the TSA was several inches slimmer than the one who choked to death on an egg-salad sandwich just as his plane was flying over Camp Tekonichia; the latter Irwin Pistole had also lived in just enough denial to avoid ordering a new uniform.

Art and Clinton flashed each other a grin while he fumed. Once they had learned Art’s deep-country dialect annoyed Irwin, and how prone to fits he was, they had allowed themselves the occasional indulgence of fucking with him. Even for ghosts, several decades in one spot got pretty boring.

“Settle down,” Clinton suggested. “We’re trying to figure out what the weird cloud is.”

“Who cares what it is? Who cares about any of this shit? Unless it’s going to finally let me out of here, I don’t give a dead polar bear’s asshole what the cloud is, mostly because it’s just fog!” Had Irwin possessed a body, he would have worked himself in to a sweat and been breathing heavily. As it was, he just stood there, glaring at his fellow inmates.

None of them knew why, but Camp Tekonichia was a prison for spirits. They could get no more than half a mile into the forest before it felt like they were walking through molasses, and soon after even that was impossible. Clinton and Art had always assumed it was because they had died on the grounds and were stuck haunting it, but Irwin’s arrival had cast some serious doubts on that theory. Technically, he should be stuck haunting his plane, at least from the way they figured. But death, like life, didn’t come with any sort of instruction manual.

“It’s different,” Art said at last, looking away from Irwin and toward the fog on the island. “Different don’t happen round here much, ‘specially since the camp got closed. Different is interestin’, and we like that when we can find it.”

“You know what would be different? Getting out of here; how about that?”

“We’ve tried, Irwin, and so have you,” Clinton reminded him. “Art and I covered every inch of the border looking for a way out, and we’re still here. Try and find some happiness in the little joys of your time here, or else you’re likely to lose yourself.”

“That might be fine for you two burnouts, but I wasn’t supposed to end up here. I was a government agent; I was important. There’s probably a special section of heaven waiting for people like me, I’ve just got to get to it.”

“Good luck with that,” Art said, his voice surprisingly sincere. “Clinton and I are going to watch the island fog, see if we can figure anything out.”

“You two are insufferable,” Irwin said, storming off in a manner that would have been stomping if he had the ability to stomp.

Clinton and Art sat in silence as Irwin left, idly watching the slight swirls and shifts in the mist creeping over the landmass.

“You know, I thought he’d be a little more curious, considering the weird thing about the island,” Clinton ventured.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed.

None of them had any clue what it meant, but none of the three ghosts had actually come to consciousness anywhere near their bodies when they passed. Despite dying in different locations across the camp, each one had awoken on the island that was now covered in fog. It was their private mystery, the wrinkle in their brains that each puzzled over when feeling intellectually adventurous.

But soon, it would be neither a mystery, nor private.

* * *

Half a mile up the road, just at the corners of Camp Tekonichia’s eastern border, a beat-up sedan pulled off to the side of the road. From the passenger’s side emerged a single person draped in a large, purple coat and carrying a black duffel bag. From the short, copper-colored hair and gently rounded face, it was clear the figure was female, even though the coat obscured most of her body.

She leaned back in through the window and said a few words to the driver, who nodded in agreement. That done, she slapped the hood once and the car pulled back onto the dusty road. The woman moved carefully through the overgrown, neglected brush at the road’s edge, thick boots easily pressing down the wild vegetation.

After a few moments of walking, she encountered a chain-link fence with a very prominent “No Trespassing” sign. This was hardly surprising, as similar signs were posted at intervals every few hundred feet. The woman reacted to this sign as she would have any of the others: by ignoring the warning and producing a pair of bolt-cutters from her duffel bag.

A bit of effort and a few minutes later, the chain-link fence boasted a sizable hole in its defenses and Camp Tekonichia had its first living visitor in over twenty years.

Chapter 2

Topher scanned the equipment bag one last time, making certain that everything they needed was accounted for. Auggie handled what he called the “real” tech, like cameras and microphones and whatnot, but Topher always did a double-check on the ghost-tracking equipment. He refused to be caught in a paranormal hotbed and not have the proper tech to capture spiritual activity.

“Electromagnetic Frequency Detectors, check.” He mumbled this to himself as he ticked off the set of four devices meant to measure the electromagnetic spikes caused by ghosts. These were the real deal, not the trick ones with gauges that would move up or down with a flick of a switch on the back.

After three years in this business, Topher had realized that a lot of his colleagues were charlatans and hucksters, intent on putting on an entertaining show, regardless of the authenticity of the phenomena they depicted. He didn’t have the power to stop them; most real scientists lumped everyone in this field together with the fakers, anyway. All he could do was put on a better show with honest results and non-edited footage, which he strived to do every day. Topher took pride not only in his viewership, which had grown to triple that of the fakers’ in the past year, but also in the fact that every debunker the Internet could throw at him had failed to uncover a single iota of proof that he altered any images or sounds in his work. No one would, either. Topher was looking for the real deal; he refused to sully his reputation by holding up fakes. Of course, almost no one truly believed; they just couldn’t say he was lying about what he posted.

“Spectral Voice Recorders, check.” These were specifically calibrated to capture spirit noise that other listening devices might miss. After dealing with several subpar models, Topher had finally convinced Auggie to put something together. They worked amazingly, just like all of Auggie’s inventions, capturing minute audible anomalies while filtering out background noise. He had tried to convince his friend to sell them to other researchers; however, Auggie had refused on the basis of not wanting to bother with more production.

Despite being friends since grade school, Topher had never truly understood August Parrish. He claimed to have no interest in parties, the paranormal, or really anything outside his bubble of learning and inventing; yet every time Topher came up with a crazy idea, Auggie was invariably by his side. Sure, sometimes he’d have to coax him out, but often, it took only the slightest push and Auggie was in, grumbling the whole time while never falling behind. It had been that way for years, and, to an extent, seemed like a family trait: Auggie’s sister also hated socializing and therefore didn’t do it, whereas Auggie always seemed more like he just felt like he should protest.

“Ectoplasmic Motion Sensor, check.” In truth, Topher had no idea if this piece of tech was actually attuned to the movements of spirits like it claimed, or if it was just a regular motion detector. If it was the real deal, that was great, and if not . . . well, he needed a motion detector. Might as well roll the dice on one supposedly designed for the purpose. Researching ghosts meant taking risks: sometimes on the equipment, sometimes on the safety of the location.

Topher considered it unfortunate that the work had become so glamorous over the last decade. It attracted the wrong kind of people to the industry. He had never wanted to become a quasi-celebrity, though he did enjoy the funding and investigation opportunities such status afforded him. No, all Topher Nightshade had ever wanted to do was prove to the world what he already knew: ghosts were real.

He had learned that firsthand in the basement of his neighborhood Fast Gas Dash at the age of seven; when he saw a ghost walk right through a busted slushy drink machine. Though countless people had tried to convince him otherwise, Topher refused to budge in his certainty. He might not be as smart as Auggie, or all that savvy about anything that wasn’t ghosts, but Topher was not the sort of man to doubt the truth when he saw it. He wasn’t the one who was wrong, and sooner or later, he’d capture something on video that would prove that to everyone.

“Protein bars, check.” Sometimes shoots ran long and there wasn’t time for a full meal. With the last of his checklist completed, Topher shut the final case he’d been inventorying and rose from the floor. His back and legs let out a series of pops as he did a full-body stretch. A quick glance at the clock told him it was nearly one in the morning. They’d be sleeping in tomorrow in preparation for an all-night shoot and then catching a plane to New Mexico.

“Hope I can sleep this time,” Topher muttered as he headed out the office door, remembering to lock up behind him. Even after all this time, he could barely settle down enough to fall asleep on nights before big shoots. That excitement, the tingle of anticipation over what was to come, refused to let his mind pass from the waking world to the dreaming one.

Oh well; if he found sleep unwilling to come, he could always squeeze in some time at the gym.

* * *

“Ready to admit it’s not just fog?” Clinton asked.

The island, small though it was, could normally be seen from any vantage point on the lake. That was before, of course, because now it and the waters surrounding it were completely shrouded in swirling mist. Clinton and Art had realized days ago that the mist was paranormal in nature, and not just due to the fact that it refused to dissipate, regardless of the weather.

No, the faces appearing and vanishing in the shifting fog had been their first solid clue that this was being caused by something other than crazy humidity or temperature. Once the fog changed color, going from a nondescript white to a half sunset, half blood-red, it was really just the final nail in the coffin.

“I’ll concede that it’s weird,” Irwin said begrudgingly. Art had brought him down from the woods, where the newest spirit had been trying once again to push through the forces that kept him bound to the camp. Even though they didn’t know what was going on, it seemed outright cruel to let Irwin miss the most interesting thing to happen in years. “But maybe it’s a natural phenomenon. Our earth is dealing with global warming and climate change and all kinds of complex stuff that you two wouldn’t know about since you’ve been dead so long.”

The fog swirled and a dozen faces manifested in plain view. Their mouths hung open at disjointed and horrifying angles, their mist eye sockets pulled wide. If they weren’t screaming, they were doing an award-worthy pantomime of it.

“If you tell me that’s regular weather nowadays, I’m gonna have to call bullshit,” Art warned. “’Cause I’m pretty sure if I was still alive and wearing pants, I’da just shit ‘em. And I’m used to creepy dead stuff.”

“Okay . . . that probably wasn’t normal,” Irwin agreed. It was strange how he felt as though his pulse had sped up, even though he no longer had one. He was waiting for the tingle of adrenaline and a thin layer of sweat to manifest like it had every time he’d gotten scared. After a few moments, he remembered his condition and let the expectation cease.

“Which brings us back to our question from the other day: what do you think it is?” Clinton asked.

“Have either of you . . . did anyone go touch it?”

“Sweet fuckin’ hell no,” Art replied immediately. “The ghosts in there look like they’re having a cocaine orgy? We ain’t goin’ near that thing, and neither should you. Whatever it is, it don’t look ghost friendly.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Irwin pointed out. “We’re already dead and stuck in this prison of a summer camp with no way out. Maybe that thing at least comes with an exit.”

“That could be true,” Clinton agreed. “However, you should also consider the possibility that it leads to far worse places than this. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re looking at a doorway to the Devil’s own front door.”

“Oh jeez, here we go with the religion again,” Irwin said.

“I realize you and I do not share similar faiths, but you must concede that our mere presence here, after death, speaks to the fact that there are things beyond the mortal plane. Whether you believe in hell as the Bible defines it or just as an awful place where the dead go, it may very well exist.”

“At least in hell there’s probably a means of escape,” Irwin muttered. “That’s more than we’ve got here.”

“Still think it’s a bad idea to go near it,” Art reminded him. “All religion and Hell and whatnot aside, damn thing just looks painful, least judging by the expression on them weird mist faces. Course, you’re a grown dead-man, ain’t our place to tell you what to do. Me and Clinton are just going to watch, though, seeing as the show’s still going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s growing,” Clinton explained. “Started out over just the center of the island, but over the past few days, it’s swallowed the whole thing. We thought it would end there, but it just kept getting wider. As near as we can tell—seeing as we’re judging distance based on featureless open water—it’s grown by about half the size of the island over again.”

“So, what? You two are just going to sit here watching until it expands and covers the whole camp?”

“First off, if you’ve got a way to stop a mysterious face-fog, I’d love to listen to it,” Art said. “And second, it ain’t gonna come to that. Clinton says it’s slowing down.”

Irwin looked over to the other ghost, who gave a nod. “If it keeps losing speed at its current rate, the whole thing will have stopped by sunset tonight.”

“Don’t suppose you know what happens then,” Irwin probed.

“Maybe nothing,” Clinton replied. “Maybe it starts dissipating. Maybe it rises into the air. Hell, maybe it begins the end of the world. Any guess is as good as the next right now. We have literally nothing but weird, red fog and occasional faces to go on.”

“Anything could happen.” Irwin didn’t mean to let the generous dollop of hope slip into his voice, but as he stared up at the first rays of sunshine peeking into the sky from the east, he couldn’t help it. Anything, anything would be better than being stuck in this damn camp with moldy old ghosts for company. Irwin didn’t care if the mist did signal the end of the world, honestly, as long as it provided him with a way out.

After all, he was already dead. What did he care if the rest of the world followed?

* * *

The New Mexico sun beat down on the SUV with such intensity that in spite of the late-winter season, the air-conditioning had to be run at full blast. This thankfully kept the inside of the car cooled, even if the tempers weren’t quite as sedate.

“You should have let me drive. We’d be there already,” Kay complained. She was sprawled out on the rear seat while Topher rode shotgun and Auggie steered. Between the two, a GPS device chirped infrequently, losing signal and gaining it back exactly long enough to tell them they were way off track, and losing it again before it could offer any helpful assistance.

“I watched you down five drinks in a flight that lasted less than an hour. There is no way on earth I’d let you behind a wheel. Where did you even get that many drink coupons?” Auggie asked.

“Fuck if I know, just found them in my purse a few weeks ago.” Kay moved in her seat, bringing herself to a diagonal position so that she was propped against the window. “Besides, I’m fine to drive. That much booze isn’t going to affect me.”

“Tell that to the policeman who makes you do a breathalyzer.”

“No cop would bother breathalyzing me,” she retorted. “For one thing, I know how to work my flirt like a pro when I need to. Plus, I don’t have a license, so they’d be waaaaay more pissed about that.”

“We’ve let you drive on jobs before,” Topher recalled, a small shiver racing up his spine at the realization. “Dozens of times.”

“I don’t need ‘The Man’ to tell me I know how to drive. That’s fascism.”

Auggie’s eyes went wide and he began sputtering. “That is not . . . you are . . . I—”

“Turn!” Kay barreled forward, grabbing his shoulder and pointing to a small, nearly imperceptible break in the trees that signaled the existence of a small dirt road.

On instinct, Auggie jerked the wheel to the side, nearly flipping the vehicle, but putting them on the new course. He stomped on the brakes almost as soon as he turned, suddenly aware of a gigantic obstacle in their way. Immediately before them was a set of locked gates under an arched sign reading “Camp Tekonichia: Where memories live forever.” There was a sharp electronic ding as the GPS fired up its speakers one last time.

“You have arrived at your destination.”

Auggie tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to convince himself that the machine wasn’t capable of being a sarcastic asshole. The same could not be said for Kay.

“Told you I’d get us there.” Her arms were crossed and a smug expression rested on her smirking face.

Before Auggie could react, Topher’s joy overpowered Auggie’s frustration. He leapt from the car and ran forward in excitement. He darted ahead, taking in the scents and sense of nature as only a boy raised in suburbia could. They’d gone to a lot of remote locations over the years, but Topher found each one to have a unique aura that radiated off it. Here, he was almost bowled over by the spiritual energy in the air. It could have been bottled and sold, it was so thick.

“Auggie, come check this place out. The whole area is full of energy, and it’s not even dusk yet.” Topher stood in the road, hands outstretched as he turned in small circles.

Auggie killed the engine and he and Kay emerged from the rented vehicle. He had to admit, it did seem a bit extra creepy around here, though that easily could be from the late-afternoon sun filtering through the treetops. It surrounded them with shadows, long and black against the red-brown dirt of the country road.

“We’re going to get stabbed to death, aren’t we?” Kay asked. She lowered her over-sized sunglasses, this time worn for appropriate lighting conditions, and surveyed the scene over the tops of the frames. “Like, some dude in an umpire’s mask with a machete for a hand is going to come barreling into my tent and carve me in to pieces.”

“Come on, Kay, we’ve done investigations in places way scarier than this,” Topher reminded her.

“Yeah, but this is a summer camp. Give me one example of when summer camp plus paranormal doesn’t result in murder.”

Neither of the men could think of an example to disprove her theory, so Auggie just changed the subject. “You knew what you signed up for. What did you imagine investigating a purportedly haunted camp would be like?”

“I don’t know . . . a spa? I was sort of only halfway paying attention when you told me.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Topher assured her. “Spirits aren’t violent by nature; they’re just lost and confused. As long as we respect them, they’ll respect us.”

“I know the deal with ghosts, Topher. I’ve been to like a shitload of haunted places with you. I’m scared of masked killers.”

“Oh, well, then, you’ll still be fine. Those movies all happen in summer. This is March. Still technically winter, so we’re fine.”

Auggie braced for another round of objections, but to his surprise, Topher’s logic placated the messy-haired young woman.

“Huh, I didn’t think of that. All right, I’m in, but let’s still avoid doing anything too killer-tempty. Just in case.” Kay took out a phone that couldn’t possibly have service and opened its camera function. She may as well get some good shots of the entrance and the sign while the place was good and creepy.

“So, you never said anything, but what do you think?” Topher asked, walking over to Auggie. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel the spiritual energy rippling through the air.”

“I don’t feel energy, Topher; I just feed it into the machines.” Auggie noticed his friend’s face beginning to fall and quickly backpedalled on instinct. Topher knew Auggie wasn’t a believer; that didn’t mean he should rain on the blue-haired man’s parade. “But I’ll say that this area does look like it has a high amount of potential. Even if we don’t capture anything, the scenery and ambiance will still lead to a very interesting episode.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist; I’ve got a great feeling about this place. I bet we capture all kinds of evidence. Heck, by the end of this weekend, I might even be able to make a believer out of you.”

“Topher, I respect you and what you believe, but I’m a man of science. You could spend the entire life of our sun trying to convince me that ghosts and spirits are real, and it still wouldn’t succeed. I’m simply too rational to accept supernatural entities as real,” Auggie said.

It would be roughly four more hours until Auggie was not just a believer in the supernatural, but bitterly setting himself on trying to fight it.

Chapter 3

For a camp two decades’ abandoned to the wilderness, the area wasn’t nearly as derelict as they had been expecting. It seemed the current owner employed some sort of property-management company to keep the greater forces of nature at bay. The walkways were grassy but not overgrown; the fence encircling the perimeter was well-maintained; even the gates had been easily unlocked and driven through with a minimum of pushing from Topher.

The cabins hadn’t held up quite as well, the duo of time and weather battering them heavily. Local wildlife certainly hadn’t helped much either, judging by the claw- and tooth-marks present in the wood at intermittent intervals. They were all still standing, though some could more accurately be described as leaning, which spoke to either the proficiency of the builders or the weakness of the local elements.

“Let’s do some opening shots there, and there, and by the dock,” Topher rattled off excitedly as he, Auggie, and Kay meandered through the area. This was their initial assessment, a chance to scan for locations that would be ideal to film. While Topher looked for places ghosts would be most likely to congregate, Kay checked for locations where she could get eye-catching images and video even through the lens of the night vision cameras. Auggie was on watch for spots with high capacities for danger or structural integrity issues. Topher and Kay were both led by their guts (and perhaps with Kay, the flammable contents therein), so it was up to him to determine if an area was safe to shoot in or not.

As Topher talked, Auggie scribbled in his notepad, and Kay snapped pictures on her phone. Some would undoubtedly be stills for the lead-in, but many would just serve as reminders of where she wanted to look once the sun set. Whenever possible, they tried to stretch this out to a two-day process so they had ample time to check lighting and set up equipment. Topher had, unfortunately, only managed to book them the one night, and with what he’d had to pay, Auggie refused to go back to try and haggle for another. They’d made it work in one night before; they’d just have to do it again.

“And we’ll do some checking around there,” Topher said at last, gesturing to a dilapidated cabin with one partially caved-in wall. Auggie scribbled a furious note not to let that happen. “Okay, that’s probably enough to start. You guys ready to set up home base? We’re going to the use the old main hall. It’s got offices, a lunchroom, I think even a garage. Plus, they keep the power running for the maintenance crews, so we should have all the outlets we need.”

“I’m ready,” Auggie said. “These bugs are particularly aggressive, so I’d love to put something between them and me besides my insect spray.” To punctuate his point, he pulled a small can from the fanny-pack draped across his hips and let the aerosol dance across his skin with a thin “psssst” sound.

“That stuff is terrible for you. There are all sorts of chemicals in it,” Kay lectured. She took a flask out of one of the cowboy boots she wore beneath her willowy skirt and knocked back a few hefty glugs.

“Do I even need to point out the hypocrisy of your statement while you’re ingesting alcohol, which, by its very purpose, is toxic to your blood?”

“This is water, smartass. I just didn’t have a canteen. Dehydration is a serious concern in any outdoor environment, so I thought I’d play it safe.” Kay screwed the cap on and stuck the flask back in her left boot.

A soft blush ran over his skin as Auggie blinked in surprise and just a touch of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me. You were being prepared, and I leapt to conclusions.”

“Apology accepted,” Kay replied. She reached down and pulled a different, much larger flask from her right boot. “Anyway, this is my walkin’-around vodka flask. Want some?”

Auggie’s mouth opened and closed several times, nothing actually coming out of it besides strangled sounds that seemed halfway between a choke and a scream. Finally, with a frustrated flourish of his hands, he gave up and stormed off toward the main hall they were going to make home base.

Once Auggie was over halfway to the hall, Topher turned to Kay. “Be honest, how much of that is you just messing with him?”

“Depends on the day. Like, sixty percent on the high ones, maybe fifteen on the low ones,” Kay admitted readily. “He just makes it so fun.”

“Try not to go overboard tonight. I think he’s already pretty annoyed with me for booking this place at the last minute.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll ease off for a bit.” She took a deep draught from the right-boot flask and then noticed Topher staring at her. “What? I’m already in trouble for it. May as well do the crime if I’m going to do the time.”

That made a strange bit of sense to Topher, who took it as a cue that he should probably stop talking to Kay and get to work. “Let’s go. He’ll probably have calmed down by the time we get there,” Topher said. The two headed up the same path Auggie had stormed only a few moments prior.

Neither was aware of the entity that stayed behind, having witnessed their whole conversation from the unseen vantage point directly in front of them. Clinton shook his head as they walked away, uncertain of what to tell the other two. It was possible that them showing up a few hours before the fog would supposedly stop growing was a coincidence.

Possible, but damned unlikely by Art’s reckoning.

* * *

From a quarter of a mile away, concealed by brush and shadows, another person watched as Topher and Kay headed toward the main hall. This one didn’t look just at them; it also kept an eye on the ghost of a former counselor. A heavy, purple coat rested on the ground, mere inches away from her feet. The sun warmed the late-winter air so much that the garment was too heavy during the day, yet the bitter winds under the moon necessitated wrapping it closely around her body. This simultaneously made it a burden and a life-saving blessing.

She licked her lips once, wishing she’d thought to bring chapstick. Rations, weapons, books of magical rites, flashlights, bug-spray, holy water, lighters, and a homemade concoction she called “burn juice” had all been stuffed into her duffel bag, along with a few other odds and ends, but it had never occurred to her that the dry, chilly, climate would leave her lips cracking within the first few hours. For all her knowledge and power, she was still a city girl, and wild environments had dangers she was not prepared for.

The intruders were a complication she hadn’t expected. Part of her wondered what the odds were that some idiots would come along on this day, of all days, but then she thought better of it. Coincidences like these seemed to happen more often than not. Fate denied any hand in it when she pressed him, but with that slippery bastard one could never be sure what to trust. Her pet theory was that shitstorms, like magnets, exerted a pull in all directions across space and time, gathering as many witnesses as possible for the show. Based on what she knew, tonight was going to be a hell of a spectacle, so it wasn’t surprising that a few yokels had gotten sucked in.

The downside of this was that she was going to have to put in at least a cursory effort to keep them safe when the shit hit the fan. The upside, though, was that these definitely looked like the sort of people who would have brought chapstick. So it wasn’t a total bust.

Moving carefully, she picked up her purple coat and began sneaking around toward the main hall. Hiding from the humans would be easy; most were willfully deaf to the world around them. Staying concealed from the spirits was a trickier task, but she’d had plenty of practice. After several days, none of them had become clued to her presence, which was how she liked it. If everything went according to plan, she could stay in the shadows, do her job, and slip away before anyone ever knew she had been there.

* * *

Unlike many of the cabins, the camp’s main hall had weathered neglect with some semblance of dignity. True, there were creaks and groans enough to match a retirement home in the morning with every step one took, but the walls were sturdy and the maintenance staff had kept the greater bulk of dust and bugs from overtaking the building’s interior. Additionally, the power outlets still worked, which Topher had been promised during negotiations, but Auggie had refused to believe without proof. This made setting up their home base much easier, since they didn’t have to rig up the portable generator stowed in the back of the SUV.

In the central room, which had once served as a dining hall, sat a dozen or so wooden tables, two of which now hosted an impressive array of gadgetry connected to various charging cables. These were clustered tightly together, bound by the logistics of running power strips rather than by any sense of space conservation. Nearby, a different table was loaded down with monitors, remote receivers, and other observation equipment.

This was the hub where Auggie would sit while Kay and Topher tromped about, coordinating their various endeavors in order to maximize time, safety, and usable footage. He’d also keep an eye on the cameras set up to record theoretical hot-spots, letting Topher know if a surge in activity warranted further investigation. From Auggie’s perspective, a “surge in activity” was defined as one of Topher’s devices going off, or literally anything visual occurring. He’d learned after years of practice that either of those events would get Topher excited, and an excited Topher always made for entertaining film.

Two tables away from Auggie’s hub were a small laptop and a portable video camera. Kay liked to keep her space minimalistic; she said all any artist needed was their tools. Of course, the backpack lying next to the table contained myriad glass and plastic bottles, but one could theoretically make the argument that these could be likened to paints for the brush of her camera wielding: they weren’t the tool but still enabled the art. One could also make arguments about high-functioning alcoholism.

This three-sectioned area constituted home base, the same setup the three investigators had fashioned in nearly every location they’d worked at together. Sometimes they had more space, sometimes less, sometimes barely enough power to keep the monitors going, but they always situated themselves in a similar way: Topher’s toys, Auggie’s hub, and Kay’s laptop, each separate, yet equally vital to the process of producing Specter Quest. This did not mean they were the only components, however.

“Topher, could you please turn off your mic while doing that? I keep hearing you grunting in my ear,” Auggie complained.

“Sorry,” Topher said, reaching for the small box attached to his hip and flicking a switch. That done, he turned his attention back to his current activity and pre-shooting ritual: doing bicep curls. Despite what many would think, this wasn’t about getting pumped to look big on camera. Topher just liked to burn off his excess energy before shooting. He loved investigating, loved being out there in the thick of it, searching for proof of a paranormal afterlife. All of that was well and good when it was actually go time. In the hours leading up to filming, though, his growing excitement would often get in the way of all the prep work, so he’d taken to lifting weights as a way to keep himself grounded.

Auggie flipped a few more switches and then took off the earphones he’d been wearing. “Sound checks out. I’m about ready to go place the remote cameras. Did you two finish picking positions?”

“We picked four spots,” Kay told him, bringing over a small map. “One by the gate, one overlooking the cabins, one at the path into the woods, and one at the dock, looking out over the lake.”

“Why the lake? With the wind and water movement, it will be nearly impossible to quantify any movement as unnatural,” Auggie pointed out. “And the island is too far away to get any good images.”

“I know, but when I took pictures earlier, I noticed something.” Kay pulled out her phone and opened the camera function, swiping to the photos she’d taken earlier in the day. “See? Everything comes out clear, except for the island. No matter what angle you’re looking from, it always seems blurry.”

“What does that mean?” Topher asked, perking up at the conversation.

“Fuck all if I know. It’s just weird, so I thought we could put a camera on it. We’ve got six of them anyway, why not stick it out there and see what it gets?”

“Could we go out and look at the island firsthand?” Topher set the large free weight on the ground and walked over to look at the small aerial map of the camp.

“Absolutely not,” Auggie said. “We don’t have any of our own boats, and I wouldn’t cross a bathtub in the leftover equipment here. The camera is fine, but we’re not putting in the time and risk to cross a lake on the basis of blurry pictures.”

“If we had more time, we could also set one up here,” Kay pointed out. Her finger rested on the side of the map, indicating a hiking trail that ended on a cliff overlooking the island. “Bird’s-eye would be awesome, but if we want to be back and shooting at a decent time, there’s no chance.”

“We could take the SUV,” Topher suggested.

“Up an overgrown trail that may or may not be blocked with trees and debris? Absolutely not.”

“Come on. The dock is already far from the island; once night hits, I doubt we’ll see anything good,” Topher pleaded. “It won’t take too long.”

“That’s what you said about those tunnels under the old museum. Remind me, which of us got lost and spent half the night walking around the same corridor?” Auggie asked.

“It’s just the one—”

“Cliffs over the haunted burial grounds, fields around the haunted plantation, and the stacks at the haunted library. I can keep going,” Auggie said.

“Yeah, you really are pretty shitty with directions,” Kay agreed.

“Kay could do it,” Topher said weakly.

Auggie snorted and shook his head. “Look, I think I packed an extra telescopic lens for Kay’s camera. If I can rig it on to one of the remotes instead and put it on the dock, will that be good enough for you?”

“I guess that would give us some good shots,” Topher agreed.

“Wonderful. You said this place had a garage, right?”

“Sure, past the offices and through the last door on the left.”

“Let’s hope there are still tools around; it will take some finagling to get that lens equipped in time.” Auggie headed off in the direction Topher had pointed, his measured steps echoing off the wooden interior of the building. He was gone for less than a minute when Topher and Kay heard his voice rebound toward them from across the building.

“What the . . . oh, hell no.”

After exchanging a quick look of shared curiosity, Kay and Topher wordlessly dashed down the hallway, emerging in the garage to find the source of Auggie’s surprise and indignation.

“Holy shit, someone left a car here.” With a gift of encapsulating honesty usually only possessed by toddlers and idiots, Kay perfectly summarized what was resting on the bare concrete slab before them. Though dirt and time had dulled the sheen of the once bright-orange paint job, the color still leapt out at them, demanding their attention. As did the rebel flag emblazoned across its roof.

“That is really not okay,” Auggie said, taking in the spectacle with an expression somewhere between shock, anger, and disbelief.

“It’s the General Lee,” Topher said, walking around the Charger slowly, taking in the sight as a whole.

“The generally what? Racist?”

“No, the General Lee, the car from Dukes of Hazard,” Topher explained. “I mean, it’s not the real one, obviously. Someone who worked here just loved the show enough to copy it.” Topher kicked one of the tires, surprised to find it still held. “Wonder why they left it.”

“Or why none of the maintenance people stole it,” Kay added in.

Auggie made a beeline for the front of the car and popped the hood in a single motion. “I can answer that easily. It’s because this thing is more shell than automobile. It would take thousands of dollars to get this engine fixed, and that’s assuming one could find parts for a car that I’m assuming is older than I am.”

“I guess this place isn’t really tow-truck friendly, either,” Topher added, recalling the thin, weaving roads Auggie had been forced to navigate.

“Should we get some shots of it?” Kay asked. “Abandoned car is sort of creepy.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Even if it’s a reproduction, the image is likely still trademarked, and that means a lot more paperwork for me,” Auggie said.

“Let’s plant a static camera in here, just to see if there’s activity,” Topher said. “If not, then we won’t use any footage with the car. If there is, well, we can try to edit around it.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Auggie agreed. “I’ll set one up, and then go tend to the rest of them.”

“You better hurry; the sun will be setting soon. Once it goes down, walking all these trails is going to be a lot more dangerous.”

Topher had no clue just how correct his statement was.

Chapter 4

“Should I . . . should we be scared?” Irwin’s voice was uncharacteristically subdued, his post-death combativeness pushed away by the curious combination of fear and awe that wormed its way through his incorporeal brain.

“Don’t know. Seems like we ain’t got much to worry ‘bout, being dead and all. Still, I can’t help but think this is something nobody, livin’ or dead, should be too near.”

“The humans I saw looked and didn’t react. That means it’s in the realm of the spirits, and that means that yes, I think we should be at least a little worried,” Clinton surmised.

The three ghosts were no longer standing on the dock; that location now felt too close to the swirling, sweeping, storming miasma of fog that had covered the island and about a quarter of the lake. While Clinton’s estimates about the slowing expansion had been spot on, the data could hardly have allowed him to predict what came next. What the mist lacked in growth, it made up for in activity. What had begun as a sedate cloud, now keenly resembled an orgy of tornados whirling at every angle and in all directions, crashing into one another and dissolving, only to spawn new ones. Faces could still be seen taking shape in the chaos, but now, they were attached to torsos, with hands stretching out until their shapes dissolved from view. None of the ghosts knew what those things were reaching for, and that was a dearth of knowledge each would be happy never to fill in.

“Should we try to warn ‘em?” Art looked away from the shifting carnage to his friend, who responded with a meek shrug.

“Neither of us is that great at moving stuff, and Irwin hasn’t picked it up at all yet. The most we could do is write ‘run’ or something in the dirt.”

“That would scare most people off,” Irwin said, the faux-toughness in his tone making it clear that he didn’t consider himself to be among that grouping.

“Clinton heard ‘em talking; apparently, they’re here lookin’ for ghosts. If we give ‘em a show, they’ll probably dig their heels in.”

“Seems like we should at least try,” Clinton said. “Just because we’re stuck don’t mean they have to be.”

“Agreed. It’s the right thing to do,” Art said.

Clinton turned to Irwin, who sat mesmerized by the cloud vortex. “You coming with?”

“Why? I can’t move anything.”

“And if you don’t practice, that will always be the case,” Clinton said.

Irwin considered his options. He didn’t really care if some idiot trespassers got their comeuppance for breaking in, but he also wasn’t too keen on being near the lake when sunset came. Whatever happened, it probably wasn’t going to be good.

In the end, cowardice won out over apathy.

“Fine, I’ll tag along. Might as well give moving things another go.”

The trio began wandering up the hill toward the main hall, unimpeded by the overgrowth the way the humans were. They didn’t even need to touch the ground; following a marked trail was just one of those habits that one grew accustomed to after several decades of living. It would only take them minutes to make it up to the hall, which was a shame.

Had they been just a bit slower, they might have noticed Auggie walking toward the woods, away from the hall, heading off to set up a camera, and things might have turned out very differently.

* * *

She checked the sky, watching as the sun began flirting with the barest edge of the horizon. In terms of logic, sunset as a trigger point never really made sense to her. When one thought about it, why would the angle of a burning star’s light hitting this hunk of space rock be a factor in anything as arcane and ill-defined as magic? For that matter, sunset was really more of a general period than a precise time. If she climbed a tree on top of the cliff, extending her view, then the sun would vanish several minutes later for her than if she were watching from the edge of the lake.

Reasoning like that was why she’d never fit in with the supernatural community. They could take all this magic mumbo-gumbo crap at face value, but she wanted to understand it. Sometimes, she wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been born with her gift or of her bloodline. The two were distinct things, after all. Mediums came in every shape, sex, and race. Supposedly, it had to do with the phases of the moon and the energy levels at birth, though genetics could play a role in passing the gift from generation to generation.

Not that such was the case with her. She was the first medium in her family. Really, though, it had only been a matter of time. Her family was different. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but always different. They just never seemed to be playing by the same rules as the rest of the world. Occasionally, she wondered if they were even playing the same game.

Perhaps that was why her gift had manifested in an unusual way. Even among other mediums, she was an oddity. For that quirk, she was thankful. It seemed like it would be hard for the others, living in a world of disembodied spirits and being almost powerless to deal with them. She didn’t love her gift, but at least she didn’t have to just take all the ghost-bullshit like the others. She could shut them up.

The purple coat found its way from the ground to her body as the air chilled around her. Part of it was due to the setting sun, part of it due to her position near the lake. It was a shitty place to sit for an ambush, but two days of scouting had assured her this was the right place to be. At sunset, The Emissary would rise, and it would be hungry. Originally, she’d assumed it would gobble up the animal spirits and maybe down a couple of the humans’ too. That was before real, live humans had shown up. Now, it would go directly after them; they’d stand out like infernos of energy to that twisted monster. All she had to do was wait and make sure she was the first human it saw.

Most likely, it would go after her first. Only the oldest and most powerful ones she’d encountered ever seemed to have a clue about her uniqueness. If she was very lucky, the damn thing might try to full-on possess her.

A soft, vicious smile warmed her face at that thought. That would make her job much easier, which meant it probably wouldn’t happen. Only the odd spirit with that rare combination of dumb and lucky had both lasted long enough to learn a trick like possession and was so impulsive as to leap into a body without testing the waters first. From what she’d been told, The Emissary wasn’t going to be stupid. Odds were, it would be the oldest and most powerful of evil spirits: a wraith.

No, tonight wouldn’t be easy. That was okay by her. She wasn’t all that good at dealing with easy in the first place. She didn’t like it, didn’t trust it. A hard, bloody, deadly fight: . . . now that was something she could get behind. Because, when those were over, at least she knew where she stood.

The sun dipped another few inches, and she pulled the coat tighter around her body. One of her hands reached into the duffel bag and came up with a plastic bottle filled with milky-looking liquid. With a careful hand, she partially unscrewed the cap so it could come off with just the flick of a wrist. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but she didn’t underestimate wraiths. Not anymore.

As the sun continued its languishing fall from the sky, the miasma around the island grew more frantic in its activity.

It wouldn’t be long now.

* * *

Though he didn’t tell the others, setting up the remote cameras was actually one of Auggie’s favorite jobs. It was the last break of solitary serenity before the bedlam of shooting began. Once the cameras were rolling, Auggie became the nerve center for Topher and Kay’s efforts, coordinating and directing them so that the time and camera memory could be used most effectively. He enjoyed his role in the team, balancing two creative types along with all the logistics necessary to make a trip worthwhile, but there was no doubt that by the end of the night, he’d be mentally worn out. Setting up the remote cameras was his time to re-center himself after a plane ride and afternoon of dealing with his more energetic colleagues.

Despite all the blustering, he liked his job—even if it wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d graduated college. It was a gig that offered constant travel, adventure, and independence. Working with his oldest friend was an added bonus. If pressed, and liquored up a bit, Auggie might even be persuaded to admit that Kay wasn’t so bad either, underneath all her antagonism. She was just the type that liked to rebel, and in a three-person company with lots of independence, he was the only outlet for that inclination.

He’d left the dock camera for last; both because he wanted to double-check the fitting on the improvised zoom scope, and because he thought it would be pretty at sunset. Since his mundane vision couldn’t pick up on the swirling mass of supernatural energy centered over the island, it was indeed a breathtaking sight. The fiery reds and golds of the sun’s last valiant attempts to light the sky were reflected in the cool, clear water of the lake.

As Auggie took in the scene, he realized that the lake was strangely choppy, considering there was almost no wind in the air. He wondered if there was some sort of cave system connecting it to more turbulent waters and creating an unseen current. Auggie always searched for the scientific explanation in their outings, and even if he didn’t, guessing that the water was being churned by an unseen cloud vortex would have been a bit of a stretch.

With nature thoroughly appreciated, Auggie turned his attention to setting up the final remote camera. As he anchored the tripod in place, the sun finally lost its fight with inevitability and dipped below the horizon. It was just as Auggie was beginning to fuss with the lens that the last sliver of sun vanished, signifying the official end of the day.

And, more importantly, the beginning of night.

* * *

She saw him just as the sun was setting. One of the humans. One of the normal, non-ghost-seeing, totally-defenseless-against-the-paranormal humans. He was standing on the dock, fiddling with some inconsequential piece of machinery as the vortex stormed and reality tore. Him being out was bad, him being mundane was worse, but the most terrible strike against him was one of simple geography: he was closer to the island than she was.

It would go after him. This was neither conjecture, intuition, nor paranoia; rather, it was a hot melding of all three in the fires of her gut. She was moving before the thought had fully formed in her mind, those impetuous legs of hers getting a start on what needed to be done. They were right, too. There was no time to think, to fret, or to wonder. Already she could see the crackling lines of black energy rippling through the mist. The swirled cloud was rotating so fast that it almost seemed to be standing still, making the whole thing resemble a great big, misshapen, red egg perched in the center of the lake.

That meant the black lines of energy were cracks in its shell, and too soon, they would give way to a true break. Her breath came hard as she ran, leaping over roots and shrubbery with all thoughts of stealth abandoned. She could lie her way out of trouble for being in the restricted area; hell, even if they didn’t buy it, she would be out of jail in no time. What she couldn’t do was protect someone from a quarter of a mile away.

And if she didn’t make it to him in time . . . well, there was probably no helping whatever would be left of him.

* * *

Clinton and Art had discovered that ghost investigators, much like other professionals, seemed to lose every job-related skill they possessed when off the clock. In the same way that a doctor will go right ahead and eat bacon after giving a lecture on cholesterol, and a psychologist will miss his son’s cries for attention until they reach arson level, Topher and Kay’s attunement and attention to the supernatural was nowhere to be seen as they prepped for the night’s shoot. After ten minutes of subtle knocking sounds and the occasional rolled pencil that all went unnoticed, the spirits decided it was time to change tactics.

Clinton was trying to find something to write on, while Art busied himself attempting to knock some doodad off the table. Due to its weight, this took a steady amount of concentration and energy to achieve, which pushed Art to the limits of his ability. Ironically, had the device he was trying to send tumbling been turned on, it would have (at least according to its inventor’s claims) allowed him to freely speak to the living, saving everyone a lot of time and effort.

Irwin watched their activities with rapt attention, hoping this would be the time when the trick finally clicked for him. They’d explained to him in theory countless times: spirits gathered energy from the world around them. The most plentiful source was humans’ emotional energy: good spirits getting power from positive emotions like love and friendship, evil spirits drawing from anger, hatred, and fear. Since they lived in an abandoned camp, neither had ever really been an option. Instead, Art and Clinton drew on the naturalistic power that resided in the forest. It wasn’t as easy to work with or draw out, but it gave them enough juice to affect the corporeal world in minor ways. Silly a trick as it was, Irwin still burned with jealousy every time he saw them do something as simple as moving a rock. Even that simple gesture was more than he could manage.

“I can’t hold a pen,” Clinton declared, his last-ditch effort of trying to write on a notepad failing as the implement slipped through his grasp. “Which means a note is out.”

“We could write in the dust,” Art suggested.

“They didn’t notice you knocking objects to the ground, I don’t think weird shapes in the dirt will help,” Irwin said.

“Hey, shouldn’t Auggie be back soon? The sun is basically down already; we’re burning night.” Kay’s words rang clear and audible; it was a voice that all the residents in the room could hear, not just the dead ones.

“We’ve got time,” Topher replied. He was running checks on a piece of equipment meant to flash bright blue when ghosts were nearby. It seemed to be working fine as far as Topher could tell, though the fact that there were three spirits nearby and it gave up nary a blue blip spoke to its true quality. “Out here, the sky will stay gray for a while, even after we lose the sun. Probably be another half hour until it’s dark enough to shoot.”

“I hope he hustles,” Kay replied, glancing at the digital clock on her wrist.

“Hot damn, don’t tell me you’re actually worried about Auggie. There might be a heart in there yet.”

“Worrying about Auggie is like worrying about your dad’s accountant. Whatever he’s doing, you know he’s doing it with all the safety and boringness of a minivan. I just like being the most irresponsible member of the team, and if he shows up late, then I’ve got to go out of my way to outdo him. It’s a bit of a hassle.” Kay turned back to her laptop, glancing at the bay of monitors where Auggie would normally be sitting.

Kayla Krupchyk still very vividly remembered her grandmother, Marta Krupchyk, and the old woman’s penchant for wild tales. In spite of the fact that she worked for a team of ghost investigators, Kay had a sort of ambivalence toward the supernatural. She wasn’t a devout believer like Topher, nor was she an ardent doubter like Auggie. Kay merely thought there were some things in the world she didn’t understand, and whether they were magic or not was for minds greater than hers to determine.

Her grandmother, in contrast, an old world immigrant, had been a constant supporter of the supernatural. The half-mad matron of her family had made many crazy claims during Kayla’s youth, but the one that she said most frequently, and with the most stubborn certainty, was that the Krupchyk women had a bit of “the touch”. They were connected with the magic of the old world, and as such, they were gifted with certain benefits. The most common, she would tell young Kayla as the girl sat at her feet, was the gift of premonition. Nothing so base as actual divination; that flowery bullshit was for lesser cultures. They were sturdy, proper people. All they needed or wanted was a bit of warning when things were getting bad.

Kay didn’t want to think about why that memory was surfacing right now. It was the same reason she’d asked Topher about Auggie, the same reason she was trying not to look at his station. For the past few minutes, ever since she lost sight of the sun, any thoughts of Auggie produced a faint ebbing pain right in her stomach. It probably meant nothing: just an after effect of eating fast-food burritos from the shop outside the airport. But that was the trouble with being open to a magical world; it meant one couldn’t just rule things out. Not with certainty.

She was about to say something again, probably to volunteer and go find Auggie, when a noise like roaring thunder tore through the cabin. It rattled the floors and walls, unfortunately coinciding with the exact moment Art succeeded in knocking the gizmo off the table. The noise and shaking lasted only a few seconds, but when it ceased, it seemed to take all other sound with it. The world was perfectly quiet as Topher and Kay exchanged confused and worried looks.

“Is there a storm?” Topher asked.

“No clouds outside, and nothing in the forecast. Maybe a tree fell.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see the tree that sounds like that,” Topher said.

“Well, then what the hell was that noise?”

* * *

Dark red mist gushed from the hole in the island, pooling around it like slowly clotting blood. The lighter fog was gone; it had burned away in the explosion of energy that was the doorway opening. Terrifying as the noise had been for the humans, at least they couldn’t see the circle in the center of the island glowing a vibrant red. They couldn’t see the spirits tearing their way forth, half-formed beings shambling about like mindless husks.

And, best or worst of all, they couldn’t see the figure floating forty feet above the circle, a shape woven from darkness. It contrasted well with the soft grays of the early evening sky, as though it wanted to show the world what darkness really was. Upon the top of its head, where a face should be, were two pinpricks of red light that swept across the camp, eagerly searching.

It was a wraith, all right. After dealing with her first one, there was no mistaking another. Her breath was heavy in her lungs and already, her legs ached. She could jog for miles, but a full-on sprint was more tiring. As she stumbled out of the brush, she at last had a straightaway to the dock. The man who had been working on his camera looked up at her, confusion all but glowing on his face.

For the briefest moment, she thought she would make it. And then the wraith, the dark, humanoid shadow in the sky, noticed them. It wavered between the two for only an instant before making its choice, the choice she’d known all along it would make. If it came at her, she could put up a fight. That would be a fair battle, which was why it chose the man with the camera.

Life—and death—were just so inherently unfair. There was no other way it could have gone.

* * *

The noise startled Auggie so badly he nearly knocked the camera over. After scanning the sky to assure himself he was neither caught in a freak thunderstorm, nor witness to a bombing, he’d decided it was time to head back to the main hall. Whatever that noise had been, he would feel safer with a roof over his head. It was an irrational comfort, he knew that quite well, but much like a placebo could cure minor ills if one believed it to be medicine, irrational comforts made him feel better.

He was turning to leave when he saw her. The large, purple coat hung open, her copper-colored hair was sweaty and matted to the side of her head, and she appeared to be out of breath. His immediate reaction was one of concern: clearly this woman had been running from something. She would need treatment and protection. Then he remembered that they were on private land, miles from anyone who should be about, and he grew uncertain.

As he watched, the woman opened her mouth, probably to hail him or explain herself. Before she could, her expression changed. In an instant, it went from careful consideration to shocked horror. He would have wondered what was disturbing her; however, the answer made itself apparent before the question could even form.

Auggie felt as though he were being shredded by a wild animal with claws made of ice. They tore into his back then kept going. Frozen pain ripped at his chest, savaging his lungs and heart in a single motion. Dark spots began swimming in front of his eyes, and he realized he was about to lose consciousness. He tried to struggle, to cry out, to flail futilely, but his body was useless. It was already too numb and detached to heed his orders.

The light grew dimmer, and Auggie felt himself slipping away. Just before he lost himself entirely, he heard a sound that filled his last moments with a putrid fear. It was laughter, a horribly hissing, slithering laughter that sounded like poisonous snakes fucking in a burlap sack. The laughter surrounded him, mocking him, killing him, and soon, it swarmed over him, driving out the final remains of his consciousness.

Then there was only darkness.

Chapter 5

The land had changed. It was more than the strangely-shaped huts or crudely carved trails; it was the very topography of the place The Emissary had once known so well. Once, this lake had been fed by a rushing river, surrounded by only brush and saplings. Had it not been for the cliff overlooking the lake, he’d have feared something had gone awry and that it had somehow surfaced in the wrong spot. Thankfully, the cliff loomed above, proving that the land he’d once walked upon with feet of flesh still existed, even if only in spirit.

A horrid smile split the still-unfamiliar face he wore. Perhaps it was better that the land lingered here only as a ghost. It was fitting; it was right. Without those who had once dwelled upon it, the land he knew had died. It had gone to meet those waiting patiently. So just was their cause, so right their dream, that the very earth joined them in their purpose. This thought soothed The Emissary as he ran, the thin legs cutting across the land with unexpected speed. It was slow work for one unaccustomed to bodily bindings, but he pressed on.

The night was crisp and new, and the promise of what was to come hummed through the air. All around him the energy crackled, whispering, begging to be used. Soon, The Emissary would answer its call; soon, the ritual would fling open the gates and set the world ablaze.

Tonight, the land of the living would forever be seized by the dead.

* * *

Auggie didn’t wake up so much as he suddenly became awake. There was no groggy half-step like he was accustomed to. One instant, there was darkness; the next, he was staring up at a dark gray sky, the first flickers of stars showing themselves against the infinite backdrop of space. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself to a sitting position. He expected pain to rake through him from the wounds on his back, but he was surprised to realize he felt no pain at all. Not just in his back, either: his whole body was pain free. Most in his situation didn’t notice such subtle details; the loss of the dozens of minor slivers of discomfort and injury slipped past their attention. Auggie’s capacity for observing detail dwarfed most others’, though, so as soon as he sat up, he realized something was wrong.

It was only when he looked down at his body and found it translucent, however, that Auggie even remotely considered the possibility of the supernatural.

“Don’t freak out.” The female voice came from behind him. Auggie leapt into the air, intending only to get to his feet, but hovering several inches off the ground. The speaker was the woman he’d seen across the lake, she of the purple coat and copper-colored hair. He’d noticed her just before the . . .

“What did you do to me?” Auggie demanded. It came out angrier than he really meant it to, but trying not to acknowledge the fact that he was floating in the air was sapping a large amount of his self-control.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” the woman replied. “But something did happen. Specifically, you were torn out of your physical body, rendering you a spirit.”

Auggie stared at her, mouth open as he absorbed the ludicrous sincerity with which she spoke.

“Well then, it seems you’re either completely insane, or trying to pull an incredibly complex prank on me. Did Topher put you up to this? No, he’s not that dedicated to think of something like this; it must have been Kay.”

“Look: I know denial is the first reaction to becoming a spirit, and normally, I’d try to be kind and gentle as I eased you into acceptance. Unfortunately, we’re sort of working under a clock tonight, which means I don’t have time to coddle your ass. So snap to it: you’re half a foot off the ground and see-through. If I had the technology to fake that, do you think I’d waste it pranking random guys on docks?”

“It makes more sense than believing I’ve suddenly died and come back as a ghost! I don’t even believe in the afterlife. I’m a scientist,” Auggie declared. “Why would I turn in to a ghost?”

“That part is a bit complicated, and I’d really rather not try to explain it twice. How about we head up to that hall your friends are camped out at? I’d like to get a little space between us and the undead horde.” She pointed across the lake to the island Auggie had been trying to film when he was struck.

As his gaze followed her finger, he saw, for the first time, what was really happening: the red glow from the island’s center, the dozens of partially-formed spirits climbing their way out and milling around, the blood-red stain of smoke that surrounded the area. Auggie didn’t know that he believed in the supernatural yet—even in his current situation it was asking too much from him—but he did have a sense of self-preservation. Dead or alive, it echoed through the gut he no longer possessed, telling him to put distance between himself and anything that looked like that.

“Perhaps we could move to a better location,” Auggie agreed. “If nothing else, it will hopefully bring a swift end to this horrible joke of yours.”

“Sticking with the prank denial, huh? Well, whatever works for you.” She began walking off the dock, toward the path that would lead to the main hall.

“Answer me this, then: if I’m a ghost, why can you see me?” Auggie tried not to think about what he was doing as he moved; he merely walked as though he were on a slope and ignored the fact that he was descending from mid-air. There was a rational explanation for this. He just had to find it.

“Because I’m a medium, obviously. You can call me Velt.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“And who are you, Butch Everyman?”

“My name is August Parrish, but most people call me Auggie.” He caught up to her easily, his speed largely determined by how fast he concentrated on moving, rather than the actual motion of his legs. He drew so near so quickly that he almost clipped her, but Velt twisted away at the last moment.

“Try not to touch me,” she warned.

“Intimacy issues?”

“No, I’m . . . let’s just say it’s a bad idea for now. I’ll explain when we get to the top of the hill.”

“What is this mysterious deadline you keep hinting at? I’m already dead, according to you, so I fail to see what other tragedy will befall me.”

“For one thing, there’s a lot more at stake than just one life,” Velt told him, speaking quickly over her shoulder as she walked. “And besides that, I want to fill them in on the situation before the spirit piloting your body finds them.”

Auggie nodded his head and kept moving for a moment, before the content of her words struck him in a way that physical objects no longer could.

“Piloting my what?”

* * *

Topher was gearing up to go look for Auggie when the front door to the main hall banged open, sending a river of relief surging through the large man’s body. After the loud noise rattled the cabin, he’d grown increasingly concerned about the amount of time Auggie was taking to place cameras. He’d just finished prepping the night vision goggles, as well as a set for his partner, when the sound of the door heralded the presumed return of his best friend. He turned from the equipment table, expecting to see Auggie looking put-out and slightly annoyed, but safe.

Instead, Topher laid eyes on one of the more beautiful girls he’d ever seen. True, she didn’t have it going on in the sense that magazines would be trying to book photo shoots with her, but she had the sort of take-no-bullshit fire in her eyes and confident demeanor that Topher liked. Adding in that her damp, copper hair and curved face were traits he generally sought out, this girl could have easily stepped out of one of his fantasies.

Except she hadn’t. She’d walked in the front door of the main hall, in a camp that was supposed to be closed to everyone but them. Topher’s initial exhilaration faded as he realized this was a potential trespasser, and he might have to call the cops on this lovely woman.

“Hey,” Kay called, walking around the table. “Did I hear Auggie come in?”

“No,” Topher said.

“Sort of a yes, and no,” the new woman replied.

“Of course she did, I’m right here,” Auggie declared. He waved at Topher and Kay, both of whom had their eyes locked on Velt. Neither was giving him so much as a glance. “You know, Topher, if you’re this good of an actor, I’m going to start expecting more out of you on camera.”

“He’s not acting. They can’t hear you,” Velt told him.

“Who’s the new broad?” Kay asked. “Did Auggie hire a tech or something?”

“No, he’d have told us,” Topher responded. “Ma’am, may I ask what you’re doing here? This is private property; we’re only permitted in for a shoot. If you had car trouble or something, we’d be happy to call you a ride, but you’re really not supposed to be here.”

“I don’t have car trouble; I broke in a few days ago.” She looked them both up and down, taking the measure of each. The guy was muscular, but it was the bulky type he’d earned through weights rather than athletics. The girl was wiry and lean, but Velt knew better than to underestimate that. It was the mistake people usually made with her. Still, if they escalated the situation before understanding was reached, she felt confident she could handle things. “By my guess, you must be Topher, and the one with the messy hair is Kay. If I’m wrong, then your parents both did you great injustices when naming you.”

“How did you . . . oh, I get it. You’re a fan.” Topher treated her to a big, wide grin that would have looked ridiculously fake on anyone with an ounce less sincerity. “You’re a dedicated one at that. We’ve had people track us down on shoots before, but this was a real trek.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Velt said.

“Sure, sure, you don’t watch Specter Quest at all. That’s how you knew our names. Don’t be shy; I think we’ve got some posters or something I can autograph.”

“Is he always like this?” Velt asked Auggie.

“Unwaveringly so.” The longer Auggie stood there with neither coworker acknowledging his presence, the more uncomfortable he felt. The truth of the matter was that Topher was a shitty liar, and Kay rarely cared enough to invest this much effort in anything, besides cameras and cocktails. Their behavior, more than the floating and transparency, was shaking the foundation of Auggie’s denial.

“Who is she talking to?” Kay asked. Unlike Topher, she was readily aware of the fact that a viewer and a crazy person who loved stabbing were not mutually exclusive.

“I’m talking to your coworker, August Parrish. Evidently, you call him Auggie, which to me just seems cruel. He’s a spirit now, and right beside me.”

Topher’s smile vanished as a storm rippled across his face. Kay tensed up as well, that nagging worry in her stomach flaring, as though it were celebrating being proven right.

“That’s not funny,” Topher told her. “I think maybe we should let the police know we’ve got a trespasser on set. Kay, be a friend and give them a call. I’ll keep an eye on Miss . . .” He realized he hadn’t even gotten this strange woman’s name.

“Velt. My name is Velt, and calling the cops won’t make my words untrue. I thought you were here to investigate spirits; it’s surprising to me how closed-minded you are to their existence.”

“Except that we saw Auggie, alive and fine, less than an hour ago,” Kay told her.

“Is it your experience that tragedies are always convenient and scheduled? I wish you two would get with the program already. Honestly, the fact that your friend is a spirit is probably one of the least impossible things I have to tell you.”

Topher crossed his thick arms across his massive chest and stared at this intruder, mind no longer awash with admiration for her beauty. Now, he was just trying to figure out how to get her off the property without causing damage or a scene. Even if they were in the legal right, a wrong move could cause bad press for them.

“All right then, Velt. We are ghost investigators, and as such, we’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the possibility of an afterlife. You say Auggie is right there with you? Well, we set up code phrases back in our first year doing this to prove if a medium had really established contact. I’ll give you one shot to tell me what his was. If you fail, you leave this camp peacefully. Deal?”

Velt held up a finger and turned to Auggie. “Is that actually true, or is he trying to bluff me?”

“Why does it matter? We both know he can hear and see me perfectly well. This little stunt isn’t fooling anyone.”

“Humor me; just assume for a minute that maybe this is actually happening. Do you want to blow your one chance to speak with your friends? If it’s a prank, then you just stubbornly proved to be inflexible, but if it’s actually happening, think about the loss. You’re a logical guy; calculate the risk versus reward.” Velt glanced back over at Topher and Kay. “Give me a moment; he’s convinced himself that this whole thing is a practical joke, because somehow, that makes more sense than being a spirit.”

“That does sound like Auggie,” Kay muttered.

Auggie was shocked as he noticed the weary concern creasing Kay’s face. In two and a half years working together, he’d never seen her so worried about something, not even when her favorite bar had been in danger of shutting down. He wasn’t convinced about this whole spirit and afterlife nonsense yet, but he realized Velt was right. If he missed a chance to talk to his friends, he’d always regret it.

“It’s true,” Auggie told her, giving a slight nod of his head. “He pestered me about it for three weeks until I finally relented and made one.”

“Well?” Topher asked, his harsh tone making it clear that he was not buying her act.

“Well?” Velt echoed, eager to move past this issue and get down to work.

“Well . . .” Auggie said, wishing he’d selected a different phrase than the one he had. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but then again, he’d been significantly more skeptical at that point. With a more bashful look than he’d ever worn in life, Auggie told Velt his code phrase.

“This person is a charlatan and a fake. I can’t believe you’re visiting a medium, Topher, you big, blond idiot. If you spent money on this, I’ll haunt your dreams for a year,” Velt said, expression perfectly neutral despite the words she was uttering.

“Holy shit.” The expression of barely-suppressed anger and doubt melted off Topher’s face, revealing a new one consisting entirely of surprise. “That was it. I’d even forgotten the blond part, but we did make the pact when I had bleached hair.”

“Does that mean . . . Auggie . . . oh God no.” Kay put a hand to her mouth, not sure if she was going to be sick or let out a wail, only knowing that she wanted to keep down whatever was trying to rise.

“Buddy, are you really here? What . . . what happened? Was it the noise, did something fall on you?” Topher scanned the room, desperately trying to make eye contact with a best friend he could no longer see.

“Actually, I’m still not certain what happened,” Auggie said, even though he was finally beginning to realize that Topher and Kay were deaf to his words.

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it to them,” Velt assured him. “Listen up, everyone about to cry or break down: cut that shit out, right now. I’ve got good news and bad news, and the good news is that, while your friend is a spirit, he isn’t actually dead yet.”

“Wait, what?” Topher looked at her with a renewed hope that all but radiated from his face, still slightly damp with the tears he’d almost imperceptibly began to shed.

“Auggie wasn’t killed, technically. A very powerful, very evil spirit took control of his physical body, forcing his soul out like it was a hobo in a bus station. At the moment, that body is still alive. If we can get Auggie’s soul back into it, then he’ll be fine. Maybe a little more attuned to the supernatural, but overall, no worse for the wear.”

“You were not joking about how much impossible stuff you were going to ask us to swallow.” As though her last word had reminded her of the supplies she possessed, Kay pulled out the flask from her right boot and took a long draw of its content. She then passed it to Topher, who accepted it and drank a smaller nip himself.

“Actually, we haven’t even gotten to the really weird stuff yet,” Velt corrected. “So, like I said, the good news is that your friend’s body is still alive—”

“And the bad news is that an evil ghost hijacked it, we heard you,” Topher said.

“No, that was still part of the good news. The bad news is that said evil spirit is going to use that body to finish a ceremony that will summon a god of the undead, casting the entire world into a nightmarish hell of living death for several millennia. Oh, and we have to find a way to stop him.”

Kay and Topher stared silently at her for a moment. Then Kay went over to her backpack and pulled out a fresh bottle of clear liquor, unscrewed the cap, and took a mighty kick.

“I’m only going to warn you once: if you’re fucking with us, telling us our friend is dead as part of some horrible joke for video or personal amusement, I will break off every bottle I have in a different part of your body. And I have a lot of fucking bottles. So if you want to back out and get scarce, now is the time.”

“Warning heard, and understood,” Velt said without hesitation. While she wasn’t particularly intimidated by the other woman, she did find herself suddenly fonder of her.

“Wait, a lot of bottles? How many bottles of alcohol did she bring along on a one-night shoot?” Auggie didn’t seem to notice that he was rising off the ground in his fit of frustration.

“Auggie seems pissed about all the booze,” Velt relayed.

Kay’s face softened, and she set her current bottle down on the table. “All right, either you’re telling the truth or you’ve done a ridiculous amount of research and somehow convinced Auggie to play along. Between the two, a kicked-out spirit seems less impossible. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Pass me the flask and a bottle of water and then grab a seat,” Velt told them. “This is going to take a while.”

* * *

“Should we be listening to this?” Irwin whispered.

“Clinton and I have been here decades without knowing what bound us. You’re damn right we’re gonna listen in.”

“Besides, have you looked outside?” Clinton asked. “I don’t want to go near those other ghosts. They look . . . unfriendly.”

The three spirits had been in one of the back rooms, looking for a prop to use in hopes of making contact, when Velt and Auggie walked through the door. After watching her carry on with the apparently newly-dead investigator, it was clear this woman really had the gift. Normally, that would have sent them running toward her, desperate to ask for help or to pepper her with messages for loved ones, but her declaration that they were at the epicenter of an apocalypse had cowed the three spirits. Her words matched up with the scene they could see through the windows, so they decided to lay low and see what else she had to say.

They were currently piled up in a broom closet, the door slightly ajar so they could still hear the conversation beyond. Normally, the three never could have crammed in, but the upside to being incorporeal was that walls were more suggestions than firm boundaries.

“You think there’s any chance she might know a way out of here?” Irwin asked.

“I think it’s worth finding out,” Clinton said. “Let’s all shut up so we can hear.”

Outside the broom closet, Velt was keenly aware of the three spirits stuffed into the small space. People who can’t be overheard quickly lose their sense of what a quiet voice is. She paid them no mind as she began her story, though. If there was time, she’d give them a hand crossing over. If not . . . well, that would probably be because she was dead, or there was no more “over” to cross to.

Either way, their fate was as much bound to her success as the rest of the world’s.

* * *

The first site was easy to find, even with the changes the land had undergone. It was a barren patch of earth near the edge of the forest, where there had once bloomed the most beautiful flowers one could hope to see. That was before the defilement, though, before they made it one of the hallowed sites of their rituals. Now, nothing grew here, could ever grow here. There was simply too much death caked on for life to ever take root.

Hands, surprisingly strong and calloused, dug through the dirt that had witnessed the end of countless lives. How strange it was to touch again, to feel the soil give way beneath the flesh, to feel muscle work in harmony over thick bones. For one who had spent millennia as shadow and specter, such sensations were utterly foreign. The Emissary’s brief time with a body of his own was a minor blip in the expansive realm of his existence.

Soon, it would be gone, of course. Useful a tool though it was, he had no right or need to hold a living body. When the world was dead, all flesh would be pointless: everything would be spirit, and only spirits would be real. This body would be discarded and destroyed, just like every other flesh vehicle currently towing around a spirit was.

Still, the wraith wondered if perhaps there was time to get something to eat before that happened. He had gone eons without experiencing anything as unique as taste, and the body was rumbling with a desire for nutrition. There would be no harm in it, so far as he could see. He was just giving the vessel the fuel needed to stick to the task at hand, no different than raising sails to catch the wind. Yes, once the first site was finished and the end closer at hand, The Emissary would allow himself a brief respite to fuel this body. A last meal, as it were.

The last meal of the living world. It seemed only appropriate such an honor should belong to one of the conquering dead.

Chapter 6

“A cult?” Kay stared at Velt with uncertainty, eyes occasionally flicking to the copper-haired woman’s side. That was where the woman turned every time she spoke to Auggie, so presumably, Kay’s friend was located there. But despite endless squinting and head tilting, she saw no shimmer or shadow. The only thing she did know was that her stomach had stopped bothering her. That, more than anything else, was why Kay sat listening to the crazy story Velt spun.

“Technically, they were an established religious order, but given how full-out crazy they were, ‘cult’ is as good a term as any.” If Velt cared about the skepticism in Kay’s voice, she didn’t show it.

“And they want to destroy the world of the living? Why? What good does it do?” Topher asked.

“Remember, this all started a long time ago. The world was different then: dark, cruel, wicked. To some people, the power of undeath seemed like a godsend. No pain, no hunger, no fear; not to mention the ease of travel by floating around. A lot of folks decided that their flesh was holding them back, subjecting their spirit to pointless torture. That led to ideas like transcending the flesh in order to purify the soul, but it also led to a few fringies deciding that the body should be disposed of altogether.”

“Speaking as one who has just lost his body, I disagree with such a philosophy quite adamantly,” Auggie mumbled.

“So, they wanted to get rid of their bodies.” Had Topher been able to hear his friend, he would have certainly responded rather than rudely pressing the discussion ahead. “Creepy and all, but isn’t that a mass suicide?”

“Wow, these fucks even did that right. They might be, like, the first cult,” Kay said.

“Lots of people who held the belief did exactly that,” Velt told them. “A sharp knife or a tall cliff and BOOM: no more body tying you down. Unfortunately, the sect that lived here didn’t think it was enough to just get rid of their bodies: they wanted to spread their faith to the poor, unenlightened masses of spirits who were still crammed into flesh. Hence the whole ‘trying to raise a god of the undead and bring a world of death to the land of the living’ shtick.”

“And, to do that, they needed Auggie,” Topher said. Unlike Kay, his doubt had entirely evaporated; every question he asked or comment he made all but dripped sincerity. His belief in the unseen had been rooted in the core of his being for so long that such strange tales weren’t a leap of faith for him. They were barely even a hop.

“Sort of. The ritual has several components, most of them completed thousands of years ago. They set up a giant casserole of magic and left it to bake, but the last bit of it has to be done tonight.”

“What’s so special about tonight?” Topher asked.

“Nothing in particular. It’s just when all the wards and spirit-capturing mechanisms they left have gathered enough energy. It’s been building for a while now; that’s how I knew to be here. The casserole is done. Someone just has to take it out of the oven.”

“Did she say ‘spirit capturing’ just now?” Irwin’s question was greeted with a rousing bit of shooshing from Clinton and Art.

“It seems like a big coincidence that all this happens on the night we’re here to film.” Kay’s tone wasn’t accusatory, even if the narrow-eyed glare she was shooting Velt was.

“No, I doubt it was a coincidence at all. The sect still had a few followers scattered about in the world of the living. My guess is that they pulled strings to get you here so that The Emissary would have bodies to use.”

“Yeah, let’s go back to that emcee guy,” Topher said. “I still don’t get why a ghost needs Auggie’s body.”

“It’s ‘The Emissary’, the spirit of the priest who started the ritual all the way back when. He needs Auggie’s body to complete the ritual. Well, he doesn’t actually need it; the body just makes things much easier,” Velt admitted.

“Wonderful! My body was stolen for convenience. I’m sure that will earn me ample respect in whatever heaven scientists go to.” Auggie paused for a moment, the weight of his statement fully striking home. “Wait, scientists do go to heaven, right? Don’t tell me all that ‘need to believe’ bunk is true.”

“No idea,” Velt said, turning slightly so the others knew she was speaking to Auggie. “I only deal with the ones stuck on this side. Whatever lies across the horizon is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.” Technically, that wasn’t entirely true, but she had enough on her plate at the moment; there was no need to complicate issues any more.

“Can we go back to the bit about us being evil-ghost bait? ’Cause that bullshit seems important.” Kay wondered if any part of this was real. It seemed too long-winded and elaborate to be a joke. Maybe she’d drank homemade moonshine and gone in to a vivid hallucination. If so, this was going to be a bastard of a hangover when she came to.

“I doubt it was personal. You’re just people who would walk right into a place renowned for being haunted without thinking about personal safety. It didn’t matter who came; all that mattered was that they had bodies. Otherwise, The Emissary would be stuck stealing energy from lesser spirits so it could complete the ritual.”

“What’s left to do? You make it sound like the hard stuff got completed forever ago,” Topher pointed out.

“To my understanding, there are four sites on the grounds: three forming a triangle around the island, and one on the island itself. They have to be uncovered so certain rites can be performed: a task that’s much easier with a physical body. Each one brings the dead closer to our world, and the final rite will awaken an old god who will finish the ‘overrunning-the-world’ part. The only saving grace is that, until that god actually rises, everything will be contained to the grounds of the ritual. Otherwise, shit would start getting crazy in the rest of the world.”

Auggie felt a strange stirring in his ethereal body, something akin to the shiver that would sometimes pass across one’s back. It lingered longer than any sensation in his flesh ever had, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

“Just to be clear: you want us to believe that an old-ass cult started a ritual to end the world in the prehistoric days, and tonight is when they finish it by digging up places that are magically still accessible, yet haven’t been found by anyone else in the thousands of years since they made them. Since Auggie isn’t really here, I’ll have to be the one to say it: you’re crazy and full of shit.” Kay rose from her seat, half-full bottle clutched angrily in her hand.

“Of course they’re magically protected and accessible; they’re part of a magic ritual. That much should be obvious.” Velt remained seated, seemingly undisturbed by Kay’s aggressive body language. In truth, she was perfectly braced for three different angles of attack and felt confident she could disarm the woman with minimal bruising. “I know this is a lot to swallow. Honestly, I never planned on bringing other people in to it, but my plans went to shit when The Emissary nabbed your friend’s body. Now, instead of just taking him out in spirit form, I’ve got to worry about a civilian life, not to mention try to track down a corporeal form on this enormous campground. You have surveillance stuff stashed all over, so I need your help.”

The tingling had turned to a light stinging. Auggie twitched about in a futile effort to find a position that afforded him some measure of comfort.

“Come on, she’s clearly lying. I don’t know how she found out the code phrase, but there’s no way you’re buying this. Right, Topher?”

“She seems honest to me. I know it’s far-fetched, but we seek out things that most people don’t believe in for a living. Should we really be the ones to dismiss the unexplained so easily?”

“What unexplained? She’s offered us nothing supernatural: just a wild story and a few tricks that could be research and cold-reading.”

“I think this debate just became pointless,” Velt interrupted. She was staring to her side, where Auggie had finally stopped twitching as the maddening tingle faded away. Auggie’s presence at her side was now quite evident to everyone in the room, because out of nowhere, Topher and Kay could now see the semi-transparent form of their friend and coworker perfectly clearly.

“Auggie?” Topher said, taking a tentative step toward his friend.

“Am I . . . can you see me?”

Topher nodded then leapt forward to embrace his best friend in a hug. He went right through the spectral man, leaving both with a momentary feeling of chills and discomfort.

“But, how?” Kay asked.

“Like I said: every rite brings the dead closer to our world.” Velt got out of the chair and walked over to a random broom closet, yanking the slightly open door and revealing three more ghosts packed tightly together. “Even the ones who thought they were hidden.” She turned back to the living. “Now, are you two ready to stop doubting and start helping me? By my count, we have three rites left to catch this son of a bitch, and after that, the whole world is going to get a very firsthand look at just how real and dangerous all this stuff is.”

Topher, Kay, and Auggie all nodded, while the three spirits on the floor struggled to untangle themselves.

* * *

The first rite was done.

Around him, the world seemed to crackle with mystical energy, racing over the skin that he momentarily wore. Wisps shimmered about, visible even through the flesh’s mundane eyes. Soon, the world would see as the dead did. Soon, the dead would be free and the living a relic of the past. He needed to be careful, however. The first site was the easiest to access; the others would require more time and energy.

At the thought of energy, a rumble arose from the body’s stomach. It seemed his instincts had been on point: food was needed in order to keep the vessel moving. Once, so very long ago, he’d known these woods and what to forage for. Now, he no longer trusted the land that had risen atop the corpse of the once-familiar place. No, better to scavenge in the strange huts and see what modern delicacies could be uncovered.

He moved quietly as he headed back toward the dock where he’d found this flesh. The Emissary’s mind drifted to the woman who’d tried to catch him after he grabbed the vessel; she unnerved him somehow. The slight apprehension The Emissary had felt when she had so boldly attacked was ridiculous: she could hurt the flesh at most, and then The Emissary would simply overtake hers. He was a being of spirit, shadow, and magic—beyond her touch. Yet still, the idea of confronting her gave the wraith pause.

Having been without a gut for so long, The Emissary didn’t recognize the sound of one whispering intuition to him.

* * *

After giving the crew of Specter Quest their orders, Velt dragged the three broom-closet spirits into another room to have a “chat” with them. This left Kay, Auggie, and Topher alone for the first time since one of them became incorporeal. For a moment, they stared at each other, uncertain of what to say now that communication was once again possible. Ultimately, it was Topher—had to be Topher—who spoke up and broke the ice.

“You owe me ten dollars.”

“Excuse me?” Auggie tilted his head a bit too far in exaggeration, hitting an angle that would have been supremely uncomfortable had he possessed actual vertebrae.

“First year of filming: I bet you’d believe in ghosts before the show ended its run. Well, we’re still making episodes, and since you’re hovering nearly a foot off the ground, I’d guess you’re finally ready to admit ghosts are real.”

Auggie glanced down and realized he was indeed off the floor again. With a minor exertion of willpower he lowered himself down. Moving in this form was surprisingly easy, so much so that he kept doing it unintentionally.

“Technically, I’ve admitted to nothing. Perhaps what’s happening right now is mass delirium. Or maybe there was a leak of toxic fumes, and we’re all passed out on the floor, hallucinating.”

“I feel like I’d have at least some resistance to that sort of shit,” Kay pointed out, knocking back a gulp from the bottle she’d been prepared to swing at Velt. “I mean, sure, you two would be gone like freshmen, but I spend a lot of my free time putting toxic things in my body. I’m not going out that easy.”

“To that effect, would you mind if I asked why you are still drinking?”

“’Cause the chick who told us that you were a disembodied spirit also said we were the only thing standing between the world and some sort of undead apocalypse.”

“That should provide you with more reason for sobriety,” Auggie said.

“Fuck that. If I’m getting killed, and the world is ending, there is no way in possibly-literal Hell that I’m facing that shit sober.” Kay illustrated the point with another short glug then offered the bottle to Topher, who waved her off.

“World hasn’t ended yet,” Topher said. “And Velt says our best bet for stopping this emcee ghost is to find Auggie’s body. Were you able to get any of the remote cameras up and running?”

“All four of them.” There was a strange note of pride in Auggie’s voice, as though he were a touch insulted that anything, even being ripped from his body, would possibly cause him to leave a job incomplete.

“Great; that should give us a decent look at the main parts of the camp. Now, how do we turn them on?”

“Ooooh, I can do this. I’ve seen Auggie do it dozens of times.” Kay darted over, open bottle still in hand, and dropped into the worn chair that sat in front of Auggie’s hub.

“Absolutely not! Topher, don’t let her touch my equipment.”

“She runs a whole editing setup and works with cameras daily, it’s not like she’s bad with technology.”

“Well . . . maybe, but . . . she’ll get all my settings tweaked up and it will take ages to fix them.” Auggie was perfectly aware of the ridiculousness of the complaint, but rather than acknowledge it, he merely crossed his arms and mentally dug in harder. Luckily, a lifetime of friendship had left Topher with at least some knowledge of how Auggie’s head worked.

“Don’t worry, man. We’ll find him and get your body back, I promise. Then you’ll be the one sitting in your chair and messing with the buttons. Kay is just a temporary sub.”

“That’s right, tech-boy; for the first time in your life a beautiful woman is under your command.” Kay set the bottle down, turned to the multi-monitored hub, and laid her hands on a keyboard. “Now, tell me what to do already.”

Auggie took just a moment, debating whether to respond to her “beautiful woman” jab, but thought better of it. Crude as she was, Kay was trying to make him feel better by settling back in to their usual dynamic. And, strangely enough, it sort of worked.

“Very well, let’s see what the cameras are capturing. Try not to spill any of your near-ethanol intoxicants on my equipment while you’re at it.”

“No promises!” Kay declared proudly.

* * *

“And that’s when you came in, and we decided to hide and see how things went,” Clinton finished explaining. “No one has ever been able to see us before. Well, one guy took some mushrooms back in the early eighties, a few years before Art died, and I think he and I had a conversation. It was hard to tell though. He kept constantly going off topic. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the mushrooms, or if he was just hallucinating a talk that was similar to the one I thought we were having.”

“Could have been either,” Velt told him. “Occasionally, drugs open up the senses, but it takes a really spot-on mix that few people happen across. Plus the dosage and chemicals required vary based on someone’s body.”

“Who cares about a thirty-year-old conversation? I want to know how you plan to get us out of here,” Irwin demanded. He leaned forward in his chair, so much so that he’d have gone tumbling off if he’d had any mass for gravity to take hold of. “You’re a medium; your job is to help lost spirits, so it’s time for you to get to it.”

“First off, I’m not that kind of medium.” Velt’s face was expressionless, but there was a current of violence in her tone that made both Art and Clinton shift in their seats. A living person shouldn’t be able to do anything to injure them, yet every ounce of sense they had told them to treat her as a very real threat. “Secondly, I don’t have to do shit for you. I’ve got bigger problems to worry about. If you want help, I suggest you earn it by taking work off my plate.”

“You would try to extort the dead?” Irwin’s indignation was made that much more absurd by his willful discounting of the fact that he’d been trying to extort a medium.

“I’ll bargain with them, when they have something I can use. In this case, you three might just be handy. You can cover lots of ground quickly, and The Emissary will be on the lookout for me and the other living folks. I doubt he would ever consider hiding from spirits.”

“You want us to go huntin’ for him. We find the fella, you stop the dead-world-risin’ madness, and then you help us move on, or at least get off this damn campground. That about sum it up?” Art asked.

“Look at that: thirty years apart and we still speak the same language,” Velt said, gracing Art with a smile. “You hit the nail on the head. In fact, I think solving my problem will also solve yours. You’ve all been stuck here because this place is a combination spirit-trap and magnet. It draws in every soul that dies in its reach, and then holds them in place, all building toward today. Once we stop the ritual, the magic will dissipate, and you should be free to go to whatever is waiting for you.”

“How convenient. The thing we want just happens to coincide with giving you exactly what you want.” Irwin sat back and crossed his arms. “I don’t buy it. I want assurances that our efforts will be properly rewarded.”

“I can assure you that I’ll knock that stupid look off your face if you keep slowing me down with your bullshit. That work for you?”

“Empty threat. I’ve been dead long enough to know that we can only interact with the physical world through incredible effort, and nothing living can so much as touch us.”

Velt stared down Irwin with a smile very different from the genial one she’d flashed at Art. This was not a social conveyance; it was a predator baring its teeth.

“You’ve been dead ‘long enough’? What, a whole year? You have no fucking idea what the rules of your world are. I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by spirits; I saw them before I even knew there was a distinction between living and dead. I’ve made a life, a career out of dealing with the shittiest of your lot, and I’ve gotten damned good at it. Oh, and one more thing: I never make empty threats.”

Things very well might have escalated in that moment, as Irwin’s stupidity beat out his survival instincts in the race to his tongue, but fortunately (for him), Kay’s voice bounced off the walls and interrupted their discussion.

“Velt! Come here!”

“What’s wrong? Did you see a clue?”

“Fuck a clue! We see Auggie, on screen, right now. He’s down by the cabins.”

Velt turned back to the spirits. “Anyone who wants to earn a ticket out of here, come with me. Hopefully, we can end this whole shitshow right now.”

Chapter 7

Velt led the charge with Topher several steps behind her. The native ghosts spread out in the air, scanning for Auggie’s body. The big, blue-haired man was doing a surprisingly good job keeping up, and that was given the fact that Velt was actively trying to shake him. She didn’t need a human getting mixed up in this. If she were facing a normal ghast, some low-level evil spirit feeding on negative emotion, then she wouldn’t have sweated a tagalong. Even if it were a poltergeist, the big bad brother of the ghast, things might have been okay. Unfortunately, her opponent was neither of those things. It was a wraith: an evil spirit so powerful and rare that she’d spent most of her career believing them to be pure myth. If Topher made a wrong move, there was a very real possibility he’d end up floating alongside Auggie, only there wouldn’t be any way to reverse his condition.

At least she’d convinced Kay and Auggie to stay back and man the hub. Having eyes on their target made things much easier, plus it kept those two out of harm’s way. If she’d had more time, she’d have talked Topher in to staying as well, but there was no telling how long The Emissary would stay put. It was possible he was preparing to activate the second site, which was all the more reason to hurry. Once that one was started up, her job got a whole lot harder.

“What’s the plan?” Topher asked. His breathing was heavy, but not as labored as it should be for how much muscle he was hauling around. Velt revised her assessment of his physique; evidently, he did work in some cardio.

“We find The Emissary, and I kick his ass.” She leapt over a small root cluster with practiced grace. Topher mimicked her motion, refusing to fall behind.

“That’s what I’m wondering about. How do you beat up a ghost? And more importantly, how are you getting it out of my friend’s body?”

“Same method for both: lots of punching, and maybe some kicks.”

“You’re going to attack Auggie?” Topher quickened his pace, narrowing the gap between him and the woman who was casually talking about assaulting his best friend.

“Nothing permanent.” She glanced back and noticed the expression of doubt on Topher’s face. Biting back a sigh of exasperation, she tried to explain. “Look, right now, the best thing we have going for us is that the spirit driving Auggie’s body around hasn’t been corporeal in millennia. I’m hoping it forgot what pain feels like and the shock will drive it out.”

“Please tell me there’s a Plan B.”

“Plan B is kick the shit out of your friend until The Emissary realizes it can’t win. Then it will abandon the body to take me on with all its spirit abilities.”

Topher’s eyes widened in shock, not that Velt could see it from her position. “Your plan is to mercilessly beat my friend and hope that knocks out an evil spirit. Then, if it does somehow work, you’re stuck facing down a ghost that, apparently, has insane supernatural abilities and that you can’t touch. And people think I’m dumb.”

“I’m not as helpless as you’d think. Just stay back when we find it. The last thing I need is it jumping over and grabbing your body instead. Then I’d have two disembodied idiots to deal with.”

“Neither of us is—”

Topher stopped talking as Velt came to an abrupt halt and held up her hand. For a moment, he couldn’t see what had given her pause. Then Topher noticed one of the ghosts from the broom closet floating about twenty feet high in the air, trying to look like he was casually passing by as he frantically pointed down at one of the cabins. Velt met the ghost’s eye and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. That was clearly all it needed; her head had barely stopped moving before the ghost picked up speed, doing its best to get clear of the area.

“Stay here,” Velt whispered. “Maybe stay a little farther back, actually. No matter what you hear, or think you hear, do not approach until I physically walk out and wave you over. Wraiths are tricky bastards, especially when they have access to a living vessel.”

“How will I know it didn’t take over your body?”

Velt let out an odd sound, some curious combination of a snort and a laugh. “It’s not an issue, I promise. Now stay put, camera-boy. I’m going to go try and beat your friend’s body back into his possession.”

With that she was gone, darting off toward a half-collapsed cabin that would have made any safety inspector shit a chicken. Topher watched her go, unsure if he was intrigued by her mystery, annoyed by her attitude, or blinded by the looks of this very strange woman.

In truth, it was, of course, all three.

* * *

Auggie’s body had wandered in to and out of shot periodically since they’d first caught sight of it. The camera at the top of a small hill overlooking the cabins was currently trained on it, so as the man who both was and wasn’t Auggie went through the various dilapidated structures, Kay and Auggie’s spirit were able to watch his movements.

“This is surreal. I mean, that’s me. That’s me walking around out there, combing through those cabins. I’m watching myself do things with utter disconnection.”

“Welcome to the joys of Internet video and blackout drinking,” Kay replied. “At least you’re not trying to ride a mechanical bull with the top half of your ass sticking out of your low-rider jeans.”

“True, but the night is still young. Who knows what my body will do before it’s back in my rightful possession?”

Kay swiveled around, looking up at the floating form of her coworker. “August Parrish, did you just make a joke?”

“You could try to act a little less surprised. I’m only the surly professional when we’re working. In my off time, I’m as carefree and fun as anyone.”

“Last weekend, I did shots of Everclear while illegally base-jumping off a downtown bank building.”

“Okay, fine, anyone normal,” Auggie amended.

“Maybe one day, I’ll actually get to see that. You say you’re fun when we’re off, but honestly, Auggie, when are you ever not working? I’ve been with you two since the end of season one, and I can’t think of a single time when you weren’t talking about, worrying about, or dealing with the show.”

“One of us has to,” Auggie said. “Topher has the passion, but none of the logistical know-how, and while you are admittedly excellent with everything film-related, that still leaves a tremendous amount of technical work on my shoulders. If I don’t do the work, it doesn’t get done.”

“Auggie, I’ve seen our profits. You could easily afford someone to lessen your workload,” Kay told him. “You know what I think?”

“Heaven save me from such knowledge.”

“Cute. I think you like having the weight of the show on your shoulders. Because Topher is the one wooing the audience and driving up the ratings, you want to feel like his equal, so you make sure that every other aspect of the show depends on you. Otherwise, you might just feel like a friend Topher was bringing along on his train to success.”

Auggie stared at the woman hard then let out a small sigh. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to be insecure about that, given that I made peace with it decades ago. Topher has always been a force of nature. His gregariousness, enthusiasm, and social acumen are appealing to those around him. I’m objectively smarter than he is, yet his capability of making people like him has opened impossible doors for him. Of course, my own skillset afforded me different opportunities; academic and social intelligence each have their own rewards. Individually, we could have found success in the worlds geared toward our talents, but working together, we can do something utterly different: we’ve been able to make a place in the world that’s all our own. I’m quite happy with that achievement, even if Topher is in the flashier, more prestigious role.”

“That was surprisingly poetic, and you didn’t even get huffy once,” Kay said. She glanced at the monitor and started in surprise. “Speaking of Topher, he and Velt just arrived at the cabins. It looks like they’re talking.”

“Hopefully discussing a strategic and meticulous plan to retrieve my body.”

“Velt really didn’t strike me as that kind of gal.”

“Nor me. That was a weak attempt at humor to alleviate my anxiety.” Auggie leaned forward to watch the feed. “It looks as though she’s going into the cabin. Why is Topher staying put?”

“No clue, but he’s got a mic and an earpiece. Want me to ask?”

“I suppose we should give them a moment,” Auggie replied.

He and Kay kept their eyes trained on the monitor, waiting for the slightest sign that something was happening. For several minutes, there was nothing aside from Topher standing there, looking increasingly concerned. Just as Kay was about to ask Topher for an update, something finally happened.

Specifically, Velt burst through the half-crumbled remains of the eastern wall, flew through the air, and landed hard on a grassy hill. When she landed, she lay there, unmoving save for a slight stirring as she breathed. Unfortunately, Auggie’s body did not share her embargo on action, as it emerged from the cabin’s remains with a murderous expression unlike anything the real Auggie would have ever worn.

“Any chance that was part of the plan?” Kay asked.

Auggie merely shook his head, eyes on the monitor. He dearly hoped his body wasn’t about to commit murder, but with every step it took closer to the downed Velt, the likelihood diminished significantly.

* * *

That wasn’t Auggie. Topher never would have been fooled by the fiend possessing his friend’s flesh, even if he hadn’t known the exact circumstances. Auggie didn’t move like that, for one. His steps were measured and careful, a practiced precision that he wove in to every aspect of his life. This Auggie was loose, yet aware, like a snake weaving through the grass. Auggie’s eyes were never set like that, either. They furrowed in worry, rolled in exasperation, and glowed in quiet joy. The eyes glaring down at Velt were filled with violence and blood.

No, from the instant Topher caught sight of the imposter, he knew it wasn’t really Auggie. That was why he had no trouble dashing forward and closing the distance between them. Fake-Auggie looked over at the last minute, clearly surprised that anyone else was there. His head was turned just in time to show Topher an expression of shocked pain as the bigger man buried his fist in the body-thief’s guts.

The Emissary fell back, letting out a strangled grunt along with an involuntary dry heave of air. His breath was gone, knocked out cleanly by a practiced blow from the much larger opponent. The Emissary struggled to keep the body on task, even as the sense of suffocation triggered a myriad of deeply-ingrained survival instincts. They were loud, unwelcome distractions, clouding his thoughts as he tried to focus on handling his next opponent. The Emissary was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t notice the human advance to press the attack. Another punch caught the side of the borrowed head, adding dizziness to the internal clusterfuck as The Emissary spun over and fell to the ground.

“Get out of Auggie. Now.” Topher took a step back, momentarily halting his barrage. While he understood that this wasn’t his friend, he also knew that any long-term damage dealt to the body would be something Auggie would have to deal with.

It was a gesture of basic human kindness and decency. It was also, unfortunately, the exact wrong thing to do in the given situation. Though Topher couldn’t see them, inky black fingers shimmered into view just outside of Auggie’s body’s own digits. They warped and twisted in the air, growing large, clawed, and horrid-looking. The Emissary commanded his vessel to its feet, regaining some control as air at last began seeping back into its lungs.

“Stupid flesh. Soon, there will be no more. Soon, you will be free. Stay silent and wait for the dawning of a new world.” The words were strange, foreign clicks of syllables to The Emissary, but they were familiar to the lips of the flesh he commanded. Stifling as bodies could be, they did have their uses.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. One more chance: get out of my friend, or this time, I’m not stopping until you do.” At the end of the day, Topher was pretty sure Auggie would prefer a banged-up body to no body at all.

“Perhaps you shall be freed before the rest.” A sharp smile sliced across the face that had once belonged to Auggie. It was all the answer Topher needed.

He darted forward again, sure, he could take this thing down. Unfortunately, the hands of shadow that stretched up from The Emissary’s arms swept through the air, unseen by Topher as one curled around his torso and lifted him into the air. It squeezed mercilessly, pushing the air from his body in a far slower, more painful fashion than his own earlier one-punch method had.

Topher struggled vainly, clawing at a force he couldn’t see, let alone grip, all while trying to fight back the instinctive panic flooding his brain. If he lost control now, that would be it. He had no doubt Fake-Auggie would kill him. Topher had to stay lucid, had to think of something he could do. If he didn’t save himself, no one would.

“Nice sucker punch earlier, fucko.”

Fake-Auggie’s head swiveled around, and Topher focused through the slowly-forming black spots in his vision. Velt’s angry glare greeted both of them. She was off the ground and looked no worse for the wear, despite her wall-smashing performance only a few minutes earlier. The only outward sign of damage she showed was a trickle of blood from a cut in her bottom lip. With her right hand, she carefully smeared the blood across her fingers.

“Never occurred to me that you could use your power while in a body. It was a good trick, I’ll give you that, but it only works once. Now, drop the idiot, and let’s you and me have some fun.”

Much as Topher resented the slight at his intelligence, he did appreciate that she was at least showing concern for his safety.

The Emissary, however, held no such gratitude for this strange woman. He was ready to be done with the lot of them. With his free claw he swiped, intending to skewer or crush her. To his surprise, she nimbly ducked under the blow, moving past the claw with confident speed and then surging forward. For a moment, The Emissary thought she meant to strike his body, and tensed in preparation for more discomfort. His instinct was off, however, as she made a beeline right for Topher: or, more specifically, for the shadowy claw crushing the life from him.

Velt reared back her right hand, extended each of her blood-smeared fingers, and drove them forcefully into the mass of ectoplasmic energy that composed The Emissary’s hand. For the barest of instants, nothing happened. Then, the screaming began.

To Topher, it appeared as though Velt were making weird motions toward empty air. It was only when her fingers struck that he saw something around them. A patch of shadow shifted in and out of view, easy to dismiss as nothing more than his imagination, yet undeniably there. He still might have written it off if not for the horrendous noise that filled the night.

At first, it sounded like a human’s screams: disturbing, but well within the realm of normalcy. But after a moment, another sound came on its heels—a horrible wail, like the sound of a thousand men’s guttural grunts as nooses snapped their necks, and vultures cawed in anticipation of tearing at their innards. It was impossibly awful, far worse than the sensation of being crushed to death. Even Velt was gritting her teeth, worming her fingers in deeper to keep her grip on the invisible being.

Topher felt himself jerk up, just the slightest bit, and then come crashing down all at once. He landed in a heap atop something that smelled like dirt, sweat, and just the slightest hint of lavender. It took him longer than he was proud of to realize that he’d been tossed on to Velt, who was struggling to untangle herself from his bulky limbs. Due to pain, numbness, and the brain fog of near-suffocation, Topher wasn’t able to help much with the process.

It didn’t take Velt long to get free, but it took her long enough. By the time she was back on her feet, The Emissary was gone, stolen body vanishing into the woods at the far side of the clearing. If she gave chase, he’d have the advantage, since his wraith arms could attack her through physical obstacles like trees. Plus, it would be too easy to lay an ambush. No, she needed to regroup first. Wraiths were dangerous opponents, even for her. If she took him lightly, there was a very real chance she could end up dead. And if she fell, so went the rest of the world.

“Hey,” Velt said, looking down at a still-recovering Topher. “We need to have a talk about what ‘stay the fuck out of the way’ means to you, because there’s no chance we’re working from the same definition.”

“You’re . . . welcome,” Topher wheezed out. Each breath was painful, causing a sharp bite in his lower chest. He’d played enough football to know a cracked rib when he felt it. Given what that thing had been trying to do to him, that little of an injury would be getting off easy.

“I didn’t need your help, I was playing possum. Wraiths are powerful as all hell, but they’re also cruel and full of ego. After his sucker punch, I wanted to lure him in close so I could get a good grip and tear him out of your friend’s body.”

Topher stared at her then barked a short, slightly painful laugh. “Doesn’t that just figure: I finally get the chance to play hero for a beautiful girl, and it turns out all I did was get in the way.”

Velt started visibly at the word “beautiful,” then immediately composed herself. Still, her face and voice softened a few degrees when she spoke next. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment. And to be honest, what you did was kind of brave. Stupid as playing the lotto for retirement, but brave. I’m just not the kind of girl you need to worry about saving.”

She reached over and took his arm, helping him back to a standing position. He leaned on her slightly as he found his balance. Thankfully, nothing in his legs protested beyond voicing the presence of bruises and stiffness. Given the harshness of his landing, he’d been braced for a sprain or a break. Luck, it seemed, hadn’t entirely abandoned them tonight.

“Thanks. So . . . what was all that? What did you do?”

“I stuck my fingers into his arm. His real arm, not the one from your friend’s body. Normally, that wouldn’t have been quite as painful as it was, but my blood added a bit of extra kick.”

“You say that like you think it’s an explanation. It’s really not,” Topher said.

Velt shrugged, a motion he could feel against his chest as she helped him take the first few steps back toward the main hall.

“I hurt spirits. Something about me, in my blood and my touch, it causes them pain and destroys the cohesion of their energy. Spirits are usually holding on to this plane through force of will, fueling their grip with the emotions of the living. I pry that grip off, sending them on to whatever comes next. No one knows why I can do it, or at least, no one who is willing to tell me. It’s just something I can do.”

“You . . . unmake ghosts?”

“No. I send them on to whatever comes next.”

“How can you possibly know that? If you don’t know what comes after this life, how do you know you aren’t just destroying their souls?” Topher was aghast at the idea, a shiver of terror running down his large back.

“Because, when I first started, I was afraid I was doing exactly that, so I tracked down someone who does know what comes after our world and demanded some answers. He assured me that they were still crossing over.”

“And you just trusted his word? What if he was a fake scamming you?”

“I’m not stupid. I didn’t go to some hack or con. Remember, I’m the real deal. That means I know how to spot my own kind.” Velt let Topher go; if he was strong enough to question her judgment, he was strong enough to walk on his own. “And yes, I trusted his word. He damned sure knew the truth, and he’s not the type to lie. Actually, I’m not even sure he can lie, and that’s all I’m going to say about him. Trust me; you’ll sleep a whole lot better at night if you don’t press the subject.”

Topher wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was clear Velt was finished discussing the issue. Anyway, at the moment their most important task was finding Auggie’s body. Maybe once it was over, he could try to wriggle more information out of her.

Assuming they all made it through the night, of course.

Chapter 8

She was sacrilege. There was no other term or explanation, nothing that encompassed her wicked and horrific actions. For the flesh to see the spirits was a rare gift, one that granted perspective and guidance for those still encumbered in their living cages. The Emissary’s people had honored and respected those who were one step closer to what they saw as the ultimate form. But that was merely seeing in to the spirit world, speaking with the more enlightened beings.

What she had done, to lay flesh upon spirit with such impunity, to sear him with terrible pain, it was wrong. It went against everything he knew, everything his people had sacrificed for. This woman . . . this abomination . . . she could not be allowed to enter the new world. For her flesh to be so corrupt that it could wound even a spirit, her soul must have rotted away within its breathing shell.

That woman was beyond saving, beyond redemption. She could neither accept the freedom The Emissary was here to usher in, nor would he risk her taint spreading to others. It was his job to prepare the way, to open the gate and raise the curtain on a beautiful world that belonged to the greater beings—the dead. The Emissary would handle any obstacle that threatened the destiny of his people.

She was sacrilege, and she had to be destroyed. He would rend the body first. Then, he would shred her soul to ribbons, ending the threat before it began. For a spirit to destroy another was usually impossible, but The Emissary was not bound by the limitations of his own power. Soon, he would have the backing of a god, and they played by different rules than mortals.

The Emissary drove his human vessel forward through the woods, all thoughts of fuel and food forgotten. There was no time for such diversions, pleasant as they might have been. He needed aid to stop the woman, and there was only one way to get it.

It wouldn’t be long now before the wraith would arrive at the site of the second ritual.

* * *

“Holy shit, did you see that? She just grabbed him. Just . . . fucking grabbed his arm and made him scream in pain. What is she?” Irwin was dumbfounded at the show he’d just taken in.

“Personally, I’m a bit more curious as to why that spirit in question had such strange lookin’ appendages to begin with. I ain’t ever seen another spirit that looks like pissed-off darkness,” Art added.

Clinton gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t have any clue about that, either. Maybe if we’d been wandering around and talking to other spirits, we might have heard about stuff like this, but I barely know more than when I died.”

The three ghosts were floating just over the treetops, watching Velt and Topher climb back to the main hall, while also trying to keep an eye on Fake-Auggie’s location. After Art had spotted the body-thief, he’d doubled back to watch the carnage from a hiding place with Clinton. Irwin had been hanging out by the cabins; it was only by dumb luck he wasn’t noticed. When the battle ended, the three had gathered to compare notes.

“Do you think there’s any way that crazy broad was right? That these old ghosts are going to make it so the dead rule over the living?” Irwin glanced down toward the lake where the mass of half-formed spirits were milling about on the island. They’d have been an army if they seemed to possess any cohesion or independent thought. Instead, all they served as was a harbinger.

“I think we’re a trio of dead men who just watched a woman terrify the hell out of a spirit doing things we’ve never imagined possible. Impossibility is an evolving spectrum for us,” Clinton replied. “I’m not saying I buy the story entirely, but it seems irresponsible to completely discount it.”

“Agreed. We gotta help run that sumnabitch down. Even if she’s full of it about getting us free, or the end of the world, we can’t take the chance.”

“You know, guys . . . it seems to me like we’re getting free no matter what happens.” Irwin spoke slowly, choosing each word with what he thought was cunning precision. “Think about it: if the ceremony succeeds, then all these dead are going to break free of the camp. Why wouldn’t we be able to leave too?”

“Right, and all our freedom would cost is the entire world of the living,” Clinton said.

“But we’re not living. Not anymore. I’m just saying we should think it through. This will be the only shot for dead like us to have a world for our kind.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Art said, putting a hand on his fellow ghost’s shoulder. “If we’ve learnt one thing from all this, it’s that there’s a shitload more to this life and death hooey than we ever imagined. There’s another side for us to get to, and that’s the world meant for us. We need to leave the land of the livin’ to those with time left.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Irwin said. “I guess I’m so desperate to get out of here, I let myself get overwhelmed. We have to protect the rest of the world, even if we’re no longer a part of it.”

Irwin wasn’t quite as won over by the sentiment as he made himself pretend, but he understood the idea of going along with a crowd for safety. There was no strategic advantage to helping the other side . . . yet.

“Well said,” Clinton agreed. “Let’s head over to the cabin and see what Velt wants us to do next. I think I’ve at least got an idea of where that possessed body is heading.”

The three ghosts floated off, down toward the hall, where two humans were just stepping in the front door.

* * *

Topher had largely recovered by the time they made it back to the cabin, though his ribs still groaned with every jarring motion. Nothing short of time and some solid painkillers was going to fix that injury, though, so he did his best not to dwell on it. It was surprisingly easy since there were already vastly more important things to occupy his attention.

“We lost him,” Topher announced as soon as he caught sight of Kay and Auggie. “The bastard was right there, and he got away. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you did the best you could.” Auggie did know that, too; they weren’t empty words meant to soothe his friend’s sense of guilt. Topher had plenty of failings, but he put everything he had in to the things he undertook, especially when others were counting on him.

Kay noticed the slight wince on Topher’s face whenever he drew in a deep breath and walked over with an open bottle in hand. He accepted it, taking a generous mouthful, then handed it back. Tonight more than ever he needed his wits about him, but he didn’t want to slow everyone else down because of a little pain. Besides, he was self-aware enough to know that his body was far more useful than his wits had ever been.

“So . . . we lost him,” Velt said. She dropped onto one of the benches and stretched, letting a series of pops echo from the bones in her back. The throw hadn’t done any serious damage to her—she’d long ago learned to go limp when falling or being tossed—but she was still going to be sore as hell come morning. At least if she was hurting, she was alive, so that was sort of a silver lining.

“I don’t suppose Auggie’s body showed up on any of the other cameras?”

Kay and Auggie both shook their heads.

“Of course not; that would have been too easy. Maybe the spirits I used as scouts will be able to follow him, but I might be hoping for the moon with that one. No, he’s probably going to get to the second site and perform the rites before we can stop him. The odds of running into him in the forest are just too great.”

“Speaking of running, a thought occurs to me,” Auggie interjected. “We do have means of superior transport. The SUV parked down the hill could be used to cover more ground easily.”

“That’s not a terrible idea, but it’s too dangerous. If you accidently hit The Emissary, you might kill the body, setting him loose with a hell of a grudge. Even if you just safely found him, you’d be stuck in a metal container that offered no protection from the kind of hurt that thing can deliver.”

“I feel as though you skimmed over the fact that hitting the body he has would also kill me permanently,” Auggie grumbled.

“What if we didn’t use it to go after Auggie’s body? What if we used it to widen our surveillance network?” Kay walked over to her table and picked up a pair of remote cameras. “We had these left over from our initial stakeout plan. If we plant them in key locations, we may just be able to get eyes on your big bad before he starts the next ceremony.”

“We can point you in the right direction,” Clinton said as he phased through the wall. Art and Irwin followed silently after him. Kay let out a yelp of surprise, and Topher nearly stumbled over, but Clinton kept on going as if he hadn’t noticed. “Last we saw, the evil ghost-man was heading northwest through the forest. He wasn’t changing course much, so I think whatever he’s after is in that direction.”

“Look at you three, actually pulling your weight. It’s enough to restore my faith in humanity,” Velt said. “Okay, new plan. Kay and I grab the car; she drops me off at the edge of the woods then heads out to set the other cameras while I hunt down The Emissary. You three are going to help me track him from the air, just like you did before. Topher and Auggie will stay here to man the cameras.”

“Why do I have to stay behind?” Topher asked.

“Because your friend isn’t nearly old or strong enough to handle manipulating physical objects and the whole point of a surveillance system is to have someone watching who can then tell you what’s going on. As for why you can’t set up the cameras . . . I don’t really get the sense that you’re the technical expert on this team.”

“I could figure it out.”

“Fine; I’ll be honest, if that’s what you want,” Velt said. “The other reason I’m benching you is because you didn’t follow orders. I get that you meant well, which is why I haven’t knocked any teeth out of your head, but you still did the exact thing I told you not to.” Velt turned to Kay, who did her best to put on an innocent smile. “Will you drop me off, and then get the hell out of danger?”

“Can do.”

“See? That’s why she’s going.” Velt walked over to a table near the back and picked up the duffel bag she’d left earlier. “Get your cameras ready. We leave in the next three minutes. And you three spirits, why are you still here? You should be up in the air, finding my target and waiting on my arrival.”

As she spoke, Velt wished she had the luxury of being kinder to these people. They seemed like decent folks, and when she’d told them what a high-stakes game they were playing, each had agreed to help out. They deserved to be treated with respect and dignity. Unfortunately, Velt only had time to care about results. She was the one who had to get the job done, no matter what it cost.

That was her eternal lot in life.

* * *

This site was more difficult to uncover than the first. The Emissary never could have found it if he’d been forced to rely on knowledge of the land. No, trees were too quick and failed to stay put over so long a time. It was only the magic that showed him where he had to go: the ripple of energy coursing through the air and culminating in a single area. The magic was eager, anxious really. It had been gathering for millennia, and the time for it to be used was nearly at hand. Tension in the air guided The Emissary as surely as a compass; it would only increase when the magic was freed. Before the night was through, the magic in the air would be so thick, even a being of flesh could swim through it.

Hairs on the borrowed body rose as it stood at the site. Beneath the earth, the magic hummed at a frequency only the dead could hear. Soon, it wouldn’t have to beg for release. The Emissary would clear the dirt and grass from atop it and let the magic roar forth. Once the second site was active, that woman would be a far more manageable threat. She still nagged at his mind, her presence like a smear of shit across the grand tapestry of their inevitable success. It took all of his self-control not to try and go after her, but the wraith resisted. This was why he had been chosen as The Emissary of the ritual, why the blood of his former body was spilled apart from the others: in life, The Emissary had always been the one most focused on the larger goal. Purging that woman was a priority; it just wasn’t the highest priority.

Already-filthy hands dove into the ground, pulling up as much sediment as possible. It was slow work; the roots of the trees that had grown around his goal hampered the digging, but the borrowed body pressed on. When this was done, there were two sites left, and only one of them was particularly difficult. This would be the turning point. This would make The Emissary unstoppable.

This was the beginning of the end.

* * *

It wasn’t until they were in the SUV, buckled up, and moving down the narrow camp trails toward the forest that Velt thought to wonder at the driving capabilities of the woman she’d agreed to let chauffeur her. Or to think about how much hooch said driver had consumed. The inciting incident for the sudden onset of worry was when Kay managed to knock over a small fire pit that had been constructed close to the road. To her credit, the clay it was fashioned from was dark and hard to see at night. To her discredit, when one did forty on roads not made for vehicles, accidents were going to happen.

“Whoopsie.” Kay jerked the wheel and got back on the proper path, leaving the shattered remains in her wake. “Damn things just sneak up on you.”

“Mmm.” Velt gripped the handle of her door and rested her other hand on the latch to her seatbelt. If the need presented itself, she could unbuckle herself and leap to freedom in one motion. “Maybe you could slow this down a bit?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were on the clock, trying to prevent the motherfucking apocalypse.”

“Crashing won’t get us there any earlier,” Velt snapped.

“Look, Ghost Girl, you worry about the exorcism or voodoo or whatever shit it is you bring to the table, and let me deal with driving. I’ve been steering through backwoods and broken roads since I was seven, I think I can drive through a fucking campground.” Kay punctuated her sentence by turning the wheel at the last moment, narrowly missing the rotted-out corner of a nearby cabin.

“Why on earth would a seven-year-old be driving that kind of terrain?”

“Because she lived in a farming community two hours from anything resembling a real town. Kids had to pitch in too, and sometimes, that meant driving to run errands the adults were too busy for.” Kay slammed the gas for an instant, forcing the SUV to jump over a small mound. “It’s a shithole of a boring life, and it’s why I got the hell out of there as soon as I could.”

“Really? To me, it sounds rather . . . peaceful.” Velt was surprised at how wistful her voice came out; she’d only meant to try and soothe Kay’s temper while they were on the road. Yet the truth, once finally given an avenue of release, charged at the opportunity to be heard. “My whole life has always been just, well, this. Angry spirits, impossible missions, and I think this will be my third life-ending apocalypse to stop. Makes a farm seem not so bad.”

“Then go live on one,” Kay replied. She sounded calmer than before, even if the apparent recklessness of her driving hadn’t slackened. “You can do that, you know. Just decide to live the life you want. Or are you some chosen one or some shit that has to keep doing all this stuff?”

“Nah, nothing like that. Fate can be a dick at times, but he doesn’t dictate people’s entire lives. That would actually defeat the point. I’m the reason I can’t go live on that farm, or get a real job, or just try and be normal. I give it a whirl every few years, when I think I’ve finally had enough and it’s time to buck all this shit.” Velt glanced out the window; they weren’t far from the lake, close enough now to see the miniature army of quasi-spirits amassed on the island. “The supernatural world doesn’t need me—not me in particular, I mean—but I need it. Going normal always seems like a great idea, then I’m climbing the walls within a week. I try sticking it out with sheer stubbornness, but it’s only a matter of time until someone brings a job or case and I use their need as justification to jump back in.”

“That is some amazingly self-defeating shit,” Kay said. “And that’s coming from a girl who makes bad decisions like babies make turds.”

Velt laughed at that analogy, a brief spark of genuine mirth. “Well, sooner or later, I’ll try again. Maybe that will be the time it sticks.”

“Maybe. I’d recommend going somewhere tropical to detox from the spooky world. A nice beach with all-inclusive drinks and muscular waiters. Auggie’s sister hit a nice spot last year that she loved; if we make it through this, I’ll get the name of the place for you,” Kay offered.

“I might just take you up on that,” Velt said. “It’s been too long since my last vacation.”

“If you ask nicely, I might just tag along. I promise to bring plenty of fun and at least three different kinds of alcohol illegal in the states.” Kay slowed down—at last—as they neared the forest’s edge. “Pretty sure this is as far as I can take you.”

“This is plenty. Hopefully, I can run that bastard down before he gets the second ritual finished.” Velt reached into the back and pulled out her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s in the bag? I mean, it’s a ghost. If you have some weird magic to affect them, I don’t know how gear would help you.”

Velt hesitated for a moment before replying. Technically, what she knew wasn’t a secret; it just wasn’t well-disseminated information. As a community, mediums tried to limit the number of people who knew about the weaknesses of spirits. While some were dangerous, the vast majority of them were simply confused or scared, so the fewer people who knew how to hurt one meant the fewer people who might overreact to an innocent attempt at communication. Still, Velt liked Kay. The wild-eyed woman with the tangled hair struck her as a kindred soul, and with the amount of danger they’d be facing tonight, it seemed wrong to leave her defenseless. If it went badly . . . well, Velt had never really been all that popular in the medium community, anyway. She supposed one more reason for them to dislike her wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

“Do you have any liquor with you?” Velt asked.

“What are you, a cop?”

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, I brought a half-bottle in case it got boring putting the cameras up.” Kay reached down to the SUV’s side-door storage and pulled out her travel-booze to illustrate.

“Good.” Velt took a moment to dig in her duffel bag and produced one of her spare lighters. “Take this. If things get bad with a spirit, I mean really bad, spit the liquor through the lighter at it. Fire hurts them as much as a normal person, if not more.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Fire is pure life, endlessly devouring. There’s almost nothing in this world it can’t damage. But you realize I just told you to perform a carnie trick in a high-danger situation, so only do that if there’s no other choice.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Kay leaned over and grabbed Velt in a hug before the other woman had a chance to resist. “And good luck out there. Try to be safe; I don’t want to call off our beach trip.”

Velt stiffened for a moment at the embrace then gave Kay a quick squeeze of her own. “You, too. Let’s get through the night without adding any more spirits to the world.” With that, she took her bag and exited the vehicle.

Kay threw the SUV in to reverse and backed away, narrowly avoiding two saplings as she careened her way into turning around. The vehicle headed off, taking the headlights with it and leaving Velt in darkness. For most in her situation, such a thing would have been terrifying, but she was more comfortable in the darkness. This was her world, and monsters were her people.

Velt headed into the forest, where only the barest trickles of moonlight broke through the canopy. Within ten steps, the darkness had swallowed her whole.

Chapter 9

“Any luck?” Clinton asked, floating over to Art. They were all searching different areas of the forest, but since each was above the trees, it made keeping track of one another a simple process.

“Nothin’ so far.” Art glanced over to Irwin and gave a small wave. Irwin returned the gesture and then emphatically shook his head. “Looks like Irwin’s come up dry, too.”

“We need to hustle, I just saw Velt get out of the car.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him. For now, just point her toward the last spot you saw him at,” Art said. “Irwin and I will keep hunting.” The two split apart, Art continuing his search and Clinton zipping through the trees to be a guide for Velt.

Across the sprawling treetops, Irwin had finished shaking his head and was staring down in to the forest. He wasn’t quite sure, but he felt as though something had snagged his attention. It was almost more instinct than visual stimulation. He wasn’t sure why, but Irwin followed it, drifting below the highest branches, following the strange pull that was calling to him.

* * *

“How are you feeling?” Auggie asked.

“Been worse. Remember when I fell off that crypt in Louisiana trying to get a shot of the whole graveyard?”

Auggie set his head in his hands and pressed on his temples. “A fractured shoulder and two broken ribs. How could I forget? That was also the day we implemented the policy that I would approve all locations before you and Kay went to them.”

“I thought you were being a bit overbearing at the time, but damned if my injury count didn’t drop.” Topher leaned forward and slightly adjusted one of the monitors. So far, there was nothing of interest to report; all of the monitors were showing a mundane, if creepy, summer camp at night. Well, all save for the one connected to the camera overlooking the island. That was taking in a scene that might have been at home in a high-budget blockbuster, an army of spirits huddled around a throbbing, red portal. Topher tried his best not to look at that monitor.

“Yes, during our first year, we could barely go an episode without you getting hurt.” Auggie looked at his friend staring fervently at television screens and wondered how Topher would fare if things didn’t go well on this shoot. “Listen, if tonight turns out badly, make sure you hire someone to fill my safety-scout role. We’ve gotten into far more dangerous places over the last few years, and I wouldn’t want you joining me sooner than necessary.”

Topher looked up from the monitors with wide eyes and a creased brow. “Auggie, what the fuck? Why would you even talk about that?”

“Because I’m pragmatic. I always have been. I’m the planning yin to your impulsive yang, and I would like to shuffle off this mortal coil with some assurances that you’ll be taken care of.”

“Okay, for one, I’m an adult and can handle myself; and for two, this is an all-or-nothing situation. If Velt doesn’t stop him, then the whole world goes under.”

“Possibly,” Auggie said. “But there is also the chance that she’ll be able to stop him, just not while keeping my body safe. My physical form could be killed, broken, or outright destroyed in the process of saving the world. That is a real possibility we have to come to terms with.”

“Screw that. I’ve got faith in Velt. She said she would get your body back.”

“And I have every reason to believe she’ll try, but, Topher, let’s be realistic. We’ve known this woman for only a few hours, and in that time, the situation has steadily gotten worse. She’s trying to stop the apocalypse, so she gets the benefit of the doubt, but that doesn’t mean she can just magically set everything right. There are things at risk right now. Our lives collectively, yes, and also just my own.”

“Auggie, enough.” Topher rose from the hub of monitors and walked over to his incorporeal friend. “We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Velt will stop this undead asshole, and we’ll go back to trying to figure out if we have to debunk a shadow on the lens, or if it’s genuine paranormal activity. Which, now that I consider our situation, sounds just a little bit insane.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Auggie replied. “However, I have reason to suspect that the second ritual has already begun.”

“What?” Topher jerked his head back toward the monitors, expecting to see some supernatural display. All that greeted him was more of the same camp he’d been staring at. “How can you tell? Nothing looks different to me.”

“It’s nothing I see, it’s what I feel.” Auggie pressed his spectral hand to his stomach, charting the progress of the strange shivering that had already begun sweeping over him. “And it feels like there’s another change coming on soon.”

* * *

The first camera had gone up easily: Kay had just needed to drive about halfway up to the top of the cliff and get a good vantage point overlooking as much of the camp as possible. It would have taken forever on foot, but thankfully, the trail was wide, if rocky, and allowed the SUV to plow across the terrain in no time. From her spot staring down at the campgrounds below, Kay realized how peaceful this place seemed from far away . . . if one didn’t include the island of half-ghosts clustered around the red dot.

If things had gone differently, they would probably be snapping creepy shots of that island right now. Topher would be trying to go somewhere that Auggie had forbidden, Kay would be egging him on, and Auggie would be threatening everything up to and past bloody murder in their earpieces to get them to stop. They would have (eventually), and Topher would be placated by Auggie saying he’d gotten some shadows on a remote camera and they should go check it out. Then the big lug would dash off, complaints forgotten in his nearly-palpable cloud of excitement over new possibilities. It would be a fun night, with usable footage for a half-decent episode.

Kay wondered if they would go on with the show when this was done. Even if everything went perfectly and they saved both the world and Auggie, could they keep chasing shadows after tangling with genuine spirits? Topher always hated the hucksters, the people who didn’t believe in what they were documenting, yet faked results to appear they did. They’d certainly all be believers after tonight, but there was no question that such an in-depth look would make it harder to get amped up over half-heard voices and camera anomalies.

Digging in her pocket, Kay produced the SUV keys and headed back toward her vehicle. How strange it was to count herself among the believers of anything. Kay had always wanted to believe; she wasn’t trying to wall off the impossible with science like Auggie. From the time of sitting on her grandmother’s lap hearing mystical tales of the old country, Kay had dearly wanted to believe in the supernatural. She just never knew where to put all the faith that was pent up inside her. There were so many lies, so many pretenders to the mystic throne, that it had never seemed safe to believe. She feared choosing wrong more than she feared sitting on the fence, so Kay waited for something, anything really, to jump out and prove itself to her.

Well, ghosts had certainly done that, and now that she knew they were real, it seemed so obvious. She’d been with Topher for two years; why had it taken so much to push her across the skeptical threshold? Kay resolved to be a bit more open-minded next time the opportunity presented itself. For the moment, however, her biggest concern was getting down the hill and across the camp. There was a nice area on the other side of the forest where she could get a decent view. They only had one camera left, so it needed to count.

The engine roared to life, scattering a few of the orb-like spirits she’d seen floating amidst the trees, and Kay headed back down the cliff.

* * *

It was the strange glow that first told Irwin he was on the right track. As he floated down, phasing through the trees and drawing closer to the weird sensation calling him, he noticed a red glow burning in the forest. He might have been tempted to think it was fire, but fire was alive. It flickered and danced among the shadows. This light didn’t dance: it throbbed, like a heart beating. Had he been in his right state of mind, Irwin would have turned and fled like the coward he’d always been. But Irwin was nowhere near his normal mental state. The calling, the light, it had sunk its hooks into him all the way up in the trees. It had invaded him so deeply that he’d barely noticed the shiver of another ceremony beginning. Now that he was this close, he could practically hear it, whispering in his ear that it was all right. He was safe here, safer than he’d ever been before. Nothing could touch him now. After all, his weakness, his body, was gone. Irwin Pistole was a being of will and magic. What did he have to fear?

He floated into a clearing where the body that had once been called Auggie stood, wiping his dirty hands on his pants next to a freshly uncovered stone circle. As Irwin squinted at him, he realized the man seemed fuzzy around the edges, as though his own shadow had leapt atop him and was trying to smother his whole form. Had Irwin known a bit more, he would have understood that this was the wraith inside poking out, magic and excitement proving too much to contain in a borrowed body. Sadly, as had nearly always been the case, Irwin knew next to nothing.

“Brother,” the man greeted him, a twisted grin seated beneath a pair of eyes twinkling with madness. “Have you come to bear witness?”

“I . . . looking for you,” Irwin stammered, his words barely able to escape as his mind was engulfed by overwhelming pleasure from being so close to the source of the light. It skittered across the surface of his brain, a brain that no longer existed in any physical capacity, yet the power was undeterred. It whispered in the nooks and crannies, reassuring and encouraging him.

“I blame you not. Tonight is a great night you surely have been waiting eons for it. Feel no shame, brother. All are welcome to witness the glory.”

“No . . . I . . . she’s looking for you.”

At his words, the face that had once been Auggie’s warped into a snarl. He bounded across the clearing at speeds that seemed impossible to Irwin, grabbing the ghost with a pair of shadowy talons extruding from the tips of his stolen fingers.

“So, you serve the flesh then. Come to lead the blasphemous beast to my doorstep, to try and halt the inevitable march of our superior souls.” He raised his other hand and another set of talons emerged, these longer and sharper than the ones gripping Irwin’s chest. Irwin wasn’t sure if one spirit could harm another, but this guy seemed to be pretty sure it was possible.

“No! I told her nothing!”

“But you will. I can see it in your eyes. You follow whoever scares you the most, feeding off the power of others to wield it as your own. You have no conviction, brother, and that means you have no value.”

“Are you saying she’s stronger than you?” Irwin spat the words, using courage he’d never have found without the light giving his mind strength.

The Emissary stared at the impudent spirit, momentarily shocked by the outburst. Irwin capitalized on the silence.

“You said it yourself: I’ll serve whoever is the strongest, whoever scares me most—whoever offers me the most power. Why would I want her to win? Sure, when I was alive that would have been the smart side, but I’m not alive. I’m dead. I’m dead, and I’m stuck in this place without the power to so much as move a stick. She’s offering to let me leave the camp, move on; you’re offering me power. Power to rule over the living. Power to no longer be stuck like this. Maybe I don’t have conviction, but I do have basic reasoning skills. I want you to win. I want my kind to be the dominant ones in this world.”

There was a long stretch of silence as The Emissary held Irwin in place, talons still extended and ready to strike. Then, after what seemed like an eternity to Irwin, he was released, left to float freely as The Emissary turned back to the glowing stone circle.

“You beg well, and perhaps there is wisdom in your cries. Though you doubtlessly lack conviction, there may still be a use for you yet. Are you willing to serve? To do what is necessary so that the world may be reborn and all those imprisoned by flesh set free?”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me,” Irwin promised. “Anything you name. If it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”

The Emissary turned back around and formed a questioning expression on his pilfered face. “‘If it’s in your power’? That does not sound like dedication to me, brother.”

“I just meant that I’m a new ghost, so there’s a lot of stuff I don’t know how to do. I told you before: I can’t even move things yet. So if you wanted me to bash someone’s head in with a rock, I wouldn’t be able to grab it. That’s all I mean.”

“Ah.” The Emissary walked back around to the stone circle, casting Auggie’s face in red light and shadows. “Then let us test the depths of your commitment, shall we? I am going to give you a task. If you complete it, you will gain a taste of the very power which you seek. If you fail . . . well, I think I can make time in my night to shred one traitor’s miserable soul.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it,” Irwin assured him.

“Very well, then. It is high past time that we moved things along.”

* * *

The airborne sprits were helpful, but Velt was starting to wonder if they would be enough. She’d been combing the woods carefully, using them for guidance and directions, trying to sweep as much of the area as possible, but with each passing minute, the chances of The Emissary completing the second ritual increased. Not even she knew what would happen when he finished, and she was really hoping not to find out. Every step that brought the worlds of the living and the dead closer together made her job that much harder.

She hurried across the brush, coat pulled tightly as she worked to ignore the growing ache in her left leg. Something had probably gotten sprained when she went through the wall, an injury hidden beneath the adrenaline of the situation. Stomping about was almost certainly making it worse, but she didn’t have the luxury of worrying about such things. There would be time to recover afterward . . . hopefully.

Velt had just started down a promising path with smashed bushes and other signs of recent use when Irwin floated out from between the trees.

“Dead end.”

Velt winced involuntarily at the implied pun. Though she doubted this one was the type to make such jokes, spending any length of time around spirits meant dealing with the occasional ghost who coped with his afterlife through awful wordplay.

“Are you sure? I’ve been all over the areas nearby, and this looks like someone tore through it recently.” She gestured to the cracked twigs and scattered leaves as evidence to her point.

“Trust me, unless you want to go see a bunch of foxes eating a rabbit carcass, that’s not a productive path.” Irwin glanced down at the signs she was pointing to. “I guess the little guy went down with a fight. Good for him. All I got to do was choke helplessly.”

It took great effort for Velt to keep from rolling her eyes. Maudlin mood swings were the sort of thing one had to tolerate with the recently dead, but it rapidly ate up any patience or sympathy she might have had. Usually, the best course of action was to change the subject.

“Well, do you have any idea of where I should go?”

“Um . . . maybe,” Irwin said, shuffling slightly. He stuck his hand forward, single finger gesturing toward the west. “I did see something over there earlier, some weird, red light. I thought it was you at the time, but your flashlight doesn’t seem that color, now that I’m close. Is there any chance that might be something?”

Velt barely resisted punching this idiot in the face. She only held herself back by reasoning that he was so fresh, one blow would probably knock him to the other side, and then she’d be down a helper. “Yes, I think the mysterious red light in the middle of the woods might just be a fucking useful clue! Do you remember where it was?”

“I’m pretty sure—”

“Get real sure, real fast.” Velt turned around, shining her light in the direction Irwin was pointing. “We’re going there now, and may the gods help you if we don’t make it in time.”

Because both her light and eyes were pointed away, Velt didn’t see the self-satisfied smirk that oozed across Irwin’s face. If she had, she may have suspected his betrayal and turned back to the correct path. At the very least, she would have beaten the truth from Irwin’s cowardly lips. But due to an ill-timed turn, she remained unaware of the treachery he was committing, and the two started off down a different trail.

One leading directly away from the ritual she was trying so hard to stop.

Chapter 10

Auggie’s whole form was tingling, itching with a strange sensation that was impossible to scratch. This one was lasting longer than the first, escalating in a slow, maddening build. Topher could only stare helplessly as his friend grew more and more agitated to the point where even basic conversation became impossible.

The pace began to pick up, and soon Auggie felt the sensation bore deeper in to him. It was no longer as if the feeling were contained to the surface of his incorporeal body; now it was invading his core. Every piece of him could feel it, like a cold fire or a million ants that dragged their pincers across his skin while refusing to bite. At the worst of it, for a very real and terrifying moment, Auggie feared he would lose his mind entirely, that the feeling was so horrid, he would rather run away from all coherent thought just to escape it.

Then, without any slowing or warning, the sensation vanished all at once. Had he been inside his body, Auggie would have let out a long breath and wiped away the tears that had formed in his eyes. Instead he jerked forward, nearly tumbling to the ground until he remembered gravity no longer held sway over his actions, and made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a sigh of relief.

“Is it over?” Topher asked. He looked aghast, worse than Auggie had ever seen him. As terrible as it had been to experience that, Auggie imagined it probably wasn’t a picnic to watch either. Especially not for a friend.

“I don’t really know. Feels like it is, but there’s no way to be sure. Maybe he finished the ceremony, or maybe Velt interrupted him and it will start up again sometime soon. I’ll just have to wait it out.”

“Do you feel any different, though? Last time he did one of these things, it made you visible. If it’s over, shouldn’t you have new abilities?”

“That does make sense,” Auggie agreed. “Perhaps I gained the capacity to interact with physical objects. It would be a logical progression.”

Topher carefully raised his right hand and spread his fingers. “High five?”

“May as well.”

The two took a careful swing at one another, aiming to connect palms in mid-air. They got it just right, and Auggie’s hand sailed through Topher’s perfectly as they tried to collide.

“No to the touching thing,” Auggie sighed. “Pity, it would have been useful.”

“I’m actually glad it didn’t work out that way,” Topher said. “Velt and Kay are both out there in the forest with all kinds of ghosts, not to mention that mass of jerks on the island.”

“That’s a good point. Velt seems capable of handling herself, but if ghosts suddenly gained the power of touch, it might put Kay in very serious trouble. I mean, more trouble than the fact that she’s currently behind the wheel of an SUV with no license and at least some alcohol in her veins.”

“When you put it like that, it seems like it was a bad idea to let her be the wheel-woman.”

“I thought that was obvious,” Auggie said.

“Then why didn’t you stop us?”

“Because, to be frank, that Velt woman somewhat terrifies me,” Auggie admitted. “And besides, it would have come down to you stopping her, anyway. In case you’ve forgotten, I have no effect on the physical realm. If I’d tried to grab the keys, we both know what would have happened.” Auggie illustrated this point by reaching out and grabbing at a camera battery from the nearby table. He fully expected his hand to go straight through it, which made it all the more shocking when he felt the weight of it in his hand as he lifted it up.

Auggie stared at it in shock while Topher nearly leapt out of his shoes.

“What the hell?”

“I don’t know! I can touch it, for some reason.” Auggie dropped the battery and tried to grab one of Topher’s protein bars. It felt firm and solid in his spectral hand. He turned back to Topher and tried to grab his friend’s forearm, but his hand went right through, just like it had with the high five.

“It’s only non-living things,” Auggie surmised, putting the pieces together. “I still can’t interact with the living, but objects appear to be fair game.”

Topher stood still for only a moment then leapt into action, darting over to the monitor hub and rapidly flipping switches.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing? The game just changed, and I’m betting Kay and Velt don’t have any idea. We’ve got to warn them over their earpieces.”

Auggie nodded, thankful they’d taken the time to outfit Velt with a rudimentary bit of communications equipment before she left. It would only go one way, since they didn’t have any spare microphones, but at least it would allow them to give her a warning. Not that she needed it as much as Kay.

Both men hoped with everything they had that their third crew member was almost done with her work and heading back to the main hall.

* * *

Kay had just finished placing the last camera when a surge of light came through the forest from across the lake. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Given the context of the situation, it didn’t take her much of a leap to figure that something had gone wrong. She hopped into the SUV, threw it in to drive, and began speeding away from the patch of forest she’d been working in. As she drove, she noticed more of the translucent orbs emerging from the trees. She’d spotted a few of them on the way up, but they seemed to be growing more numerous by the second.

She was halfway back to the main hall when her earpiece crackled to life.

“Kay, can you hear me?”

“I hear you, Topher.” The mic clipped to the top of her shirt was thankfully still working, transmitting her words across the distance to the monitor Topher was observing.

“Thank God. Kay, you need to get back here quickly. The second ritual was completed, and it lets the ghosts touch inanimate objects. Get clear of the woods before you run into something bad.”

“Relax, I’m almost out,” she told him. “What about Velt?”

“We relayed the message, but she doesn’t have a microphone to respond. She should be fine; she’s already able to fight ghosts.”

Kay accelerated, jumping the SUV over a small rut in the road and then eased to a stop. There were two paths in front on her: one would get her back to the main hall, while the other would swing around through the camp and get her back to where she’d dropped Velt off. She hesitated for only a moment, then jerked the wheel and slammed on the gas.

“Fuck that. Tell her to meet me where I dropped her off.”

“Kay, you don’t need to—”

“If the second ritual is complete, then that means she’s probably in the wrong spot now. Auggie’s body will go to the next site. Assuming we spot him on camera, we’ll need to move Velt as fast as possible. I’m picking her up because having her walk back to camp is wasting time we don’t have.”

There was silence from the radio for a long moment. “Are you sure about this?”

“Topher, I’m making all this shit up as I go along; it just seems like a good plan to me.” Truthfully, a newly-familiar dread was creeping in to her gut, but Kay ignored it willfully. Whether she had the actual gift or she was just turning in to a worrier, it didn’t matter. This needed to be done, and she was the one at the wheel.

“I’ll pass along the message, but we’ll have no way of knowing if she’ll hear it, or agree to it.”

“Don’t worry so much. If I show up and Velt isn’t there, I’ll just have to signal her.” Kay’s eyes darted quickly to the liquor bottle and lighter tucked securely between the seats. She’d never been much of a firebug, but there was always time to pick up a new hobby.

“Though, for the sake of the local flora, you might want to really try and get her to be there.”

* * *

Velt had felt when the second ritual completed; the burst of magical energy nearly made her grind her teeth. But even if she hadn’t been keyed in to the energy’s flow, Irwin’s fit as the power swept over him would have been more than clue enough. There was no way the first one had been that strong; even back at the main hall she would have felt it. Her eyes darted around immediately, searching for any sign that might put her on The Emissary’s trail. All she caught was a fading glow in the direct opposite end of the forest: the end that, had she ignored Irwin, she would have been much closer to.

The spirit was watching her carefully, waiting for some sort of reaction. She was tempted, very tempted in fact, to whirl around on him and see what confrontation would yield. It was only through tremendous self-control that she bit back that impulse. There was always the chance it was an honest mistake, and if that wasn’t the case, she had no reason to tip her hand and let him know she was on to him. Thankfully, Topher’s voice soon came over the earpiece, giving her the distraction she needed to avoid talking with Irwin and letting her anger slip.

“Velt, this is Topher. Not sure if you can hear me, but Auggie and I just figured out what the second ritual did. Auggie can touch inanimate objects. Nothing living, though. I’m going to warn Kay, as well. Good luck.”

“What did he say?” Irwin asked. Though he was able to make out the electric crackle of the earpiece’s activation, fine details had escaped his eavesdropping.

“He just confirmed that the second ritual was completed,” Velt told him. “Apparently, you lot can touch things now.”

Irwin looked at her doubtfully, then carefully bent down and plucked a pine cone from the ground. He nearly doubled over in shock when his hand made contact with it, the rough texture scraping against his fingers. It was uncomfortable, but Irwin was brought to the brink of joyful tears by the sensation. How long had it been since he’d touched something?

“Useful for you guys, sort of a pain for us,” Velt summed up. “Also, just a word of caution: don’t try to touch me. Not even a hug or a fist-bump. Even if I’m not attacking, physical contact can cause a lot of pain for the spirits doings the touching.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Irwin said, letting the pinecone fall from his grip. “What’s our next move, now that the second ritual is done? Try and track him to the third?”

“About the only thing we can do,” Velt lied. “Hopefully your friends have caught sight of him. Why don’t you go over the trees and get a status report?”

“Will I still be able to phase through the branches? I mean, since I can touch things now . . .”

“Hell if I know, this shit is all new to me too. Just give it a shot. Even if you can’t, they won’t be able to hurt you.”

Irwin nodded then floated upward. Velt watched him go, eager to see if he was now bound by some level of corporeality. It turned out to not be the case, as Irwin was able to move through the branches with seemingly minimal effort. It was too bad; she’d have loved it if the spirits had to play by the same rules as she. That would have made fighting The Emissary much easier.

Her earpiece crackled again, nearly causing her to jump.

“Velt, Kay is en route with the SUV to pick you up. She says to be at the spot where she dropped you off. I’m not exactly sure what, but she seems to have a backup plan for getting your attention in case you can’t hear this. Please go meet her; Auggie has gone through enough tonight. I don’t want to find out what Kay’s idea is, and I’m positive Auggie doesn’t want to deal with the fallout from it.”

He hadn’t needed to push so hard; this actually worked perfectly with what Velt had planned. Chasing The Emissary was proving to be a bust, and now, she had a possible traitor to worry about. It was time to shift tactics before they ran out of time entirely. Screw running around in the dark; Velt had never been much for cat and mouse games. She liked a good ol’ fashioned, bloody showdown.

She moved as quickly as she could, hustling through the brush at top speed. Irwin’s guidance had taken her away from the site of the actual ritual either mistakenly or intentionally, but it had also brought her closer to the edge of the forest. It was a pretty shitty consolation prize compared with stopping The Emissary, but she wasn’t in a position to turn away any stroke of luck she could get.

* * *

Despite what he’d said, Irwin made no attempt to find Clinton and Art floating over the treetops. Instead, he hung below the canopy and zipped across the forest as quickly as he could, easily locating the remains of the site. From there, it only took a moment or two of searching to track down The Emissary as the creature skulked through the woods. Irwin floated down, coming to rest several feet away from the spirit in the stolen body. Even though he’d done as he was told, it still terrified him to be so close to this being.

“She’ll never catch up to you,” Irwin said. “I led her halfway back to the camp.”

“Well done.” The Emissary eyed the spirit carefully. Irwin was all but glowing with satisfaction, a combination of finally being able to touch things and contentment with having properly carried out his orders. Had he been nervous, twitchy, or even the slightest bit apprehensive, The Emissary would have assumed betrayal and torn Irwin to shreds. His emotions seemed genuine, though, and Irwin certainly didn’t come off as smart or charming enough to manage a lie. “And you returned for more instructions, I take it?”

“Oh . . . sure.” Irwin’s joy began to evaporate as he realized he’d opened the door on more, possibly dangerous, work. “Anything I can do to help out the cause.”

The Emissary nodded Auggie’s head. “The woman. Where is she now?”

“She was across the forest when I left her. I’m supposed to be talking to the others and finding out if they saw you.”

“Then your next job is a simple one: stop her. What we seek to do is too important to risk her interference. Whether you cripple the woman or kill her outright is of no concern, just make sure she is no longer in any shape to try and stop the remaining rituals. The third will take the longest to perform, and is some distance from here. I need the space to work without the worry of her interrupting hanging over head.”

“Wait . . . you want me to attack her? How? She said her touch injured spirits.”

“And she spoke the truth,” The Emissary said, the memory of her attack still fresh in his mind. “But there are plenty of ways to injure someone without touching them, especially in a place as dangerous as a forest.” The shadow-talons emerged from the tips of Auggie’s hands, and The Emissary raked them down a nearby tree trunk, leaving long gashes where he struck. “Be creative, be inspired; just be successful, no matter what. When our new world is born, I will not forget the names of those who helped usher it in. Nor will I forget to whisper those names in the ear of our god.”

The Emissary turned away and continued off into the woods, clearly intent on reaching the next site as soon as possible. Behind him, Irwin wrung his hands as he tried to think of way to stop Velt without putting himself at risk.

In truth, The Emissary did not expect Irwin to succeed. The woman, evil as she was, possessed the spirit of a warrior. No nerveless coward obeying orders would ever triumph over one such as her. Still, his futile attempt would at least slow her down a bit. If that cost Irwin his grip on this plane, it was an acceptable loss.

* * *

It took Velt nearly fifteen minutes to make it back to the clearing, long enough to wonder both if Irwin was going to come back and try to bluff her and whether she had been fast enough to stop whatever sort of destructive signal Kay had planned. The latter, thankfully, turned out to be in the affirmative.

Velt emerged from the woods and was suddenly bathed in headlights. She saw Kay standing by the hood and scowling impatiently; in her hand was the lighter Velt had lent her, the bottle of liquor sitting conspicuously at her feet. Nearby was a pile of sticks that appeared to have been recently gathered. It didn’t take much of an intuitive leap to figure out what would have happened if Velt had taken much longer, nor to realize that the makeshift fireplace was far too close to the forest to be lit safely.

“I have a feeling there’s a bear with a hat who needs to discuss some things about fire safety with you,” Velt said.

“You sound like the cop who broke up my amateur pyrotechnics club,” Kay shot back. “Any leads on Auggie’s body?”

“I’ve got jack shit. We’re going to have to try something different. I’ll explain when we’re back at the main hall; I’m too worn out to deal with all the objections and complaints you people will raise more than once.”

“Fuck all, and I thought Auggie was wound tight,” Kay quipped. “Come on and get in. If you’ve got some ass-crazy plan, we’re better off starting it sooner than later.”

Velt complied, both women piling into the dark SUV. From the darkness of the forest, creeping in the shadows and staying out of sight, a third figure hurried over to the vehicle. It entered through the back, phasing through the metal as if it weren’t even there.

“Do you need to get your ghosts first?” Kay asked.

Velt shook her head. If Irwin was compromised, she had to assume it was possible all three were working together. Clinton and Art had seemed like decent guys, but until she was sure, it was best to play it safe and keep them in the dark. Her plan was already so risky, it bordered on a Hail Mary; she didn’t need to worry about getting ratted out on top of everything else.

“I don’t have any way to get in contact with them, but they seem smart. If they can’t find The Emissary, they’ll come back to the main hall. Or maybe they’ll try and take cover. Either way, it doesn’t matter. We don’t particularly need them for this next part.”

Kay fired up the engine and accelerated down the hill. Velt quickly realized their brief time apart had done nothing to curb Kay’s tendency toward driving at reckless speeds no matter the terrain. Thankfully, it was a short drive back to the main hall, so Velt assumed they wouldn’t have any trouble making it back safely, even with Kay’s lead foot.

Less than half an hour ago, when enlightening to Irwin about his ability to touch things, Velt had been careful not to let him know that his power didn’t extend to human flesh. She’d even been ready to trick him in to thinking it did should he have pressed the issue, since, for her, spirits had always been tangible. There was no calculated plan in that moment, no grand scheme to turn this misinformation against him: Velt simply made it a point not to let people she didn’t trust have any more information than was necessary. It spoke to her deep-seated distrust issues; these issues also explained why she spent most holidays alone and hadn’t managed a functional relationship in half a decade. That tendency to hide truths and keep secrets had left her cut off from the world for most of her life, even among people who shared gifts similar to hers. It had caused her years of loneliness and aggravation.

On this particular occasion, however, that paranoid tendency of Velt’s saved Kay’s life.

Pudgy, spectral hands snaked forward from the back seat, grabbing at Kay’s throat, intent on squeezing the life from her and sending the SUV out of control. Irwin’s brow was focused in concentration as he extended his fingers; he was determined to knock her out quickly, before Velt could scramble over the seats and stop him. He brought his hands together, using as much force as he could in hopes of collapsing her throat.

When those translucent hands went right through Kay’s neck, the only person more shocked than she was Irwin.

“What the fuck!” Kay yelped.

“Goddamnit!” Irwin snapped, flexing his hands and trying again. He knew he could do this; he’d practiced grabbing things the entire time he’d silently trailed Velt. He could do it, and he had to hurry. Another attempt. Another failure. Irwin didn’t get the chance to make a third.

“Hey, shithead.” Irwin glanced in the direction of Velt’s voice, which meant he caught her right hook directly on his nose. Unlike with Kay, there was no trouble feeling Velt’s skin, and she hadn’t been kidding about her warning. Touching that bitch hurt.

“Fuck!” Irwin scrambled back, reaching up to stop the flow of blood that would never come. He felt lightheaded, weaker than he’d been mere moments before. Had he been able to see himself, Irwin would have realized he’d become fuzzier around the edges, and that small billows of energy were leaking out of him.

Velt reached back, trying to get a grip on him without undoing her safety belt, and Irwin got an idea. He grabbed the seatbelt crossed over Kay’s chest, held on tight, and yanked it back as hard as he could. The belt compressed, knocking some of the breath out of her lungs, and causing a strip of pain where it was digging in to her. She jerked the wheel reflexively, avoiding the rear corner of a cabin by mere inches.

“You son of a bitch, I knew you were a traitor.” The violence in Velt’s eyes caused Irwin’s non-existent stomach to drop into his toes. If she got her hands on him, he had no doubt it would be the end. This provided an excellent kick of motivation to make sure that never happened.

“A traitor? Clinton and Art are traitors, trying to help the living. I’m dead already, why wouldn’t I want a world where the dead rule?” Irwin glanced out the front windshield. They were coming up on the main hall, but there was still a dip in the road and several cabins before they arrived. He needed to end this, soon.

“You could have realized that you already had your time, and that there is already a place for your kind.” Velt grabbed for him again, but he was halfway phased through the door.

Irwin pulled harder on the seatbelt, and Kay began to see dark spots at the edges of her vision.

“Why would I want that? I wasn’t supposed to die in the first place! I wasn’t done with my life yet! I was important; I worked for a government agency. I had a lot to live for. But someone up there fucked up and made me choke to death. Well, I’ll show them. Irwin Pistole doesn’t just go off silently. Try to take me out of the world, and I’ll take the whole damn world down with me!”

At that, Velt finally reached down and unfastened her seatbelt, lunging toward Irwin. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for. Irwin reached forward with his free hand, through the seat and Kay’s torso, and grabbed hold of the wheel she was weakly clutching. He jerked it to the left, causing a front wheel to clip the stone foundation of a cabin that had rotted away.

As soon as the wheel struck, physics took over. The tire exploded, and the SUV was tossed upward as Kay’s speedy driving habits finally came home to roost. It rolled on to the passenger side, skidding several feet before coming to a stop. Kay managed to stay in her seat, Irwin’s death grip on her belt actually holding her in place, but Velt was tossed around like she was weightless. By the time the SUV came to a halt, she was lying against the door, blood dripping down her face, momentarily dead to the world.

For a brief moment, Irwin considered trying to finish her off as Kay groaned in the driver’s seat. Had she not already popped him once, he might have had the courage to do it. But the memory of the punch, as well as the after-effects, made him hesitant to come near her. It was possible she was faking again, or that, even unconscious, she would still be painful to touch. In the end, Irwin assured himself he had completed his task and floated off toward the woods.

Dead or not, Velt wouldn’t be doing any more meddling before it was too late to make a difference.

Chapter 11

Blood didn’t actually taste like pennies, not when there was enough of it to really get an appreciation for the flavor. Sure, if one licked a small cut or bit a chunk from their cheek, it was easy to understand how the overpowering first rush of copper would lend itself to the flavor of one-cent coins. But when one’s mouth filled up with the stuff, there was honestly no way to make such a comparison. Blood didn’t taste like anything except what it was: blood. It was the very life of the body leaking out, and being forced to experience that in the form of flavor was one of the worst sensations to wake up to.

Velt dearly wished it was the first time she was doing just that. Hell, she’d have been happy if it were so rare an event that she didn’t immediately know what was going on. Sadly, the minute her mind fluttered open, she felt the viscous liquid in her mouth and understood it to be blood. With a weary grunt of effort, she pushed herself up and spat out three sizable wads of scarlet saliva.

“Holy shit! You can move?”

Kay was nearby, her arms and face a bit cut up but bearing no truly extensive injuries. She was still buckled in to her seatbelt, suspended sideways in the now-flipped SUV.

“Looks like it. Let’s see how much.” Velt pushed herself up, gripping the sides of the seats as she struggled to get off the crumpled door. Thankfully, Auggie had gotten an SUV with all the safety features, glass that broke in to pebbles rather than shards being one of them. If they’d had to deal with real glass, Velt was pretty sure she’d be in ribbons. As it was, the pain in her leg had increased markedly, now joined by a sharp ache in her left knee. Her left arm had fared surprisingly well, but her right was broken. It had smashed against the door in the fall and fractured in two, maybe three places. Despite all the blood in her mouth, she only had shallow cuts in her scalp; they’d just gushed like faucets. A deep breath told her that she had bruised, if not broken, several ribs.

All things considered, it was probably the best she could hope for in this kind of crash. Velt flipped around to check out the front windshield, which had completely shattered. At least she knew how they were getting out. From nearby, she could see two figures rushing toward them. Given that one was huge and the other partially see-through, it seemed a safe bet that it was Topher and Auggie. They’d almost made it back to the main hall before the crash. Velt felt her pulse race as she remembered Irwin, that fucking little snake, trying to run them off the road. He was going to pay for that one.

“Kay, I’m feeling relatively okay, but I’ve lost a decent amount of blood. If I happen to pass out before Topher and Auggie get here, make sure Auggie stays clear of me.”

“’Cause of the thing you did to Irwin?”

“Worse. Right now, I’m covered in my own blood, which is far more potent than just my skin. If Auggie makes contact with me, it will be the last thing he ever does this side of the afterlife.”

“How about you try not to pass out? I like that idea a fuckload better.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Velt said. “By the way, you still have more liquor, right?”

“Of course. I was going camping originally, after all.”

“Good. I don’t want this bullshit slowing me down.”

Kay stared at her new friend in shock. “Are you still planning to go after them?”

“Fate of the world, remember? Though, I have to admit,” Velt said, staring at the wreckage around her, “this is going to be one bitch of a setback.”

* * *

Clinton and Art hadn’t actually noticed Velt and Kay leave the forest, nor had they seen Irwin sneak into the SUV. The crash, on the other hand, readily drew their attention. The two spirits darted above the trees, staring at the wreckage visible even from their location.

“Shit, ain’t no way that’s a good sign.”

“We should go see if we can help,” Clinton said.

“Shouldn’ we get Irwin, too?”

“I think everyone halfway back to town heard that crash. He’ll head over on his own.”

Art had his doubts about that. Last time they’d talked to Irwin, he’d seemed squeamish and nervous. Admittedly, the situation had them all a bit on edge, but there was something about his attitude that made Art wary. Despite being dead for a year, Irwin was way behind on making peace with his situation. He’d still been clinging to the world of the living, in denial about the fact that his life was over and that it was time to adjust. Being offered the chance to go back to that world . . . Art wasn’t one to make presumptions about people, but that didn’t mean a little well-placed wariness was a bad idea.

Clinton led the way with Art following, the latter keeping an eye out for their suspiciously absent third companion.

* * *

Velt took a deep swig from the bottle, nearly choked on the potency, then put a cloth in her mouth and poured a small amount of liquor on one of her open wounds. Her teeth clenched, and she managed to bite back the scream of pain that welled up in her throat.

Across the room, Kay was bandaged up and knocking back a few swigs of her own. The seatbelt had bruised her badly on the chest and she’d taken a few small cuts, but on the whole, she was okay. Auggie hovered close by, both out of concern for his friend and to keep a safe distance from the woman who was evidently poisonous to a spirit.

“What are we going to do now?” Topher asked, voice heavy. He watched Velt treat her injuries and resisted the urge to imagine how she’d acquired such deft and precise skill. “The SUV is toast, and you aren’t in any condition to go hunting after Auggie’s body, even if we manage to catch sight of him.”

“We’re not going to hunt him anymore,” Velt declared, pulling the cloth from her mouth. It was stained red by the blood she hadn’t yet managed to spit out. “From the minute he completed the second ritual, I realized the way we were doing things wasn’t working. We were on the way to tell you two that when that dead-shit decided to try and kill us.”

“How do you intend to stop him without tracking him down?” Auggie asked.

“I only needed to track him to the first three ritual sites. I already know where the last one is, and I plan to be there waiting for him when he shows up.” Velt took one more swig from the bottle and then set it down. A little more might have helped the pain, but she was going to need as much of the stuff as she could muster soon.

“The island, right? That’s why there’s an army of ghosts sitting on top of it, making no move to come after us. It’s the site of the last ritual,” Topher said.

“You nailed it. Magic loves a good circle, and something ending at the same place it began falls right in to that category. I should have plenty of time to get over there; the second ritual took noticeably longer for The Emissary to set up, so the third is probably going to be the longest yet. With any luck, by the time he shows up, I’ll have cleared out his forces and be ready to settle this.”

“You’ve got to be shitting us,” Kay said. “There are dozens and dozens of those things. Even if you can hurt them, wouldn’t they be able to overwhelm you?”

“It’s possible,” Velt admitted. “To be honest, dealing with them head-on wasn’t my first plan. I wanted to send that SUV off the cliff overlooking the island, loaded down with flaming alcohol and an explosive or two. Would have wiped a big chunk of those bastards out, but that plan got screwed when Irwin flipped our car.”

“Why on earth would ghosts care about an explosion?” Topher asked.

“They wouldn’t; not about the blast, anyway. Now, the resulting fire, they’d give a lot of fucks about that.” Velt took a roll of bandages and did her best to cover her wounds. Thankfully, Auggie’s overly-careful nature, along with Topher’s tendency to injure himself, had resulted in an extensive cache of first-aid supplies present at all shoots. “It’s supposed to be sort of a secret, but since the world is basically doomed unless we succeed, I may as well tell you: fire hurts spirits. It can even destroy their grip on this plane, like what I do.”

“Forgive my skepticism, but I fail to see why fire, of all things, would be the one thing to injure ghosts,” Auggie said.

“It isn’t the only thing, it’s just the easiest to use. As for why? It’s not that surprising. Fire hurts almost everything supernatural. It’s why humans gathered around it for safety all the way back in primitive times. Fire drives back the darkness; always has, always will.”

“That is a lovely philosophy; though, it fails to offer anything resembling an explanation,” Auggie pointed out.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s magic,” Kay snapped. “You’re floating a foot off the ground, can you just accept that this is the way things work, without trying to dissect every bit of it?”

“Actually, no, I can’t,” Auggie shot back. “My whole life has been science: cause and effect, the world working in an established system that I have tried to understand. I cannot accept that something ‘just works’ because it goes against every fiber of who I am and how I’ve lived my life.” Auggie’s form began to glow just the slightest bit as he riled himself up, but it quickly dissipated as he calmed down. “I can, however, accept it temporarily in order to move forward with our current plan.”

“Wouldn’t call it much of a plan anymore,” Velt said. She pulled herself to her feet and reached for the duffel bag with her still-working, left arm. “It’s just me going to the island and raising hell before Hell raises itself.”

“Screw that, there’s got to be something we can do,” Topher said. “What about your idea with the bombs? The SUV is down, but we could still go up to the top of the cliff and throw some makeshift Molotov cocktails.”

“That cliff is a pretty serious hike away, and you’d need to bring a lot of stuff with you,” Velt said. “Not to mention that we need a big boom to take them out while they’re clustered; if you cherry-pick targets, they’ll probably spread out. Without the SUV, the attack from above just doesn’t seem feasible.”

“We don’t have an SUV, but we may have a vehicle that could still serve the purpose,” Auggie said, his voice soft as his brain whirled.

“The Charger? You said that thing’s engine was fucked-in-half,” Kay reminded him.

“It would need something like ‘thousands of dollars of work,’ if I remember right,” Topher said.

“Oh yes, for it to be capable of functioning over a prolonged period of time, at current safety standards for vehicles on the road, that is all still astoundingly true,” Auggie agreed. “However, we don’t need any of that. All we need is around fifteen minutes of sustained motion, and that is a far more manageable goal. Especially if I steal parts from the SUV.”

“I don’t know what in the nine hells you three are talking about, but I guess you’re saying there’s another car we can use?” Velt asked.

“An old Dodge Charger, painted to look like the General Lee,” Topher said. “The engine is ancient and busted, so whoever owns it abandoned the thing in the main hall garage.”

Velt made no effort to hide the dubious expression on her face. “You think you can fix a car so broken that it had to be abandoned fast enough to help stop The Emissary? I’d guess we’ve only got an hour, maybe an hour and a half, tops. Seems like a tall order.”

“Ma’am, I realize we’ve only just met, so I will refrain from taking offense at the implication that I overestimate my abilities.” Auggie stared at Velt, involuntarily puffing out his chest ever-so-slightly. “I have been dealing with electronics and combustibles since before I was in first grade. I was hailed as a prodigy in youth, yet I worked with the kind of tenacity one usually sees in those who have no talent at all. I attended a top-tier university and graduated valedictorian in electrical engineering, even while dealing with Topher’s insistent adventures and distractions.”

He floated across the room, stopping only a few feet away from the copper-haired woman covered in slowly-drying blood.

“I am August Fucking Parrish, forgive the language, and if I say I can build or fix something, then you may consider it already completed.”

Velt stared at him in surprise, eyes darting over to Kay and Topher, who both appeared unruffled. As timid and cautious a guy as Auggie was, he had zero tolerance for people questioning his capabilities. They would have called it hubris, but since he really did successfully deliver on every project he undertook, it was technically just acute self-awareness.

“Well then, go get to it,” Velt said. “I’ll leave it in your clearly capable hands.”

“Your begrudging confidence is noted,” Auggie replied. He spun around and motioned to Topher. “Since time is short, we need to begin immediately. I’ll get the tools I keep for equipment breakdowns; you hurry out to the SUV. Haul the pieces I detach to the garage as soon as I get them free.”

“Kay should go, too,” Velt said.

“I can only work so quickly. Topher’s muscle should be adequate,” Auggie said.

Velt narrowed her eyes and made the slightest of nods with her head, gesturing toward the far wall. “Time is short, Auggie. I really think Kay should go with you.”

“Very well, then. We’ll get right to work.” Whatever was going on, it was evident she wanted them clear of the hall. Auggie didn’t have to understand the reason to respect her opinion. She was every bit as much an expert in her field as he was in his.

“Good idea. Kay, bring your stuff along too, just in case.” Velt grabbed a quarter-empty bottle of liquor and handed it to Kay, who still had the lighter tucked safely away. She gave a brief nod of understanding and the three left the hall.

Only after they were gone did Velt speak again. She set the duffel bag down, wiped a bit of still-oozing blood onto the knuckles of her left hand, and called out, “Get on out here right now, or I’m assuming you fucks turned traitor too.”

Clinton and Art floated though the far wall. They’d been trying to listen in discreetly; however, this had meant putting their ears through the wall. It hadn’t been much, but to eyes trained like Velt’s, those spectral body parts stood out like beacons.

“What do you mean ‘too’?” Clinton asked, moving forward carefully.

“I got a sneakin’ suspicion I know exactly what she means.” Art and Clinton had spent a bit of time outside examining the wreck, and the more Art saw, the more he thought about Irwin’s squirmy behavior.

“Your buddy went to the other side, tried to kill me and Kay; and actually managed to come closer than I’d have expected him to. If you see him, make sure he knows he’s going to regret not finishing the job . . . or maybe that’s what you’re here for.”

“Whoa, no way.” Clinton held his hands up in a show of surrender. “We came to check out what happened, that’s when we saw the wreck. Until then, we were combing the woods for that guy’s stolen body, just like you told us to. Why would we want to help bring about the end of the world?”

“’Cause we’re already dead,” Art said. “She thinks we might want to do like Irwin, and make this world in to a place where our kind rules.”

“Then she’s crazy.” Clinton looked at Velt, taking note that she was still very much in a position that lent itself to attacking. “Look, lady, we’ve been here for decades. Even if we had people tying us to this world, those folks are long gone by now. Either they’re already dead, or they’ve changed so much they may as well be entirely different people. Art and I know that our next step is to the other side. We’d have both taken it ages ago if we could, but this damn place has held us prisoner. We want to move on, to see what comes next, because I have to be honest: over forty years of hanging around here has left me soured on the idea of haunting this world. It is boring as shit.”

“Ditto,” Art agreed. “’Sides, I figure that next world has got some fun and mystery all of its own. I’m ‘bout ready to explore it.”

Velt slowly, very slowly, released the coiled tension in her muscles. Maybe these two were full of crap, but on the whole she’d been dealing with spirits long enough to spot which ones were stuck on this plane, and which ones were refusing to leave. She didn’t trust them entirely—that would have been beyond foolish given the night she’d had—but she was willing to give them a chance to prove the truth of their words. After all, they were going to need as many people on their side as they could get.

“One false move, one thing to even make me suspect that you’re playing both sides, and I will break you apart in the slowest, most painful method I can possibly manage. Understand?”

Clinton and Art looked at each other, then nodded.

“Good. Then go help the others. We’ve got a car to fix, and then destroy.”

Chapter 12

When Irwin found The Emissary, the latter was deep in the woods, stumbling about as he searched for the third site. The thread of magic that connected him to it was persistent, but weak. This was where the land had changed the most, trees and animals having sown new life over the hidden shrine to death. It delayed The Emissary, but did not deter him. He could feel the site all but thrumming with power begging to be set free. It was so near now: the time of the rising, when life would be swept clean from the world and only the glorious dead would remain.

Irwin approached carefully. He wasn’t sure how he’d been able to locate this place. Ever since he’d basked in the light of the last site, he’d felt this strange tug in the core of his gut. It whispered to him, guiding him on where to go, where he needed to be.

“It’s done,” Irwin said, voice so loud that it scared off some of the surrounding wildlife. The Emissary winced involuntarily then glanced about to see if anyone had begun approaching. Silence was one’s native tongue when being hunted, but such follies as talk were to be expected when one worked with idiots.

“Is it now?” The Emissary replied. “You’ve sent her across the divide, torn her loose from that blasphemous flesh she wielded? Do tell me, brother, how did you manage such a feat?”

“I made them crash their car. When I left, she was in a bloody heap. If she isn’t already dead, she will be soon.”

The Emissary had no idea what a “car” was, but no sooner had the word been processed than images bubbled forth from the flesh’s mind: a four-wheeled conveyance mechanism powered by liquid fire. How interesting the world had grown in The Emissary’s absence. Perhaps, when the cleansing was complete, he would find one of these devices and try it out for himself.

“A bloody heap . . . And you’re certain she will not be troubling us anymore?”

“I guarantee it,” Irwin said. “By the time she limps out of that wreckage, we’ll have already won.”

“You had better be right.” The Emissary didn’t bother threatening Irwin with what would happen if he was wrong. There was no point in it; they already knew the score. Better to focus on the third ritual. Even now, with his main threat supposedly eliminated, The Emissary wished to be done with his tasks. He reached the dirt covering the last site before the island and began to dig. For now, there was work to be done.

Only a fool celebrated before victory was fully achieved.

* * *

Auggie slammed the hood down with a forceful push, enjoying the ability to move objects once more. It had been hard work, and he’d made more than a few on-the-spot modifications that had tested the very limits of his ingenuity, but it was done.

“Were I presenting this to a mechanic or car aficionado, I daresay they’d have an outright fit about what I’ve done; however, it should run. Just not for very long.”

“Then someone turn the key, and let’s test it,” Velt said. She was in the corner of the garage, filling up the already-emptied bottles and some old plastic jugs they’d found with gas siphoned out of the SUV. The Charger only needed a bit for what they had planned, so the rest would be better used to add some oomph to its inevitable crash.

“Key?” Auggie would have blushed if he’d had blood and skin. “I, um . . . I forgot that we don’t have a key.”

“Well, then hotwire it, Mr. Technology.”

“Why would I know how to hotwire a car?”

“Maybe because you just Frankensteined an engine using salvaged parts and shitty tools,” Velt pointed out.

“Yes, but hotwiring is a different skill altogether. That’s illegal!”

“Relax, I’ve got this,” Kay volunteered. She strolled over to the driver’s side, grabbed a screwdriver and a pair of wire-strippers from the workbench, and slid into the car. Moments later, the Charger roared to life, though it was pinging and sputtering as it did. This was not the sound of a healthy engine, but it was the sound of something that would move, and that was all they needed.

“Guess that means Kay is riding shotgun,” Topher said over the sputtering racket.

“What do you mean?” Auggie asked. He motioned to Kay to kill the engine, and the noise died away a few seconds later.

“I mean the car is a two-seater,” Topher explained. “Since she’s the one who can turn it on, Kay will have to drive it up with you. Then you can rig it to blow and send it over the cliff. It will get her as far from the island as possible, just in case things go badly.”

“And where do you think you’ll be during all this?” Velt had a damn good idea of exactly what he was planning, but she was hoping he’d surprise her by showing a little bit of common sense. Auggie could have told her that hoping Topher would show sense was like hoping a cat would show humility.

“I’m going with you to the island.” Topher held up a hand in an effort to stop her objection before it even left her mouth. “Don’t even start trying to fight me on it. For one thing, you’re going to confront the guy who stole my best friend’s body. For another, you’re injured and could use the help. And lastly, the fate of the freaking world hangs in the balance: do you really expect me to sit on the sidelines and do nothing?”

“Last time you came out, I had to save you, and it resulted in The Emissary getting away.”

“So don’t save me this time.” Topher held up a lighter and a can of bug spray he’d taken out of Auggie’s bag. “I’ll take care of myself, and if I can’t . . . maybe I can make a little bit of a difference before they take me out.”

Velt dearly wanted to tell him to screw off in no uncertain terms, to tear his idea and ego apart until he no longer harbored any such crazy notions of jumping in to a supernatural fray. Topher was a nice guy: not the smartest fellow in the world, but she’d met the smartest guy in the world, and he wasn’t as enjoyable as Topher. He should lay low and survive so that he could go back to his normal life when this was all over. The trouble with turning him away was that . . . Topher was right. She was injured, and the stakes were too high to risk failure. At the end of the day, Topher just wasn’t as important as the rest of the world, so if he was willing to dive into battle and lend a hand, Velt couldn’t afford to say no.

“You understand that this means you’re probably going to die, right? In the permanent way, not in the ‘there’s still a thin string of hope’ way like Auggie.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve always had a knack for succeeding when people thought I’d fail,” Topher replied.

“Also, what do you mean ‘thin string’?” Auggie added.

“It means I’ll do my best, but you’re a smart guy. We’re past making tactical choices and minimizing risk of casualties. This is a last stand maneuver, and no one can make promises about survival when it comes to those. If I have to choose between stopping The Emissary and safely recovering your body . . . well, I’m sorry.”

Auggie nodded solemnly then looked at Topher and Kay. He loved his friends; he loved working with them and producing a show that afforded them freedom and travel. Auggie had loved his life, even if some would have considered him neglectful of certain aspects of it. He didn’t want to be dead permanently, he didn’t want to move on. But even more than that, he didn’t want Topher, or Kay, or his sister, or any of the other people in the world he cared about, stuck in the same situation as he was.

“Do what must be done,” Auggie said, mustering all the conviction he had to get the words out.

“For what it’s worth, if things go south, I’ll make sure you get the VIP handling when you are processed over.” Before anyone could ask what Velt meant, she grabbed her bag and headed toward the door. “I’m going to go brief the other two spirits on the plan. Get the car prepped, and then, maybe you three should say whatever needs to be said. Be ready within ten minutes.”

Without another word, she walked out of the garage, heading toward the main hall’s exit.

“I guess she means we should say our last words, just in case, doesn’t she?” Kay slid out of the car and walked over to Topher and Auggie.

“That’s how I took it,” Auggie agreed.

“I don’t have much you don’t already know. Auggie, you’re my best friend and I love you. Kay, you’re a nutcase, but you’re a wonderful person, and I’m thankful for the time we’ve spent working together. If I don’t make it, I’ll try to haunt our office, so maybe do an episode where you investigate it. Should keep costs low.”

“I appreciate that,” Auggie said, smiling in spite of himself. “Topher, it seems like you’ve spent the entire time we’ve known each other dragging me in to trouble of all different types. Without your influence, my life would be structured, orderly, and safe. So, from the bottom of my heart: thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.” He turned to Kay. “From the way you drink and live, you’ll probably be joining me on the other side sooner, rather than later.”

“No argument here,” Kay agreed.

“You constantly made my days more aggravating, but you also helped make them more interesting. I wish you only the best in whatever strange twists your life presents you with, and I’m saddened by the idea that I won’t be there to see them.”

“Worse comes to worse, I’ll take careful notes,” Kay said. Both men stared at her, waiting for whatever goodbye she intended to impart. “Topher and Auggie, both of you are fucking weirdos. One is a gym-rat who believes in ghosts with the unwavering certainty of a child, and the other is an anal-retentive geek who secretly yearns to be more exciting. The fact that you both even exist, let alone are friends, is a testament to how crazy-ass chaotic the world is by its very nature. So neither of you are allowed to do anything as mundane as dying, because it took me this long to find people as fucked up as I am, and I’m not letting either of you go without a fight.”

“Well, I think that ends it better than anything I could have come up with,” Topher said. “Pre-death group hug?”

“Just this once,” Auggie said.

“Yeah, why the fuck not?” Kay agreed.

The three embraced, each lost in their memories of the times spent with one another. There is no telling how long they would have reveled in the shared friendship, but Kay’s voice pulled all of them out of the moment.

“Auggie . . . why can I feel you? Like, with my hands.”

Auggie jumped back at her words, then carefully reached out and touched Kay’s hand. Her skin felt firm beneath the gentle caress of his fingers, and all three reached the same conclusion simultaneously. It was Auggie, however, who put a voice to their realization:

“Ohhhhhh fuck.”

* * *

“—and once we’re there, you two get clear, no pun intended. What we’ve got planned isn’t exactly targeted, and if you really are on our side, I’d hate to see you caught in the crossfire.”

Clinton and Art both nodded their understanding. Velt was being tight-lipped about whatever it was she had planned, but they’d seen enough anger in her eyes to trust that she meant it when she said to stay away for their own safety. Velt never struck anyone as the type to overestimate how much violence was going to occur.

“Velt! We have to move!” Auggie phased through the wall at a rapid clip, floating so fast he nearly careened right into the bandaged woman. It was only luck and a quick turn that saved him. He didn’t even pause to reflect on how close he may have just come to destroying himself; the news he had was so urgent. “I can touch living things, which means the third ritual is complete, right?”

“That cocksucker, he’s faster than I thought,” Velt all but spat. “Are the others ready to go?”

“Kay is waiting at the car, and Topher is heading this way, he just had to go through the actual doors.”

“Good. Go back and get your part of the plan in motion. As soon as you get to the cliff, send that damn thing over. It doesn’t matter whether we’re in place or not, understand? Attack immediately; we have to wreck their stronghold.”

“I understand.” Auggie turned to leave then paused for just a moment as a thought struck him. “Velt . . . why didn’t I feel it this time? The other two rites nearly drove me insane, but I didn’t get as much as a twitch on this one.”

“I’ve got a hunch, but it will bum you out,” Velt warned.

“More than having my body stolen and facing down the end of the world?”

“Good point. My guess is that each time The Emissary does these rituals, it drags the world of the dead further in to the land of the living, and that kind of thing is uncomfortable for those being dragged,” she said. “The reason you didn’t feel it this time, is that the process was already so far along, it didn’t represent a very big change.”

“So, the world of the dead is already so close to the living that this was barely a hop,” Auggie surmised. “I think I’d better get back to the garage.”

“Damn, you are a smart one.” Velt watched him go and nearly crash in to Topher as the large man barreled out the front door of the main hall. He glanced around nervously before his eyes finally fell on Velt and he rushed over.

“I’ve got everything I need.”

“Up to, and including, false confidence,” Velt said. “Come on then, let’s go. We’ve got a lovely canoe ride across the haunted lake, followed by an almost-certainly deadly battle on the island of half-formed spirits, all leading up to a showdown with the body-snatching asshole trying to destroy the world as we know it.”

“I bet you use this date on all the guys who stupidly volunteer to risk their lives and stop the apocalypse.”

Velt snorted, in spite of how crazy the situation was. It wasn’t entirely her fault; she always tended to get a little giddy when facing deadly opponents. It was either that or let the fear overtake her, and she didn’t have the luxury of indulging in a nice, quiet panic attack.

“You joke, but it’s been so long since I went on an actual date, I probably would drag the guy to something like this. Which, now that I say it out loud, is such a fucking depressing realization.”

“Here’s an idea: how about if we both make it through this, you let me take you out on a real date? I promise no supernatural weirdness of any kind.” Topher gave her his best charming grin, and for a moment, Velt actually felt tempted. He was kind of cute, and she didn’t object to a man who stayed in shape.

“Sorry, bucko, no can do. I don’t date for a reason. And besides, you can’t keep that ‘no-supernatural stuff’ promise. It’ll find me. It always does.”

“You could let me try.” If he was bothered by being unceremoniously shot down, he didn’t show it.

“Look, if we make it through this, and neither of us dies, I’ll buy you lunch. A platonic, ‘We’re-Not-Dead’ lunch. Take it or leave it,” Velt said.

“I’ll take it,” Topher said immediately. “All right: I got you to actually make plans with me. Now, we just have to save the world. Should be the easy part.”

* * *

“Forget it. You’ve had alcohol and don’t possess a license.”

“My last drink was hours ago, dick, and you don’t have experience driving through back-ass woods at night while keeping the accelerator down.” Kay held firmly to the steering wheel, refusing to give Auggie any opportunity to take hold of it.

“But I’m the one legally allowed to drive!” Auggie protested.

“Yeah, but I’m the one who can drive better. Look at it this way: we’re trying to drive a car that’s half re-wired bullshit and half bomb over a cliff to stop an apocalypse. Those are some exigent fucking circumstances if ever I’ve heard them.”

Auggie stared at her, temporarily stunned in to silence. Then he spoke, more quietly than before: “How do you know what exigent circumstances are?”

“Please. You think I don’t pay attention when my lawyer is telling me what to plead?” Kay fired up the engine, unwilling to waste any more time on debate. “Just hold on to your ghostly ass; I’ll get us up that cliff in no time. I assume once we’re there, you have a way to send it over?”

“Obviously. I brought tools to rig the accelerator to the floor, so it will drive itself over the edge.”

“Fate of the world and all that shit aside, that’s probably going to look fucking awesome when it lands.” Kay shifted the Charger in to gear, adjusted her mirrors, and mashed on the gas, sending them sputtering and pinging into the night.

“Scientifically speaking: hell yeah, it will.”

* * *

It was almost done; the new world had nearly arrived. With the completion of the third ritual, all the preparations were complete. The Emissary had successfully created a sealed environment where the dead could walk freely. Now, all that remained was to free the god who would unleash the power of the dead across all corners of the world.

The Emissary hurried, Irwin floating silently several steps behind. It would be faster if the wraith abandoned the flesh, this vessel whose energy he’d used through the first three rituals. Faster, yes, but also riskier. The final ritual should be doable even without a body; however, some tasks were too important to trust to mere probability. No, he would hold this husk of a hostage until the ritual was complete. Only then would The Emissary shed the trappings and regain his true form: that of a higher being.

Besides, this body might prove an effective shield in case that woman should reappear. The Emissary did not doubt Irwin’s account of injuring her, but he also did not put much faith in Irwin’s judgment. She did not seem the sort to die so easily. The Emissary wouldn’t truly believe she was out of the picture until he choked the breath from her vulnerable flesh with his own hands . . . and perhaps, even then, he would linger a bit, just to be sure.

Whether she was truly dead or not would be irrelevant soon. The Emissary felt dark water pool in the stolen body’s shoes as he stepped onto the lake’s bank. There, across the black waters, was the island. The first vanguard of servants were eagerly waiting, guarding the portal as they’d been ordered. Only one more ritual to go.

One more, and the world would belong to his kind forever.

Chapter 13

“I have to admit, this is a pretty quick way to get across a lake,” Topher whispered.

“When in doubt, use the tools you have close at hand,” Velt replied, voice equally soft.

The two were sitting in one of the camp’s few remaining canoes that hadn’t rotted or been destroyed, moving steadily, but quietly, across the water’s surface. Such a feat would have been impossible if they were rowing——not that they had any oars to begin with——but Velt had hit on a stealthier way to move their tiny boat along.

On either side of the canoe was one of the spirits, Art or Clinton, spectral hands clutched on to the wooden surface as they pushed the vessel along. Velt had gotten the idea as soon as she found out they were able to touch objects. It wouldn’t give them much—if anything—in terms of the element of surprise, but it might give them something. At this point, Velt would take any advantage she could get.

“I think that’s close enough, boys,” she said. The canoe halted its forward progress. Velt had stopped them a ways from the island; though, they could still rush forward and close the distance if needed.

“What are we doing now?” Topher asked.

“Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Either a car careening off a cliff and lighting these bastards up, or The Emissary arriving. I’d like to have Auggie and Kay thin the troops first, but I can’t let the ritual start. There’s always the chance the car won’t make it or something will go wrong, and if we try and wait it out, we’d just be standing here, dicks in our hands, as the undead swarmed up and overtook the world.”

Topher coughed, a gesture equal in both the quietness and the awkwardness with which it was performed. “You . . . um . . . you don’t have a . . .”

“It’s just an expression; you understand what I mean. I hope our signal to move is that car going over the cliff, but I can’t depend on that.”

“Auggie and Kay will come through. They’re both too stubborn to let anything stop them,” Topher said.

“For our sake, not to mention the rest of the world’s, I really hope you’re right.”

* * *

It was a testament to Auggie’s technological skills that the car’s engine held up as it whipped across the narrow path, straining against the incline to move its metal body across the rough terrain. It was a testament to Kay’s driving abilities that they managed to get up to the top of the cliff without plowing into any trees, boulders, or other types of debris. At one point, she nearly hit a rabbit, but some heretofore unknown instinct in its DNA commanded it to leap out of the way at the last moment, sparing it a bloody end beneath the ancient tires.

“For the first time tonight, I am deeply, sincerely grateful that I do not have a body. If I did, I fear basic concern for my safety would have rendered me catatonic.”

“Bitch bitch bitch. I haven’t wrecked us yet, have I?” Kay asked.

“The absence of past events doesn’t preclude them from happening in the future.”

The Charger burst through the last bits of brush, coming to rest at the top of the cliff overlooking the lake. It was almost peaceful to behold: the late night’s sky twinkling with fading starlight that reflected in the dark, still waters of the lake below. This was a spot famed for its romance among counselors back when the camp was functioning, and it didn’t take much in the way of observation skills to see why.

Of course, the effect was somewhat marred by the horde of ghosts milling around the circle of red light on the island, but that was precisely what Kay and Auggie had come here to fix.

“Look at that shit, made it safely, after all,” Kay announced, letting the engine die. She popped open the door and emerged from the driver’s side, then headed around to the back and popped open the trunk. “I’m going to start getting the gas jugs and liquor bottles prepped; you set up your autopilot doo-dad-fuckery.”

Auggie slid over to where Kay had been, grabbed his bag of tools, and went to work. By his estimate, they could have the car ready to go in five to ten minutes. The drive up had taken surprisingly little time, thanks in no small part to the very driving skills he’d been critiquing from the passenger’s seat. It would be close, but if they hurried, they should be able to get the horde of ghosts destroyed before The Emissary arrived on the island.

He’d no sooner finished that moment of calculation than he heard a boisterous cheer roar forth from the island. Though he was too far away to make out details, the way the ghosts were gathering up around one side, encircling a single spot, told Auggie all he needed to know.

They were just a hair too late, and The Emissary had beaten them to the goal.

* * *

“That rat-bastard is fast,” Velt muttered. She gently knocked on the side of the canoe, getting the attention of Art and Clinton. “Full steam ahead, you two.” As the canoe began to move, Velt reached into the duffel bag at her side, pulling out several road flares and two plastic bottles filled with a milky substance.

“Liquor?” Topher asked, getting his lighter and bug spray ready.

“Pretty much. It’s mixed with non-dairy creamer for extra kick.”

“Non-dairy creamer is flammable?”

“Are you kidding? The stuff is super potent. It’s what stage magicians use to make fireballs,” Velt told him.

“I see. So, you’re going to throw the liquor and creamer at them, then light it with the road flares?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“Maybe next time, you should make water balloons,” Topher suggested. “That way you can just toss them, they break, and you’ve got a good spread, instead of just spurts from a bottle.”

“You know . . . that’s not a terrible idea,” Velt admitted. “If I get out of this one alive, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Glad to help. Any advice for me?” Topher glanced over the edge of the accelerating boat. They would be on the island in less than a minute.

“If it isn’t me, burn it. If you run out of spray, grab a stick and light it on one of the nearby fires to use as a weapon.”

“How do you know there’ll be a fire for me to light the stick on?” Topher asked.

Velt answered his question with an oversized smile and a jiggle of one of the bottles in her hand. That pretty much told Topher all he needed to know.

* * *

The Emissary was wet, his stolen body trying to shiver after the experience of swimming through cold water to the island. It wouldn’t hold up in this state for very long, but fortunately, he only needed it for one more task. After that, he’d shed it like a rotten cocoon and The Emissary would once more ascend to his glorious, fleshless existence.

As he pulled the body onto the island, the spirits gathered around, letting forth a triumphant cheer at their leader’s return. These loyal souls were closer to wisps than true spirits; much of their strength had been sacrificed to feed The Emissary’s own power. He intended to see each of them restored, as well as every other follower waiting to cross over from their god’s domain. For millennia, they had served there, waiting for the ritual to be complete, earning a place to linger as the fruit of their efforts ripened. The Emissary would bring them all back, and they would be the rulers of this new, better world. The faithful would be repaid, and the blasphemers would be torn to dust and scattered on the wind.

He barely had time to soak in the welcoming words of the gathered spirits, let alone begin the ceremony, before the first inhuman howl tore through the night. From the back of the crowd, a bright light rose. It was unlike the crimson taint that oozed from the waiting portal. No, this was clear and unsullied; it danced across the shadows, destroying all it touched. As the spirits parted, The Emissary could make out a pair of spectral soldiers lying on the ground, their forms rippling into nothingness as the fire devoured them whole.

Next to them, holding a sparking cylinder and a bottle, was that woman. Her right arm hung low, probably broken in the crash, and there were bandages wrapped around her appendages and head. One might have expected that to dull her ferocity, but one would have been exceptionally mistaken. She locked eyes with The Emissary and gave the smile of a jungle cat watching from the underbrush. There was no deception in her, no false overtures. Her sentiment was perfectly and honestly written across her face: she had come to sow havoc and reap destruction. In a strange way, The Emissary respected her candor. Though they were clearly entrenched on different sides of this battle, he found it impossible not to appreciate someone who entered battle with such earnest intentions.

“You appear to have failed me after all, brother.” His eyes flicked to the edge of the body’s vision to take note of Irwin, who was trying to float quietly away.

“N-no I didn’t! I haven’t failed you unless she actually stops the ceremony. If I deal with her right now, I’ve still done my duty.” Just as Velt did not conceal the violence in her intentions, Irwin made no effort to hide the desperate begging in his voice.

Had the coward been a few steps closer, The Emissary would likely have destroyed him right then and there. However, Irwin was just far enough away that attacking him would require The Emissary to turn his back on Velt. Even at this distance, The Emissary did not see that action going well. In this situation, it was better to let her handle Irwin and hope his flailing failure bought them more time.

“Very well. Go forth and prove yourself, brother. It is the last chance you will get.” The Emissary leaned back and raised his voice, bellowing to all the spirits clustered about. “That woman has come to stop our ceremony, to invalidate the countless years of sacrifice and effort we gave to create a better world. Kill her now, no matter what the cost!”

Across the island, Velt licked her lips and tightened her grip on the flare. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

Auggie barreled out of the car, phasing through more of it than he bothered avoiding. If The Emissary had returned, that meant Velt and Topher would be charging in without waiting for them. Velt might be okay, but Topher would almost certainly end up in dire straits. Against fewer spirits, perhaps, they’d stand a better chance, and Auggie was going to do his damnedest to thin that horde.

He grabbed one of the jugs of gas and slapped it into place, mounting it on the Charger’s exterior so that it would spill and spread on impact.

“Aren’t you supposed to be rigging the pedal holder-downer thingie?” Kay asked, putting her own gas jug in place.

“No time. Just get the car prepped.” Auggie grabbed a bottle of liquor and popped the cork, gently dousing the top of the vehicle in trails of booze. They’d stowed a few explosives in the car’s frame——items Auggie had pointedly resisted asking Velt why she kept on hand——but it wouldn’t hurt to make extra sure that everything flammable was given proper ignition. The plan was to light the top of the car on fire just before sending it sailing.

“Do you have some shitheaded way of getting it off the cliff?”

“Of course,” Auggie assured her.

“Then why didn’t you use that in the first place?” Kay crossed her arms and halted work, staring at Auggie with the sort of defiance he’d been around her long enough to recognize as non-negotiable.

“Because it’s dangerous,” Auggie said, continuing to do his own work. “And there wasn’t a need to take an unnecessary risk before.”

Kay opened her mouth to object, but before she could, they both heard The Emissary screaming at his troops, demanding Velt’s blood. Kay’s words withered under the harsh reality of their situation. Velt and Topher needed their help, and needed it soon enough to still matter. A risky delivery method was better than sitting on the sidelines, watching their friend get massacred as the world ended.

“Throw me some tape,” Kay requested, getting back to work even faster than she’d been going before. She only hoped the two of them would be fast enough.

* * *

Velt took down the first wave of spirits with a squirt of the mixture in her bottle—something she mentally referred to as bang-juice—and a few sparks from the flare feebly clutched in her shattered arm. Her right hand couldn’t do much, but it could fling sputtering flames about willy-nilly, which happened to be exactly what she needed it to do.

The fire and liquid combined in the air, torching three of the weakly-formed attackers and causing them to dissipate within moments. Others were singed, but not outright destroyed. Unfortunately, the horde showed signs of intelligence; instead of continuing to rush forward and be burned away, they spread out, encircling her.

By her count, she had one more good gush of bang-juice left, and maybe a minute remaining on the road flare. She had more of both, but with only a single arm, it would be nearly impossible to pull them out and still defend herself. So, one more fire-attack, and then it was down to hand-to-hand. That suited Velt just fine; she was far more comfortable using her own strength than she was with tricks and tools. They were useful, there was no denying it, but at the end of the day, she never trusted anything the way she trusted her own fists.

As the spirits tried to form a perfect ring around her, one taking a spot directly at her back, she felt a blast of heat and then heard a ghostly scream of horrible pain. Topher emerged from the shadows, makeshift flamethrower at the ready, and took a spot defending Velt’s rear.

“I thought I told you to stay put unless I needed you.”

“Being surrounded on all sides seemed a lot like you needing me,” Topher snapped, flicking his lighter and staring down an aggressive-looking spirit.

“Not sure if you’re overestimating them or underestimating me, but either way, I’m a little offended.”

The spirits finished spreading out, the only hole in their circle the one that Topher was nervously, yet relentlessly, defending. Though they had no muscles to tense, each member of the horde appeared to be doing just that, flexing their internal might as they prepared to charge.

Velt glanced away from them for only a second, locking eyes with Topher and flashing a weary smirk. “Five bucks says I take out double what you do.”

“You’re on.”

There were no more words, no more time for banter. The spirits raced forward, coming at Velt from nearly every angle. She put the flare next to the tip of the bottle and whipped both through the air, creating a thin but steady arc of bang-juice that caught fire as soon as it left the container. Within seconds, she was out of fuel, but two of the ghosts were burning. The bottle, already warped from the heat, hit the ground as she slammed a fist into the nearest spirit’s face. Clearly, it hadn’t been expecting a bare-handed offense, let alone an effective one. What it had expected made no difference as Velt’s attack carried through, lifting it off the ground and sending it rocketing through the air.

She swept her leg, wincing at the pain as she took down two attackers from her left. Admittedly, it didn’t exactly knock them over, since they were playing fast and loose with gravity, but it still sent them spinning through the air, which gave her time to deal with the next spirit stupid enough to get within striking distance.

Topher was behind her, doing a surprisingly good job of holding his own against the various spirits that had decided he was impediment enough to warrant some attention. His mini-flamethrower wasn’t potent enough to take out a spirit unless he caught them by surprise, like he had the first one, but it was capable of keeping the spectral attackers at bay. The only downside was that he could already feel the can getting light as the fluid ran low. He had three more cans stuffed in his waistband, as well as a small bottle of Velt’s bang-juice, but he was hesitant to grab another until the one he used was completely empty. After all, once he ran out of fire, he was going to be pretty much helpless.

As Topher battled, one spirit hung to the sidelines, concealed by the others’ formation. Irwin watched as the big man sprayed and swept his flame, noticing the way he would periodically shake the can. It wouldn’t be a large window, but if he was quick, it would be enough. Irwin knew he could never take down Velt by himself; the growing count of beaten or fully-destroyed warriors proved that point thoroughly. What he could do was the same thing he’d always done: hide behind someone bigger and stronger.

All-too-soon, Topher’s can of spray refused to cough up more than a few droplets. He let the can fall from his hand and reached into his belt for another. Just as his hand closed around the surprisingly cool metal surface, Irwin barreled forward from his hiding spot, sinking a hefty shoulder into Topher’s injured rib. It knocked him off balance, but still Irwin pushed. He put every bit of concentration he had into shoving the muscular man along. He managed to move him less than ten feet, but unfortunately for Topher, Velt was only nine feet away.

She was fending off an attack from a trio of spirits, and by the time she noticed his flailing form, it was too late. Topher smacked into her and they both toppled over, falling to the ground. Neither was actually injured in the collapse, but unfortunately, they were both left prone, without weapons or defenses. The spirits needed no more invitation to seize the opportunity, and as Irwin quickly retreated from the impending fray, the others charged, ready to end this scuffle with a blow of deadly finality.

* * *

Across the island, the bulk of the spirits still lingered around The Emissary, providing a protective buffer in case one of the humans got free. He stood over the red circle in the ground, countless magical runes all piled atop one another. How many had died to provide the energy and power needed to fulfill this ritual? How much time had been sacrificed, all leading to this moment when their efforts would finally bear fruit?

The Emissary raised the hands of his pilfered body and began to recite the rites of the final ceremony: final, not just for his goals, but final for the world of the living. With the first word, he could feel the power on the other side of the portal trembling, the undead god scratching at the steadily weakening barrier. Only a little longer now, and that barrier would be torn asunder.

Only a little more, and the world would be changed forever.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Kay asked, her words coming just before the warped roar of the makeshift engine shuddering to life.

“Not particularly, but I don’t have the luxury of time to doubt.” Auggie helped Kay out of the car, then slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel. “Tell me as soon as you light it. I won’t have a lot of time.”

“That’s sort of my fucking point,” Kay snapped. She pulled out her lighter and glanced at the tremendous amount of gas and liquor shining on top of the Charger’s orange paint. “This is fire, and the whole point of doing this is that fire hurts ghosts. If something goes wrong, you could get roasted, too.”

Auggie’s translucent hands tightened around the worn leather of the wheel. “I can think of worse ways to go than saving the world. Maybe there’s some sort of action-hero section in Heaven for people who pull that off.”

“Since when do you believe in Heaven, or Hell?”

“Let’s just say I am feeling far more open to all manner of possibilities,” Auggie replied. “Now, please light the car on fire.”

“I wonder if other girls get told that multiple times in the same year,” Kay mumbled. Auggie might have been tempted to ask for clarification, but there was no time. She ignited the lighter, pressed it to a central spot coated in flammable liquid, and watched the fire bloom. With a sturdy kick to the tire, Kay whirled around and yelled at Auggie.

“Go!”

Auggie didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped the car into drive and slammed down on the gas. For the barest of moments, the tires spun uselessly. Then they finally caught traction and the Charger zoomed forward, racing toward the edge of the cliff. They’d parked far enough back to allow for the maximum buildup of momentum, enough to get the car launched in an arc that would terminate at the island’s center. At least, that was how Auggie’s calculations estimated it would land.

Glancing to the ground, Auggie could see the shadows flickering about as the fire spread. He just had to get the car over the cliff, and he’d be fine. His foot pushed on the accelerator with all its might, willing the vehicle to go just a little bit faster. In the end, it didn’t matter if he survived this, but he couldn’t let anything go wrong before the car was airborne. Auggie kept the wheel steady, and though he had no breath to hold, he tried to take a deep gulp of air anyway.

The Dodge Charger flew off the side of the cliff, and for one beautiful moment it hung in the air, suspended by momentum. In that freeze-frame, it almost seemed to be a flaming chariot, delivering vengeance from a god on high. Then, as it always does, gravity asserted itself, and the flight metamorphosed into a fall. The hood dipped down, and just like that, Auggie and the car were on a crash course for the island.

Though Auggie did consider his life less important than the wellbeing of the entire world, he didn’t want to die unless necessary. He jerked on the handle of the door, popping it open with minimal force. As he leapt out of the falling Charger, taking care to interact with physical material in order to push himself clear of the fire, his foot accidently kicked the center of the steering wheel just as he shoved himself into the air.

As the fiery vehicle, strapped down with explosives, gas, and liquor, fell toward the small patch of earth amidst the watery terrain, a strange melody blasted out, catching the attention of humans and spirits alike. While all noticed it, and therefore became aware of the impending impact of fire and metal, only Topher actually recognized the song.

It was the first twelve notes from the song “Dixie.” He had time to think, just before the Charger landed, that whoever owned it had really gone the extra mile in their attempts to replicate the General Lee. After that, the only sound to fill the air was a horrific crunch and subsequent explosions.

Well . . . that and the screaming of dozens of suddenly-flaming spirits. Auggie’s calculations had been slightly off about where the car would come down. It missed the center of the island, but that was okay.

The Charger had landed dead center on the portal, instead.

Chapter 14

If not for the horn, Auggie’s body and the evil spirit piloting it would both have been caught in the explosion, if not crushed directly under the falling car. When those curiously upbeat notes sounded through the air, though, The Emissary looked up to see what was coming. The other spirits in the vicinity did too, and as a group, they realized that something on fire was falling toward them at a rapid clip.

Before The Emissary was consciously able to process the danger of his present location, Auggie’s body had already begun to move. Unlike the spirits, it was still alive, and was hardwired with things like “reflexes.” Auggie’s body, and its unwanted passenger, dashed to the edge of the island, diving underwater just as the car landed and chaos broke out.

By the time The Emissary regained control and dragged the body back on to land, the once-orderly army was a thing of the past. The initial blast had taken out nearly all of the troops around the portal, and those that remained were scattered. Pools of fire had sprung up everywhere, the entire island engulfed in a staggering heat. The cold water clinging to Auggie’s body began to dry at once.

But it was when The Emissary swept his vision to the left that he saw something even worse than the ruined troops or burning wreckage atop his portal. In the confusion of the explosion, that woman had broken free from the pile of spirits that had crushed in on top of her. Now, she stood silhouetted in the flickering night, deftly handling every attacker that had the misfortune to draw close enough.

The Emissary started forward to handle her, but a thought gave him pause. Hadn’t there been another human with her? The thought came two seconds two late, as Topher’s considerable shoulder slammed into Auggie’s stolen body’s spine, sending The Emissary sprawling to the ground.

Before The Emissary was able to turn around or right the body, let alone deal with the surprising pain of being tackled, milky liquid rained down from Topher’s borrowed bottle. The Emissary glanced up to see the large man staring down with unexpected resolve, lighter in one hand and newly-emptied plastic bottle in the other.

“Get out of Auggie’s body.” Topher flicked the flint and the lighter sparked to life. The Emissary had seen that woman wield the milky liquid on the others; he already knew what the addition of fire would do.

“Fool, if you burn me, then your friend’s flesh will roast as well.”

“I know that.” Topher held the lighter directly over Auggie’s body. If he dropped it, if even a rogue spark happened to fall, there would be no chance to get away. “But I know Auggie would rather see his body destroyed than used to hurt people. So, one more time, get the fuck out of my friend.”

The Emissary was an ancient being; he had worn flesh millennia ago and had served in the domain of an all-but-forgotten god for ages eternal. He had been a leader of men, then a leader of spirits, and had built his life and afterlife around the ability to read and command others. All of that experience served him well as he looked in to Topher’s eyes and realized something critically important:

Topher Nightshade was one hundred percent not fucking around.

With a concentration of effort, The Emissary released his grip on the flesh he’d worn all night, rising into the air in his true form. Topher could see him now: a creature formed from darkness with a pair of red eyes glaring murder at the man who had evicted him from his useful home.

The Emissary snarled at him, enjoying the sudden look of fear in the young man’s eyes. This one was big and strong; he would make a better vessel of flesh. There was still time to clear the circle, still time to complete the ritual. He could still usher in the beautiful new world. He reached his shadowy claws forward, intent on sinking them into this large man’s vulnerable body.

“Hey, shitbrick. Let’s dance.”

Standing a few feet away, wearing fresh scratches and bruises, stood Velt. She held up her good hand and crooked a finger to The Emissary, inviting him to come play. It was a good strategy, the wraith had to admit. The woman wanted to draw his attention before he captured another vessel, while she still had the advantage. It was a good plan, but he would not fall for it. The Emissary turned back around to face Topher . . .

—and caught a blast of fire directly to his ethereal face.

“Why the hell would you look away from me?” Topher yelled, spraying the newly-grabbed can of bug-spray through the lighter.

The Emissary let out a hellish screech and retreated, trying in vain to wipe the fire from his face.

“Take your friend and get back to the mainland,” Velt ordered, turning to follow The Emissary.

“But I can still—”

“Bodies aren’t made to last without spirits in them, moron. Now, the thing is empty, and Auggie has been disconnected for almost an entire night. He needs to get back in there. Soon.” Velt spared Topher no more words, instead, rushing forward to press the opportunity he’d given her by wounding The Emissary.

Tempted as he was to ignore her and keep fighting, loyalty to Auggie overwhelmed his need to pitch in. Besides, she’d been telling him all night that she could handle The Emissary. Time to let the professional do her work.

Topher scooped up Auggie’s body, carefully put it over his shoulder, and ran across the island to the boat. Though there were a few of the horde spirits remaining, they didn’t feel the need to bother him. Most were either trying to put out fires on their spectral forms or just steering clear of the growing inferno around them.

By the time he reached the boat where Clinton and Art were waiting, Topher had realized that Velt had successfully broken the army. All that remained now was their commander.

* * *

Her first punch caught The Emissary right in the torso, or at least, where his torso would be if he weren’t a being composed of soul and shadow. It sent him reeling, even as he managed to tear away the last bits of fire clinging to his head. For any normal spirit, such a burning would have had them halfway dissipated, if not destroyed entirely. Wraiths, unfortunately, were made of tougher stuff. They were the oldest form of malevolent spirit, and they had the power to go with it. They weren’t invulnerable, though.

Velt had already taken out two of these legendary monsters in the past year. Now seemed like a great time to go for the hat trick. She lunged forward, kicking her momentarily off-balance enemy right in what would have been his hip. It was always a strange feeling when her clothing phased through their spectral bodies and her skin connected with the ghostly bare flesh waiting beneath. No amount of incorporeality could get through her. Velt was as real to the spirits she dealt with as fire or silver; she punched right through the barriers between their worlds.

The Emissary scrambled up, wounded but far from incapacitated. His claws extended as the burning red coals of his eyes grew brighter. This woman was strong, yes, but she was still only flesh. If he could bear the pain, then all it would take was a single, well-timed slice. Humans were so ludicrously fragile, after all. Her right arm was either useless, or so close to it that the difference was trivial, which meant she would be ill-equipped to defend against a full assault. No doubt she would get in a few blows with those nimble legs of hers; however, it would be more than possible to sink one of his claws into the soft skin of her throat.

With a burst of speed, The Emissary darted forward, swinging with both arms. Each limb ended in a set of claws that would turn flesh and blood in to nothing more than scattered gore; she didn’t stand a chance. The woman blocked his attack with her left arm as he’d expected, then slid around on her back foot to try and dodge the other claw. The Emissary had been waiting for this, and instead of being caught off-guard, he pressed forward. She might land a kick, but the claws would take a chunk of her throat in exchange. Then, Velt did something The Emissary hadn’t expected.

She spit in his face.

The Emissary paused, first from sheer surprise and then from a sudden and intense burst of pain. It was so bad that he was momentarily stunned, unable to do more than wail. Velt, on the other hand, had no such issues with movement. She seized the opportunity to strike, grabbing The Emissary’s shoulder and driving home several powerful knee-strikes to his torso. Just as the pain began to fade, she released her grip, hopped back, and let him have a full-on punter’s kick right in his center of his mass.

It sent him literally flying backward, leaving him ten feet away when he finally regained control.

“How . . . why did that hurt?” Without Auggie’s body to speak through, he used his own voice, a horrid hissing sound that would have stained most people’s nightmares for years after hearing it.

“Old recipe,” Velt replied. “One part spit, one part bitten-off cheek, swish to combine and you’ve got blood-filled spit. And that was just an appetizer. I wish I could show you the main course.”

“Giving up already?”

“Nothing like that. It’s just that, as I recall reading, your little ceremony and rite bullshit has a clock on it.” Velt nodded upward to the sky behind The Emissary’s dark form. “In case you haven’t noticed, the sky is getting light. I’d wager sunrise is only a few minutes away.”

The damn woman was right; the stars had faded completely and the rich black of the evening sky was retreating to a putrid gray. There was still time to complete the ceremony, but precious little of it. A quick glance at the portal showed that the car was, while still burning, at least down to a smolder now. It was doable . . . assuming The Emissary could get past the copper-haired woman barring his way.

Velt seemed to read his mind, holding up her good arm in a fist and flashing The Emissary a red-toothed grin, blood from her open cheek-wound staining her teeth.

“One more round. All or nothing. You want a piece?”

The Emissary wanted more than a piece: he wanted her in shreds. Given the limitations of the looming deadline, though, a piece would have to do. This time, he would aim for a piece of her heart, ideally still wet with blood.

With an angry snarl, The Emissary flew forward once more.

* * *

Topher leapt out of the boat as Clinton and Art shoved it onto the shore, Auggie’s still-motionless body laid carefully across his shoulder. He scanned the sky again, trying to spot his friend in the growing light of day. There was just too much sky to search, and Auggie’s spirit was already partially see-through. In sheer desperation, Topher put his hands to his mouth and let out a mighty yell.

“AUGGIE!”

“Gah! What!”

Topher jerked around to find himself face-to-face with Auggie’s spirit, floating over from the direction of the dock.

“Why were you over there?”

“Well, I saw you get into the boat and assumed, as any rational person would, that you were taking it to the dock. I floated down to meet you,” Auggie explained.

“Sorry, I was just scared I wouldn’t be able to find you.” Topher delicately removed Auggie’s body from his broad shoulder and laid it on to the damp grass. “Velt says you need to get back in as soon as possible. You’ve been out for too long.”

“Even if that weren’t the case, you wouldn’t hear me arguing,” Auggie replied. “This brief foray into the afterlife has been more than enough for me. I’m ready to be flesh and blood once more.”

“It’s not all that bad, once you get used to it,” Clinton said.

“Assumin’ you can go somewhere other than a summer camp,” Art added.

“Perhaps one day, I will find out, but let’s not make it this day.” Auggie floated over to his body, hoping it was the last time he would see it from the outside. “I think it is time for me to come home.”

* * *

The Emissary let out a sound somewhere between a wail and a squeal as Velt’s arm, slick with blood from the gash his claws had given her, wrapped around his head and squeezed. She released a moment later, lingering just long enough for the sticky blood to sear into the creature’s form, but not so long as to allow him time to counterattack. They each retreated a few steps, slowly circling one another.

This fight was maddening, because, in other circumstances, The Emissary knew he could win. She was still strong, still injuring him every time they clashed, but Velt was slowing down. The blood loss, injuries, and relentless physical exertion were all taking their toll on her body. If there were more time . . . but no: once the sun rose, the ritual would be ruined. Out of the corner of his eye, The Emissary spotted a spirit floating on the sidelines as it watched their battle.

It was Irwin, that useless lump of ectoplasm who was supposed to have killed this woman hours ago. An idea popped in to The Emissary’s head, a way for Irwin to redeem himself. All he needed was one good blow and the fight would be done, and for that, only a distraction was required. Behind his back, The Emissary crooked a finger at Irwin, getting his attention and motioning for him to circle around behind Velt. The lesser spirit took the cue, floating slowly into position.

“Decided to call it and go down peacefully?” Velt asked. “I don’t blame you; looks like the sun will be up any minute.”

“Don’t be absurd. I am here to save the world, to offer all those poor humans a better state of being.”

Irwin was nearly there. Just a few seconds longer, and they could act.

“I will never give up on my duty. You are the one damning these humans to things like pain, disease, and fear. I come to bring freedom and power, yet you want to keep them chained down. You are the monster here.”

“Maybe so. I don’t know if your world would be a better one or not. Maybe it would be a nicer, more peaceful place. Doesn’t really matter to me; my job is to stop you. All that other shit is just details.” Velt brought up her left hand and drew back her right foot, braced for battle. “Besides, there’s not much of a place for someone like me in a peaceful world.”

The Emissary said nothing more; instead, he charged. At the same time, from Velt’s rear, Irwin did the same, rushing at Velt with his shoulder down. It wouldn’t be much of a blow, but it would knock her off balance. In that moment, The Emissary would strike, carving her to tatters. It was likely too late to salvage the ritual—the sun’s light was nearly visible—but if he had to fail, then The Emissary at least wanted to drag this woman down too.

The two spirits raced forward with the single human between them. It was going to work; this woman was going to die. The Emissary reveled in the glow of satisfaction as his claws ached to be coated in her blood, even knowing it would hurt. They were mere feet away now, time for this fight to come to an end. The Emissary began his swing, ready to carve a swath of pain from this woman’s hide.

“Olé, motherfuckers!” Velt spun out of the way, ducking her head to avoid The Emissary’s claws mere instants from impact. Neither Irwin, nor The Emissary could stop in time and the two collided, tumbling through the air and landing inches from the dimly glowing portal.

“Give me a little credit here,” Velt taunted. “Awareness of the environment is part of fighting basics. Speaking of which, I hope you’re in the mood for a tan.”

The sun, the damnable, cursed, horrid sun had crested the horizon. It was only a sliver, but it was enough for whatever cosmic force governed magic. The Emissary could feel the magic that had soaked in to the air crackle and begin to flow toward the portal. The magic’s exodus increased in power with every passing second, and he could feel his spectral form being dragged toward the throbbing red circle that so recently had been a symbol of triumph.

“What the hell?” Irwin yelped as the first of the quasi-formed spirits flew past him, sank into the portal, and vanished.

“These guys were only here on a night pass,” Velt explained. “And it just expired.”

More and more of the horde spirits, or what remained of them after the fire, zipped through the air, vanishing in flashes of red light as they were pulled back to the plane they’d tied themselves to all those millennia ago. The Emissary tried to hang on as best he could, even though he knew it was futile. They had failed to free their god, and now, he was calling them back to show his disappointment.

Irwin got up and began to float toward Velt, suddenly far less afraid of her than the glowing circle at his back, but his progress stopped as a firm, clawed hand grabbed his leg.

“No, brother. I think you will come back with us. We have much to . . . discuss.” With that, The Emissary released his clawed hand he had dug in to the ground, sending he and Irwin hurtling through the air. Just before they vanished, the wraith met Velt’s eyes one last time. The Emissary would find a way back to this plane. He would bear his god’s punishment and crawl back if needed. And when he did, The Emissary would soak his hands in that woman’s cursed blood.

Then they were gone, and moments later, the red circle on the ground vanished, leaving Velt alone on an island with several small fires and an obliterated Dodge Charger.

* * *

Auggie’s eyes opened slowly. It was strange to feel the weight of a body again, to move under the strain of gravity. Then, the pain from his body’s cumulative wounds hit him, and Auggie wished gravity were the only thing he had to deal with.

“Are you okay?” Topher asked, staring down at his friend.

“I think so.” Auggie’s voice was rough and hoarse; clearly the being who had stolen it hadn’t taken care to speak gently. “I feel like total shit, but at least that means I can feel.”

“Sounds like a win to me,” Topher agreed.

Auggie glanced around quickly, realizing they were two people short. “Where are Art and Clinton?”

“They started fading a few seconds ago, right after the sun rose and that portal thing got bright again. I guess the magic that let us see them is gone.”

“So, Velt did it? She stopped the apocalypse?”

“Seems that way,” Topher said.

“That is a relief.” Auggie’s sense of ease lasted roughly as long as it took him to stand, after which, his default pragmatism set in. “Of course, that means now we have to deal with a wrecked rental car, damaged property we don’t own, getting back to town, and where is . . . oh no.”

“What?” Topher tensed, eyes darting about for another rogue spirit to pop up.

“Kay. Kay is going to have to hike all the way down that cliff. She’s going to be in a terrible mood when she finally gets here.”

Topher sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Do we have any alcohol left? It might calm her a little.”

“Let’s hope so. You check the main hall, while I call someone to come get us.”

Epilogue

“Come on, pleeeease.”

“Topher, can you not see how busy I am?” Auggie gestured to the massive stack of papers spread over his desk. “Between booking our new locations, sorting out the mess from all that damage we did to the camp, and trying to find a use for that footage, I’ve got more than enough on my plate.”

“The footage is easy. Just use it for an episode, like I said.” Kay was sitting at her editing station, feet up on the desk, with what she insisted on referring to as a Moscow Mimosa in her hand. In the three weeks since they’d gotten back from Camp Tekonichia, the shooting schedule had been delayed while Auggie got their ducks in a row. Originally, this had been a bit boring, but ever since they discovered Auggie’s new talent during the first week, it had provided Kay with ample entertainment from Auggie and Topher’s bickering.

“You know darn well we can’t use that footage,” Auggie snapped. “No one would ever believe it was real. Even I find myself wondering if it was touched up with CGI, and I was there for all of it.”

“Not all of it,” Topher said. “The remote camera on the dock caught a lot of stuff you weren’t around for. You know, the swarm of ghosts, the car explosion, the big fight at the end.”

“I was very much there for the car explosion, thank you.”

“I mean the part where it landed. You were floating in the air by then,” Topher said.

Auggie was about to lay in to Topher on the agreed-upon meaning of “there,” when he realized it would take him longer to make that point and then persuade Topher to leave him alone, than it would to just humor the large man’s request.

“If I do this, you have to promise to let me be for three days. No matter what tool or trinket you find, you let me do my work. Deal?”

“Deal!” Topher declared. He pulled out his newest purchase from the envelope it had arrived in, walking over to Auggie’s desk and setting it down. It looked like a pocket watch that had been hollowed out and had electronics stuffed in.

Auggie stared at it, clearly unimpressed. “And what does this one do?”

“It’s supposed to let ghosts be audible to humans.” Topher practically beamed with excitement as he stared down at the oddly-designed device.

“Didn’t we have like four of these?”

“We did, but none of them worked; I’m trying to find one that does.”

“Maybe you should just cave in and make him one,” Kay suggested. “Otherwise, you know he’s going to keep buying these things and bugging you to test them.”

“Oh, wonderful. Another project to add to my plate.” Though Auggie protested, a part of him was intrigued. Now that he knew spirits were real—and actually had the capacity to analyze them, no less—the scientist inside him was roused by all the possibilities. He could break unforeseen grounds in understanding the capabilities of a spirit after leaving its body; perhaps even usher in a whole new field of science. All of that would have to come after he settled the show’s accounts, however.

“Make sure to turn it on,” Auggie ordered. “I don’t want to spend any longer on this than necessary.”

Topher reached down and pressed a button on the side, causing three lights inside the device to glow lightly-blue .

Auggie stepped out of his chair and lay on the ground. Through some trial and error, he’d found that even the most seemingly secure position in a chair was dangerous once his body went slack. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed against his body in a way he’d never have been able to describe to those who hadn’t spent an entire night as a spirit.

Once a body has been vacated, it is far easier for the spirit to leave of its own volition. Auggie had learned this accidently one evening when he was relaxing in bed and unintentionally slipped right out of his physical form. After a panicked reentry and a frantic call to Velt, who had thankfully been kind enough to give them her number, Auggie learned that as long as he didn’t evacuate his body for periods of time longer than an hour or so, he should be fine. The woman had been rather blasé about it all, as if she’d expected it to happen.

Auggie’s spirit floated up into the air, examining the room with his spectral eyes. No other ghosts about; that was a good thing, at least. He was anxious to see how his ability to interact with other spirits would impact Specter Quest, since he could now suss out legitimate ghosts and convince them to play for the camera.

“Topher, if you bought this from a place without a return policy, I’m taking it out of your paycheck,” Auggie said, speaking as directly to the device as he could. To his great lack of surprise, the device did nothing more than intermittently blink a fourth light.

“I hope this one works,” Topher said. “The Web site I bought it from is already down, so I don’t think I can get my money back.”

Auggie rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to smile, since the other two couldn’t see him. It was a strange life with these two—even stranger now—but it was a happy one. He was thankful that the world hadn’t been overrun with ghosts, and reminded himself that he still needed to send Velt a Thank You card. Perhaps he’d have Kay bring it on the trip those two had scheduled.

No sense in wasting unnecessary postage.

* * *

The apartments were hideous: sea-foam green paint with red and black Spanish tiles along the roofs. The sign was derelict, and the grass was at the stage where it was just long enough to be ugly, without being so long as to bother the city. Of course, that wasn’t actually what it looked like, merely how it appeared to her. This was a place where mortals weren’t usually welcome, and despite all her gifts and powers, Velt was still a card-carrying human.

She walked up the gray brick path, destination affixed firmly in mind. Without a willful mind, one could easily get lost in the twists and turns of the corridors, which were designed to lead one back outside over and over again. It was a good defense against most mortals, but Velt had never been accused of lacking willpower, though others often called it “pigheadedness.”

“He’s not here.” The voice called to her just before she was about to step into the shaded expanse of the walkway. It came from a young man with thin, pale yellow hair sitting on one of the few benches outside.

“Don’t be ridiculous; he’s everywhere.” Velt knew where this was going, but she refused to walk over to him, anyway.

“In a way. Yes, he is everywhere, but he isn’t everywhere. Not unless he wants to be, which obviously, isn’t the case since I got stuck sitting out here, playing messenger. Now, hurry up and come over so I can go back inside.”

Velt let out a sigh and walked over. There was no sense in getting mad at Chet for the bullshit his roommate pulled. Despite his job, that guy was weirdly non-confrontational, leaving Chet to deal with a lot of his messes.

“What’s my message?” She plunked down next to him, nose crinkling at the overwhelming smell of pot. If Chet felt any shame about his rampant drug use, he certainly kept it to himself.

“That you did a good job, that the two spirits who helped you have been properly crossed over, not that either of us really knows what that means, and that the money will be in your account in a few days.”

“See if you can hurry him along. I’ve got a vacation coming up, and I could use the cash.”

Chet tilted his head slightly. “That’s a surprise. Going off the grid, huh?”

“Only for a little while. I think even I’m due for a vacation every once and a while. Besides, this was a big one.”

“Too bad they couldn’t have handled it,” Chet agreed.

“Meh, the rules are the rules. Mortal-made apocalypses have to be handled by mortals. No point in getting pissy about it.” Velt hauled herself carefully up from the bench, leg still tender from the car crash and fight. At least she’d have the cast off her right arm by the time her and Kay’s trip rolled around. “Tell him he’s an asshole for ducking me.”

“Already did,” Chet replied.

“Appreciate it.”

Velt headed back down the gray stone walkway toward her car. Vacation would be nice, when it finally arrived, but until then, she still had a few smaller jobs to knock out. There was no rest to be had in this world; not even for the dead.

Well . . . not for the dead that were assholes when Velt was around.

Bonus Story!

Years before the adventures of Topher, Kay, and Auggie coalesced into enough material for a small novel, I wrote a different piece about a young woman with a strange gift that put her in a unique job. The woman was, as you have surely already guessed, a medium who went by only one name: Velt. While previously only available for short times, I decided to include her original story (though it is certainly not her origin story) in this piece as a bonus for those who rolled the dice and purchased a book with such a strange and silly title.

This story takes place before the events of Camp of The Undead Apocalypse, so don’t be too surprised to see her making discoveries here that popped up in the earlier book. Please enjoy this novella, or skip over it if you’ve had your fill of the character. The choice is yours.

I present to you: Velt’s bonus story: Substitute Medium

Happy Reading!

Chapter 1

“I know this must seem crazy,” Lucille said, the tears of desperation she had kept off her face leaking in to her voice. “I’m just at my wit’s end. The noises were okay at first, then the lights turning on and off, but now my children are seeing things. Last week, the knife drawer flew out and flung everything across the room.” The middle-aged woman held up her right arm to show a dressed wound along her bicep. “I never believed in any of this, but now, I just don’t know what else to do.”

The young lady sitting across from her kept a stoic face. Lucille was clearly in distress, and had Velt been better with people, she would have undoubtedly reassured her with a gentle pat or kind words. Velt did neither of these things. Nobody called her because of her penchant for sweetness, or her personality. They called Velt when business needed to be handled.

“I can help,” Velt said, her voice low, but solid. “Adrienne explained things to you, right?”

Lucille nodded. “She said the ghost here was an angry one, and that she couldn’t put it to rest. That’s why she recommended you.”

Adrienne was a fellow medium. She wasn’t as skilled as Velt, nor did she possess Velt’s unique talent, but she had a knack for sussing out what a ghost needed to pass on. All of the mediums who referred work to Velt were quality; she didn’t associate with charlatans.

“What you have here is not a ghost, it’s a ghast,” Velt corrected.

“I’m sorry?”

“A ghast. There’s a core difference. All spirits are sustained by strong emotions. Ghosts are sustained by positive ones: love, dedication, protectiveness, things like that. Ghasts are on the other end of the spectrum. Their fuel is hatred, fear, and anger.”

“I see,” Lucille said. Though initially, she’d been the one worried about not being taken seriously, she was finding it hard to trust that the copper-haired woman in front of her was being entirely forthcoming. She didn’t look like the other woman had. Adrienne had smelled like jasmine and cinnamon, and had shown up wearing a long, flowing dress and several crystal pendants. Velt had her tarnished-red hair cut almost mannishly short. She wore blue jeans, sneakers, and a tight tank top that left little to the imagination, not that there was a tremendous amount to showcase. She was not quite pretty, her face sharp and angular, but she might be if she would actually smile. Lucille wasn’t sure what to make of this woman, but at this point, she had little choice.

“So, it’s a ghast, not a ghost,” Lucille said. “Why does that matter?”

“Because ghosts can be put to rest with comfort and love,” Velt explained. “Ghasts usually require a sterner hand.”

“Well, you’re the expert,” Lucille said, a polite smile tugging on the laugh lines etched across her face.

“That I am,” Velt replied, standing from the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“My job,” Velt said flatly. “You said that most events occur in the kitchen?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. Stay out of your kitchen until I come back,” Velt ordered her. “If you come in, I can’t be responsible for your safety.”

Lucille swallowed hard and nodded her understanding.

Velt walked through the house and into the kitchen, her sneakers making no sounds against the soft carpet. She admired the cooking space; it was well-decorated and had modern appliances. She’d been thinking about redoing her own kitchen for some time, and briefly paused to wonder if Lucille had any of the design catalogs used for this place left over.

Velt rested her hand against a granite countertop and examined her reflection. Something about spirits: they loved creeping up on people while they were looking in a reflection. Given that most people couldn’t see them, and only the sensitive ones could even feel them, Velt would never have fathomed that spirits would have such a penchant for the dramatic. Sure as honey covered salmon in a bear trap, though, it brought them running. Velt let her gaze linger on her own visage for a bit longer before turning back to the room at large.

The ghast was a few feet behind her. He hadn’t been an attractive man: bald and overweight, with pockmarks on his face. A faint, red energy swirled about inside him, indicating he was gathering strength to let his presence be known. If he’d been a smarter ghast, he would have recognized her as a medium already, or have listened in on the living-room conversation. That was fine, though. Velt didn’t need him to know who she was. In fact, it usually made her job easier when his kind didn’t.

The red glow around the ghast intensified. He wanted to make a strong first impression. That was the thing about spirits; the initial emotions that sustained them could only do so much. They needed to create more of those feelings in the people around them to get stronger. As they fed off a person’s emotions, that person also grew more vulnerable to the spirit. It was the reason ghasts worked incrementally, beginning with small displays and escalating as the humans grew more and more afraid. The inverse of this was that humans who weren’t scared were much harder for a ghast to physically assault.

“Boy, you were ugly in life,” Velt said offhandedly, not bothering to look at the ghast as she made the remark.

The ghast momentarily lost control, his gathered energy dispersing before he tightened his hold on it again.

“Another seer, like the bitch before,” he snarled.

“Hey now, she might be chatty, but Adrienne is a sweet girl. If you’d let her, she would have put your soul at rest,” Velt said.

“I’ll tell you what I told her: I’ll rest when these darkies get out of my fucking house!”

Velt tilted her head. “Really? In this day and age? You’ve been dead for less than a year, so don’t even try to blame the culture that raised you.”

The glow strengthened and began to spread across the ghast’s arms. He was preparing himself to attack her, and pretty poorly at that. All spirits were usually little more than sentient, shaped ectoplasm. They couldn’t physically interact with the material plane unless they used their energy to force their will upon the living world.

Velt crossed the distance between them and stared in to the dead man’s eyes. He was a few inches shorter than she, and she was positive that if he’d been alive, her nostrils would have been assaulted by the rot of his stench.

“This is the only warning I give. Leave this place, let go of whatever is keeping you here, and move on to the next world. Now.”

“Suck my cock,” the ghast spat at her.

Velt drove her knee into the ghast’s crotch, lifting him up several inches as his eyes filled with shock. Before he could recover, she slammed her fist into his head and sent him sprawling with an elbow to the stomach.

“You can’t . . . I’m dead . . .” the ghast gasped, something quite like pain shooting through him. The red energy was entirely dispersed now, his concentration annihilated. More than that, he felt weaker. Less substantial. He touched his chest where she had last struck him and noticed wisps of his form leaking out, like fog breaking in the morning sun.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Velt strode across the crisp marble tile and slid her toes under the ghast. She delivered a powerful kick upward, shooting him into the air. With a mechanical reaction, she snapped him into her left hand and began punching him rhythmically with her right. Each blow resulted in a billow of ectoplasm, leaving the ghast increasingly transparent.

“How . . .”

“Some people can see spirits, some can talk to them, some of us can kick their asses,” Velt replied. She threw a deft elbow into his head, knocking out a huge chunk of ectoplasm. “I don’t question why, I just accept that there are some things in life we’ll never understand.”

The ghast was completely see-through now; he was holding on by the barest of threads. Velt paused for a moment before completing her task.

“I’d like to tell you that you’ll be thankful I did this, but I honestly have no idea if what comes next for you will be better. So, good luck, I guess.” Velt reared back and struck his chest with a powerful blow. The ghast’s entire shape blew apart, quickly dispersing into nothingness. A few wisps lingered in the air. Then they were gone, and Velt was alone.

She paused on the way out to muss up a few areas and knock over the toaster. People never quite believed she could do her job without leaving an aftermath, so she’d found it was easier to oblige them. She kicked the trash can onto its side, then walked out the door to collect her fee.

Chapter 2

Velt pulled her coat tightly around her. It was bright purple and came down to her calves, made of heavy wool that seemed to get wet even without a drop of moisture in the air. It was impractical in nearly every sense of fashion and function. Naturally, it was the one piece of clothing Velt truly adored. The weather was in a flip-flopping mood, dancing between winter and spring every other week, so Velt had taken to keeping her coat with her whenever she went out on a job. Today, the gamble had paid off, as the cold had snuck up on her city once more, leaving her breath hanging in the air as she plowed through the crowded streets.

She drew a few looks——a striking girl will do that, let alone one in a garish coat——but the gaze she returned left no doubt in the viewer’s eyes where her foot would end up if they dared to make contact. Velt was not what most would refer to as a “people person.”

She walked into her apartment’s lobby and gave a curt nod to the doorman. He was quite adept at his job, having learned the names of every resident years ago. He also knew that Mr. Danfry liked cabs from a specific company, the Turvald couple would tip well when asked about their children, and Velt appreciated quiet familiarity over small talk. Thus, he returned the nod with fleeting eye contact and went back to his work.

Velt quickly unlocked her own door and sauntered in. Most people in the city had several layers of protection on their doors and windows, but Velt preferred an alternative security system to lifeless locks. Her nose was greeted with the smell of sweating onions and simmering tomato. Dylan was making pasta tonight.

“How’d it go?” called a voice from her kitchen, the barest traces of an Irish accent fluttering through it.

“Same ol’, same ol’,” Velt replied, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. The apartment wasn’t all that big—a simple one bedroom with a view of another building—but the design was nice and the maintenance team kept everything looking current. Plus, they were willing to rent to a woman with unorthodox systems of income.

She headed down the short hallway and entered her kitchen. It was far less modern than the one she had fought in today, but at the moment, it was filled with a flurry of activity. There were three pans on the stove, all simmering at different temperatures. A large pot occupied the fourth burner, struggling vainly to reach the necessary boil for the impending pasta. A cutting board was littered with the scraps from a series of vegetables, and in the center of it all, directing like a maestro of chaos, was her roommate Dylan.

Dylan was a geist, a ghost who had been around long enough to obtain levels of control and energy that separated him from the generic spirit population. He could interact easily with the physical world, not needing a running start like the ghast today required. Beyond that, he could travel freely and quickly, appear in any form that suited him, and even step into dreams. Mostly, he just enjoyed cooking, though. He’d had quite the flair back when he was alive, so now, he honed his art by cooking for the living he associated with, which, in recent years, consisted only of Velt.

“So, no trouble?” Dylan asked as he stirred the sauce and shook in some pepper.

“Just an old asshole who went ghast,” Velt assured him. “He barely had the energy to throw a slap, let alone be a challenge.” Velt reached into the fridge and produced a bottle of red wine. She unscrewed the top and poured herself a glass. Dylan winced involuntarily. He’d explained to her many times that red wine was meant to be kept at room temperature, or at least bought in varieties that didn’t come in jugs. His arguments had fallen on purposely-deaf ears.

“It sounded like he was pulling out all the stops on tormenting his tenants,” Dylan said. “I didn’t want you to get taken off guard.”

“Please; that jerk would have dissipated on his own after a few years. No way was he making poltergeist.” Poltergeists were the ghast corollary to geists, spirits of hate that had existed long enough to marshal a new level of power. There were rumors of a spectral level beyond poltergeist; one only reached by the most hatefully determined wandering souls. Velt had never lent much credence to hearsay, though. She’d believe it only when she punched it.

“Just be careful,” Dylan told her. “There are wolves in this world.”

“Wolves are easy. Good gun, good aim, good meal. Done.”

Dylan laughed. “Well, we aren’t having wolf tonight.”

“That’s okay, I prefer penne, anyway,” Velt said. “How long ’til the food is ready?”

“Another hour or so,” Dylan said, glancing at the clock. “The key to flavor is the simmer.”

“Uh huh. I’m going to go grab a shower, then,” Velt said, polishing off her glass and pouring another. She headed toward her bedroom, but her trip was interrupted by a thud from the door. Velt’s whole body tensed. It had been too muffled to be a knock and too loud to be from across the hall. That limited options for its source; the choice at the top of her list was someone leaning against the door as they picked the lock. Dylan had done a good job of leaving any would-be burglars with a pants-shitting level of terror when they entered the apartment, but there was always some dumb son-of-a-bitch in this city ready to learn the same lesson.

Velt set her wine down on her tiny dining table and pulled a metal baseball bat from behind the chair. She kept weapons of the like stashed all over the apartment, ensuring she had a home field advantage if an altercation should ever occur.

She jerked open the door with bat at the ready, poised to deliver an aluminum lobotomy to the dumbass trying to break in to her home. What greeted her instead, was a billow of scarves and a flowing dress, the body within frantically pacing around the hallway and seemingly oblivious to her.

“Adrienne?” Velt said uncertainly.

The whirlwind of fabric settled and revealed a pleasant-looking woman a few years—and kids—past her slenderest years.

“Velt!” Adrienne declared happily. “Thank goodness; I was trying to figure out how to knock on your door, and I thought I had it for a moment, but then my hand went right through, and, well, I know I could have walked in, but it seemed terribly rude, so I was debating whether to keep trying or step through, but here you are! So, problem solved.”

Velt set her jaw. Adrienne was a caring, lovely woman, but she had a tendency to blather when upset: a tendency that led Velt to avoid her in such circumstances. All things considered, Velt could hardly blame her for being a bit on edge at the moment.

“When did you die?”

“Oh, this?” Adrienne gestured to her form, which was noticeably cloudy and traced with the occasional swirl of blue energy. “Happened about half an hour ago. Traffic accident uptown. I always said those cabs would be the death of me.”

“I’m . . . sorry,” Velt said. She wasn’t entirely sure how to react to Adrienne’s blasé explanation. “You’re taking this pretty well.”

“Pish posh; those of us who dabble in the spirit world have no need to fret about such things as our mortality. After all, we’re some of the few privy to the certainty that something lies beyond the final sunset.”

“Right,” Velt said. Another apartment two doors down opened its door, revealing a large man in a puffy raincoat heading into the world. It was only now that Velt realized she was, as far as anyone else could see, having a conversation with an empty hallway. She hurriedly motioned Adrienne in and shut the door behind her.

“Right,” Velt repeated. “Then, not to be crass, but why are you a ghost at all? Why didn’t you just move on?”

“I fully intend to, dear, I just had a few minor matters to attend to first. I’ll need to visit my oldest to give her our bank account information and tell her where the will is; she’s got the gift, so that will be nice and easy. I’ll also want to go visit a few friends in the business and say goodbye. But, as to the reason I am here, I need your help. You see, I was on my way to do a séance when my accident occurred. It’s a family home, recently lost a grandmother, sure they feel her presence and wanting to make certain she is at peace.”

“Ohhhh no,” Velt said, understanding beginning to dawn. “No can do, Adrienne. I don’t handle the fuzzy warm cases. That’s what you guys are great at. What about Carol, or Molly, or Shel?”

“All booked; it is a Saturday night, after all. Aside from which, we were all so close, I daresay learning of my passing will render them unfit for work, at least for a couple of days,” Adrienne explained.

“You didn’t think maybe I’d be too upset to be productive?”

“To be honest: no. You’re a lovely girl, but you tend to be more . . . pragmatic with your emotions. You always put the job first. That’s why I knew I could ask you for help.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Velt said.

“Please, dear; in all my years as a medium, I never broke an appointment. I’d very much like to keep that record, especially if it has come down to my final job,” Adrienne pleaded. “Think of it as a friend’s dying wish.”

Velt sighed. “Damnit.” She walked back over to her table and tossed down the bat. She scooped up the wine, downed it in one gulp, and then headed back to the entrance. She snatched her coat and began buttoning its cumbersome front.

“Keep dinner warm,” she called to Dylan. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Take your time,” Dylan yelled back. “The longer it simmers, the better it tastes.”

Velt tried to take some comfort in that as she allowed herself to be guilted out the door.

Chapter 3

Velt was not insensitive by nature. She was, of course, sad to see the spirit of her friend, or someone who was close enough to one, bustling outside her door. As she rode the cab through town, watching the skyscrapers diminish while more suburban houses appeared, Velt reflected on the fact that Adrienne was really gone. No more frantic calls about a ghast who had upset her, no more relentless monologues about her children, no more awkward lunches where she produced her own seasonings and powdered creamer from her oversized purse, no more boxes of homemade cookies at Christmas, or friendly calls to check in on her. Velt wasn’t particularly good with the living, which was a common trait among those who saw the dead. She was different than the other mediums, too, and Adrienne was one of the few who had actively tried to include her in the community. So, it was with determination that Velt slipped the cabbie some crumpled bills and adjusted her coat in front of the two-story, colonial home: determination to do this séance and to preserve her coworker’s reputation.

The house was quite a beauty; while it might not have been huge, everything about it was high-quality and well-tended. The lawn was clipped, the window boxes were groomed, and the paint was fresh. These were people with regard for image. Velt watched her breath hang in the air for a moment as she tried to figure out how she was going to make these people believe she really had the goods. That she actually could see spirits wasn’t nearly as important as making them believe she could. People wanted a little showmanship with their dead-relative interactions; they wanted to feel their spines shiver and their hair stand up. It was why, despite the fact that Velt was a stronger medium, Adrienne and the others were better regarded. Still, Velt had faked it a few times before, in her early years. She was confident she could at least throw something together.

She walked up the driveway, noting the decorated paving stones beneath her feet. Image mattered a lot to these people; she had a feeling that the girl in the purple coat and jeans wasn’t going to sell well off the bat. There was nothing for it, though, so Velt reared back and slammed a series of solid knocks to the thick, oaken door before her.

It opened immediately, a tall man with dark hair and a form-fitting suit appearing before her.

“You are the practitioner?”

“Uh, yeah,” Velt said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Well, sort of.”

The man merely raised an eyebrow in response.

“I’m here to do the séance, but I’m not Adrienne Willows,” Velt explained. “She was . . . in a car wreck, and asked me to come in her stead.” Velt didn’t want to explain what happened to her any more than Adrienne had liked using her real last name for this work, hence the idiotic pseudonym.

“I see,” the man said without inflection. “I’ll have to inform my employer of the change; he likes to be kept abreast of such things. You may wait in the prepared room while I find out his decision on how to proceed.” The man stepped aside and allowed Velt to enter the house.

She took in the sights as she walked through the door, noticing the polished marble under her sneakers and the various tapestries along the walls. The inside of this place matched the outside in both grandeur and elegance. Someone had purposely decorated this home to give its visitors the impression of money, without overtly displaying it.

“So, what’s the deal, Jeeves? Are you the butler?”

“I’m the executive assistant to my employer,” the man Velt had come to think of as Jeeves replied. “I help with all manner of matters.”

“Gotcha,” Velt said. “Just trying to get a sense of things.”

“Of course,” Jeeves said. “I’ll show you to the room where you will be working, should my employer approve of the alteration in plans.”

“Fine by me,” Velt agreed. Hopefully the spirit was paying enough attention to the situation to be there already, that way Velt could get some background info before things kicked off. It was hard for people to accuse you of cold-reading when you came right out of the gate with things you couldn’t possibly know. It didn’t work as well for building up showmanship, but Velt was pretty much winging it any way she could by this point.

Jeeves led her past the stairs and down a winding hallway. The house was deceptive from the outside; Velt had been positive it didn’t go back this far. The journey continued until they reached an open door showing a modest bedroom through its frame. The décor was more old-fashioned in here, and candles burned on the dresser and night table. Their flickering shadows fell across a variety of pictures, most of which featured the same woman at various stages of her life. Mediums had a knack for spotting key facial characteristics, since spirits occasionally shifted their appearance to different ages without warning. Some did it unconsciously; some did it out of vanity, but either way, if you wanted to keep identities straight when dealing with multiple ghosts, you learned to spot a particular chin or eyebrow ridge consistently.

“I will return shortly,” Jeeves said, shutting the door lightly behind him. There were no orders given, nor was there any soft turn of a lock; however, the message was conveyed all the same: Velt was to stay put until she heard otherwise. Normally, she would have never stood for this shit, and in fact, it took her several deep breaths to keep her cool. This wasn’t about her; this was about Adrienne. She was standing in for a friend, and how Velt acted would reflect back on Adrienne. Even as a dying wish, Velt might not have been able to coerce herself into putting in this much effort, but there was more to it than that. Adrienne had a daughter with the gift, Abby, and she’d been getting groomed to take over the family business. With Adrienne gone, Abby was going to have to step up to the plate, and some rich asshole trashing her mom’s reputation because Velt couldn’t sit still for a few minutes was the last thing she’d need.

So Velt waited, first walking around to inspect the room, then sitting on the bed, and then pacing about. The spirit of the old woman in the pictures was nowhere to be seen, which was a shame because after half an hour, even the normally anti-social puncher of spirits was feeling hard up enough for distraction that a little small talk might have been nice. By the time her wait hit the forty-five minute mark, Velt was well past annoyed and charging headlong into pissed off. She adjusted her coat in frustration, trying to keep warm.

That action finally penetrated her frustrated haze. Why the hell was she cold? This house was ridiculously decadent; there was no way they couldn’t afford a good heating system. She looked at the candles that had burned down over halfway since she’d arrived. It didn’t take this long to tell anyone anything. It certainly didn’t take this long to walk to and from a room to convey a message. Something was wrong, and Velt was done waiting around to find out what.

She grabbed the glass door-handle, half expecting it to be locked. It turned smoothly under her fingers, though, the door gliding open almost effortlessly. It was a small relief that only served to sharply contrast the shock of what greeted her on the door’s other side.

Chapter 4

To say the house had been wrecked was an understatement so gratuitous, it bordered on negligence. The walls were black with mold and peeled paper, the wooden floors were rotting before her eyes, and the windows were all boarded up, shards of broken glass winking beneath them. Father time and a lot of pests had come at this place like it owed them money. It was the kind of house people petitioned their city to condemn, the kind that children milled around the front gate of, eyes brimming with fear and excitement as they whispered in hushed tones, telling . . . ghost stories.

Velt took a breath as those last two words crashed through the floor of her mind. The air stank of neglect and rotten flesh. A rat had once died in the floorboards of Velt’s apartment. She’d thought the stench had been horrific, but it had nothing on this. Somewhere in this place were dozens of rodent bodies, left where they lay by their scavenging brethren, soaking the air with the stink of their decomposition. It was the smell that drove it home; that horrifying taste careening down her throat sent the message clearer than any of the visual stimuli possibly could have. There was no way around it: Velt had been tricked.

The marble, the walls, the tapestries, Jeeves; none of it had been real. That, in itself, was a terrifying concept. Geists and poltergeists were both capable of producing illusions that even mediums couldn’t penetrate, but nowhere had Velt ever encountered a spirit who could do it on such a large scale. To have hidden this many sensory cues, to have led her safely to the room and then left her there… it would have taken a tremendous amount of power. Velt stopped and looked behind her, realizing that this room, the one she’d been left in, looked the same. The burning candles, the pink wallpaper, the smiling photographs all remained. They weren’t part of the illusion, which meant they’d been physically prepared. This wasn’t just some poltergeist luring in an idiot traveler. Those candles had been burning when she arrived. This was a trap.

She would have cursed Adrienne under her breath, but it was too late for that to do any good. Right now, Velt needed to focus less on how much she wanted to punch the woman, and more on how to get the hell out of here. Velt had a few advantages, at least: she was seeing through the illusion, she’d shaken off whatever mental fog had left her willing to sit complacent for nearly an hour, and, of course, she had her talent. Whatever this poltergeist might be expecting, it wouldn’t be a girl who hit back. If she could move fast and make ground before it was ready, she might be able to get out with minimal tussling. Velt wasn’t normally one to shy away from a fight, but going against something this strong with so little information was just plain stupid.

Velt took a delicate step forward. Dust rose off the floor, which protested loudly but held her weight—at least, for the moment. Many people would have gone slowly, testing each board one by one before advancing. Velt knew the folly of that strategy; the more time spent on each board, the greater chance of it giving way. She moved fast, like she was walking over hot coals, her steps light and continuous. Occasionally, she would spot breaks in the board, each one treating her to a sight of the concrete basement floor several feet below. If she went through there, it would hurt, no question of that. One might survive the tumble without breaking any bones, but that was an awfully big chance to take on a maybe. She kept moving steadily, eyes never wavering from the path before her. It was this singular focus that got her as far as she went, and it was also what allowed her to get ambushed.

She was stepping from one particularly treacherous board to the next when a scythe of shadow flashed out from the wall toward her head. She reacted without thinking, dropping to the ground in a forward roll, and then jumping back to her feet. The wood beneath her groaned angrily, and a trickle of blood ran down from her forehead. She’d ducked most of the attack, but she’d gotten a deep slice near her hairline.

The weapon still hung in the air, a piece of true darkness in an area that was merely lacking in light. Velt blinked and realized she’d been mistaken on her first impression. It wasn’t a scythe that had struck her. It was a claw. The figure bubbling out from the wall had elongated fingers, each tapering off in a sharp point. It was all one inky mass of emptiness with a fluttering piece on its back, like a shadow that had donned a cloak. Velt knew it was supposed to look like a nightmarish version of Death, and to nearly everyone else in her situation, that’s precisely what they would have taken it for: a Grim Reaper, if not the true freer of souls from their earthly vessels, then clearly one of his servants. It was a visage that told the viewer all hope was lost, there was no need to struggle, and it would all be over soon.

Velt never wavered, stepping forward on her right foot and bringing the left around in a kick. The shadow turned its hood, a smooth and empty spot where the face would be staring back at her. Even if she couldn’t see it, Velt could still feel it laughing at her, laughing at the silly girl striking a being beyond the reach of mortals. Laughing at how helpless it knew she really was.

Velt laughed too, a sizable snicker as she drove her foot into where its spine would have been, following through with all her might and sending the creature careening through the wall. A pool of darkness evaporated off her foot as she brought it back down onto the floor. She could hear the snapping and splintering of wood, but at this moment, it was low on the priority totem pole. The thing would still be active; colliding with the wall and other matter was utterly irrelevant to it. The only thing that could hurt a spirit like that was Velt. She never knew why. It was never a thought she focused on. Something about her, about her skin, about her body disrupted the energy spirits were made of. Velt didn’t know why, and days like this, she didn’t care. She just wanted to disrupt this shadowy cocksucker until her fists were numb.

She didn’t have to wait long before five blade-like fingers swung at her from the side wall. She shifted her weight and let them slide by her, snagging the hand by its wrist once the sharp side was past. Velt gave the bony wrist a hearty tug to pull her opponent free of its material shield. Even poltergeists were made of mostly energy, which meant someone with mass could toss them around if they could get a solid grip. She might not have their illusions, incorporeality, or other talents, but so far as any spirit was concerned, fighting her strength was like trying to stop a tank with a daisy.

That was how it always had been before, anyway. Velt could barely move this spirit, her full-bodied jerk scarcely freeing more than half its arm from the wall. The fingers rotated around, not bound by fleshy sockets to protest, and flew at her once more. This time, Velt had to sacrifice her footing and still came away with five identical slashes across her ribs as she tumbled along the floor. She drew up again near the other side of the hallway, far enough away from both walls to at least have some reaction time for the next attack. The pain in her side caused her to wince, and she tried to wrap her mind around what was happening.

She’d fallen for an illusion, she suspected her mind had been fogged, and now, she was fighting an evil spirit that was so powerful, it was nearly as strong as a corporeal person. Her kick hadn’t done nearly the damage it should have, and while the act of touching her had to be hurting her opponent, it was still pressing forward relentlessly. Velt had fought many a ghast and poltergeist before, and the strongest ones couldn’t have pulled off half of this. There was only a single other option, albeit one she was loathe to face.

“Wraith,” Velt whispered as she put her hand against the wound gently weeping blood down her side. She pressed her right hand to her temple, smearing the rest of the shallow cut’s drippings away with her knuckles. Wraiths were the darkest of spirits, ones fueled not just by anger and hate but by actual death. They evolved beyond poltergeists by capturing the terror of their victims in the moments of their demise. Velt had never really believed their existence was possible; however, she wasn’t the kind of person to deny what was right before her. Either it was a wraith, or it was a poltergeist so damned strong that the difference was academic. It didn’t change anything for her.

“Call me what you will, mortal. I wear many names, but all mean the same.”

Its voice came from in front of her as it slid free of its last attack position. Velt briefly thought it sounded like snakes writhing across a grave. She pressed her left hand hard against her rib wounds, cupping the hand so as not to spill too much blood on the floor.

“So, you’re claiming to be Death?”

“For you. For all, eventually.”

“Just one problem with that,” Velt said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “I’ve met the actual Death, and he is nothing like you. For one thing, he isn’t such a dick, and for another—” Velt whipped her left hand forward, spraying the accumulated red fluid in the air and across the wraith’s body “—he’s not dumb enough to stand still and taunt.”

There were few hard and fast rules of magic and monsters a person could depend on, but one of them was the potency of blood. Blood was always vital; blood was always necessary; blood was always powerful. If Velt’s body was a hammer to spirits, then her blood was extra-strength acid.

The wraith screamed a horrible hissing wail as the red droplets struck its body, each spot immediately bubbling and smoking as its essence was scorched away from the central form. Velt didn’t wait for it to recover; she charged forward and swung with everything she had, the blood on her knuckles shredding the wraith’s outer shell as her fist drove deep into its chest. The wail intensified and Velt reared back for another blow. She never got the chance to deliver it; unfortunately, the wraith had already focused through the pain.

It snared her legs in its massive claws and lifted her easily into the air. Velt had a moment to appreciate the role reversal in being the one tossed about effortlessly, before the wraith slammed her forcefully into the crumbling, wooden floor. She passed painfully through it, her body continuing its descent until she finally came to a jarring stop and the world went black.

Chapter 5

Velt let out a soft groan as she swam through her mind and surfaced in the waking world. Judging by the way splinters were still raining down around her like a wooden shower, she hadn’t been out for more than a few seconds. Carefully, she tested her body for injury. She’d landed on her side, breaking her left arm and cracking what felt like about three ribs. Her spine and head were fine, which was surprising, given the length of the fall and the force with which she’d been flung. As Velt began to take in her surroundings, though, the source of her miraculous survival became sickeningly clear.

Beneath Velt’s bruised form was a human body, its torso crushed from the impact of the copper-haired girl falling on top of it. The face was twisted in a mask of pure terror, eyes bulging and mouth wrenched open in a never-ending scream. All of this was disturbing, but none of it would have affected someone with Velt’s experience. No, the part that turned her stomach was something different entirely.

It was Adrienne’s body she had landed on. Adrienne’s face twisted in horror, Adrienne’s skin that strange symbols had been carved into. Velt was only alive now, because no one had been there to stop her friend’s demise. She pulled herself slowly to her feet and looked beyond the twisted body of her friend, taking in the rest of the room.

The basement was concrete all around, bare save only for cobwebs and dust. The only door out was opposite Velt’s current location and hung slightly ajar from the frame. Around Adrienne’s corpse were candles that had burned down and a series of arcane marks that encircled her.

Velt took a ragged breath and felt her sternum protest. She mentally adjusted the injured rib count to four. The circle, the candles, and, of course, the fact that Adrienne’s ghost had appeared before her all pointed to this spirit, this wraith, being competent with magic. People often forgot that there was a reason corpses were blessed and stored on hallowed ground as quickly as possible. The physical shell and the soul were intertwined for so long that the wrong kind of person or thing could work all manner of mischief with access to a fresh body. Sometimes, they were used as vessels for foraging monsters. Other times, the spirits themselves were subjugated.

Velt had only heard of such things. Never had she experienced it, though there had been all manner of rumors among the fellow mediums when her mentor died. She never put stock in it, never believed any ghast or poltergeist could work such manner of wickedness on one as strong as him. This was different, though. This was right in front of her eyes.

She crouched down and began wiping her blood across the marks carved in to Adrienne’s face and hands. The wraith would need to recover after her assault, so she expected she had a little bit of time: probably not enough to get this job done, but that didn’t matter. Adrienne was a friend; Velt couldn’t leave her like this. Admittedly, she didn’t know much about magic; however, it stood to reason that whatever energies the wraith was using were still based in the spirit’s spectrum, so maybe her blood would disturb them. Or maybe it would do nothing. Velt was pretty much swinging blind.

After coating the marks in blood, Velt turned her attention to the floor. She kicked over the stubby little candles and dragged Adrienne’s corpse out of the circle of symbols. That done, she checked her friend’s mouth and eyes for any totems or items of power. She found a single hair on Adrienne’s tongue. Velt plucked it out and set it down across the room. Then she closed Adrienne’s eyes while her own stared at the shell of what was once a fellow medium.

“Sorry you got killed,” Velt said lamely, the sound of her own voice foreign as it reflected off the thick walls surrounding her. “You were a nice person to me, and if you had to go, I wish it had been more peaceful. I’ll help Abby where I can, but we both know Shel—”

There was a rippling across Adrienne’s form as her ghost emerged, hazy and unfocused at first, growing sharper as it ascended. It clawed its way forward, sparks of blue energy crackling off her fingers as they contacted the concrete. Adrienne stayed on all fours, hair dangling down and eyes facing the ground. Velt couldn’t even make out her face with the long, spectral hair tumbling down around it. She could hear her, though, hear the shredded voice that emerged with considerable effort.

“Abby,” Adrienne croaked. “Carol. Shel. Molly.”

“They’ll be okay,” Velt assured her. “I’ll get out of here and tell them you passed. I’ll soften the details, too.”

Adrienne shook her head weakly, her hair dancing about as she did. “Sent . . . me . . . to . . . them.”

Velt’s skin felt like ice. She’d thought it was only her who was in danger, that she could get away and come back to fight this thing when she was better prepared. If the others were on their way . . . well, Velt’s options became more limited. Pragmatism overcame fear or sentiment—they always did with Velt—and she addressed the first issue at hand.

“How long until they get here?”

“Not long. You were . . . closest.” Adrienne’s form was wavering as she struggled to keep focused.

“Can you tell me anything about this monster? Anything at all that might help?” Velt asked, her eyes sweeping the room. If she’d really managed to free Adrienne, then there was no way the wraith didn’t know. Sooner or later, it would be coming down here. She needed to be ready.

“Old one. Knows magic. Wants . . . needs us. Mediums.”

“Why us? This thing has more than enough power to manifest and fuck up some mortals.”

Adrienne slowly lifted her head, allowing Velt to see her ghostly face. Both eyes had been torn out and a sizable chunk of her cheek was missing. There were gouges taken out of her chest as well, along with a ragged chunk vacant on the side of her neck.

“Eats us. Eats souls. Says mediums are . . . the . . . the best.”

“Motherfucker,” Velt said, her hands balling up unconsciously. Killing someone was bad enough; binding their soul was an evil step above. But to destroy their spirit was something else altogether. It removed them from the cycle of life and death, stole away whatever came next. It ended them, in a way more permanent than any other. It was supposed to be nearly impossible to do. Even Velt’s ability of destruction merely unformed their energy and forced them to move on.

“Save them,” Adrienne begged weakly. “My daughter . . .”

“Your daughter will never see this place. I am going to wreck this wraith and make sure the others never set foot in this house. I promise you.”

Adrienne gave a weak smile, a small bit of comfort on her mutilated visage. “So kind.”

“That’s your bag; I’m just doing my job,” Velt assured her. “On that note, I should probably hurry. Anything else you want me to know?”

“Need . . . help.”

“Nah, I got this one. You rest.”

“No . . . I need help.”

“Oh.” Velt felt her eyes try to moisten and fought back the sentiment. “Oh. Are you sure? You can hang around a bit, learn to change your looks, say some goodbyes . . .”

Adrienne shook her head, her hollow sockets staring directly in to Velt’s eyes. “Goodbye.”

Velt let out a sigh and twitched at the fresh wave of pain. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to let the woman recover and take the path in her own time. Velt understood, though; she’d have to go wraith hunting soon and leave Adrienne alone. There was nothing to stop it from circling back and coming after what remained of her. Adrienne didn’t want that any more than she wanted to see her daughter while in this state. She wanted to go with dignity and peace. She wanted it over. And this was what Velt did.

Velt crouched down carefully and lifted her right arm. Adrienne lowered her head once more, eyeless sockets now staring at the ground. Velt would be fast; one good blow to the head should do it if Adrienne wasn’t trying to hold together. She steadied herself and took careful aim.

“Thank . . . you . . . Charit—”

Velt’s fist smashed Adrienne’s form and dissipated it before her sentence could be completed. There was a quick swirl of loving white smoke, and then nothing remained of the wispy woman. Velt carefully pulled herself to her feet and scanned the room to make sure the wraith hadn’t come for her yet.

“You know I hate that name,” Velt whispered to no one in particular. She walked back to Adrienne’s physical body and tore off strips of material from her long, flowery skirt. It was dangerous to take all this time, but not nearly as dangerous as fighting both a wraith and blood loss simultaneously, which was precisely what she would be doing if she didn’t bandage some of these cuts. Besides, she was beginning to suspect her opponent would wait until she emerged from the basement to attack. It was too open and spacious to accommodate surprise strikes like the wraith seemed to favor.

With the gashes on her side bound (a process her ribs had bitched about every step of the way), Velt began going through Adrienne’s pockets. She found a few crystal pendants, some “sage dust” as Adrienne had called it, her wallet, a half-full fifth of vodka, a lighter, and a near-empty pack of generic brand cigarettes. A bit more digging through a side pocket turned up what Velt had been hoping to find: a small satchel with various plastic baggies inside. She opened every one of them that held a white powder, tasting through two artificial sweeteners and one bag of real sugar before finally finding what she needed. Velt took a swig of the vodka to help with the pain, then stuffed all of it into her own pants and began heading for the door, taking a mental inventory as she went.

Crystals, dust, smokes, spices, white powder, barely-bandaged wounds, a worthless left arm, and an, as-of-yet, undetermined number of cracked ribs. Meanwhile, Douchebag the Asshole Wraith had probably fully recovered from her assault and was gearing up for round two. Whichever way Velt turned the situation around in her head, the conclusion was always the same: she was fucked. If there was one thing that summarized Velt, though, one core aspect of her personality that was as unwavering as the sunrise, it was this: If she was going to get killed, she was goddamned certainly going to go out swinging.

Chapter 6

Wraiths didn’t have senses in the same way as humans. No spirit did. They had sight, which was actually better without the common weaknesses of physical eyes, and they also had excellent hearing. Touch was limited, though it grew stronger as the spirit’s power strengthened. Smell was a rare gift among the departed, and taste was something different entirely. Only the purest or wickedest souls could still taste, and in neither case did that stimulation come from traditional food. For all their loss, they did gain the ability to sense others of their kind. It was a talent that made beasts like this one all the more dangerous.

The wraith had seen the gaping hole in the wooden floor and surmised the woman had gone into the basement. It had expected to see her corpse over the lip of the chasm, but instead, it found the copper-haired woman bustling about. She had stolen the wraith’s prey; there was no sense of any energy still lingering in the older one’s corpse. It burned with anger at this slight; though rage was a constant for it anyway. It also tingled with anticipation. This one was strong, far stronger than any of the other souls it had feasted on. This one would be delicious.

It retreated from the hole and waited. The woman had a strange skill, and her blood had been the first dose of pain the wraith had experienced in centuries. It hadn’t endured this long by being stupid. It would wait until she was back in its halls, where it could fight with the advantage.

She emerged from the basement sometime later, her eyes flickering about with caution. The door let out into a large room, and she avoided the walls. That was fine. There were many narrow halls she would have to cross before she reached the exit. The wraith moved ahead, crouching in a room that shared a wall with the path she would have to take. This was the perfect spot for an ambush. It was at a tight turn in the hall and had rooms on all sides. The wraith could pin her down, striking and moving back to cover before she could use her blood trick again. This was perfect. The wraith waited, listening for her footsteps.

Several disappointing minutes later, it peeked a shadowy head out from its hiding place and looked down the hall. No sign of the girl. That could only mean she hadn’t left the room; this path and the basement were the only ways out. Perhaps her terror had overwhelmed her, rendering her unable to move. That would be disappointing. The wraith found souls had more flavor when they died with hope. It flowed back to the room, at first taking the space to be empty. Then it noticed the flutter of purple fabric peeking out from the other side of a rotting wardrobe. The medium was trying to steal its tactic, lying in wait for an ambush. If the wraith could have laughed, it would have, though the sound would have left all who heard it with fits of terror for the remainder of their days. Stupid girl forgot that waiting with her back to a wall only made sense against corporeal foes.

The wraith worked its way through the walls, eventually positioning itself directly behind where the girl would be standing. Its claws lengthened, their dark forms as sharp as a lover’s rejection. It would take her in one go this time. Their dance had been entertaining, but now, it was time to feast. The wraith surged forward, slicing with its claws as it passed through the wall . . . and found itself tangled in a sprawl of thick, purple fabric.

“Downside to not being alive when there was television is that the oldest tricks in the book are still new to you,” Velt quipped, jumping on top of the struggling figure and trying to keep it ensnared. Hanging her coat on a broken corner of the wardrobe had been easy; hiding herself under a nearby desk had been much more difficult. The spirit writhed beneath her, giving Velt a distinctly unsettling feeling already that was only growing worse as the blood on her coat worked its way across the wraith’s body.

“I’ll cut you slowly for this!” The sound was somewhat different when it was in pain, more like a whispered howl.

“Only if we both end up in Hell.” Velt reached into her pocket and pulled out the vodka. It had turned milky from the white powder dissolved in it. She hurriedly twisted off the cap and dumped it as quickly as she could on to her jacket. The blood would lose its charge soon, and when it did, the wraith would be able to pass through the fabric like any other physical matter. It didn’t take long to halfway empty the container, but she still received three more deep cuts in that short span. The wraith’s inky form was beginning to leak through its edges; it was now or never time. Velt wrapped her broken left arm—still numbly clutching the half-full vodka bottle—around the monster, pulled out the lighter with her right hand, flicked it on, and pressed it to the damp fabric.

There was a reason the gods doled out such a harsh punishment to Prometheus for bringing fire to man. It was not just that he’d moved them beyond their intended capabilities; it was that he’d given them a weapon more powerful than they were ever meant to handle. Fire was not just a means to cook food and find one’s way after the sun sets. Fire was heat, and warmth, and life. Fire beat back the darkness. Nearly every monster in every culture has a weakness to flames, and that was not a coincidence. Fire was real, for every person, animal, and thing in between.

Even for spirits.

The wraith roared as it was suddenly engulfed in an inferno; the jacket became a fireball as soon as Velt had kissed the small flame to its fabric. This was no accident or cheaply-made material. The white powder had been non-dairy creamer, which had caused an explosive ignition while the vodka kept the fire going with a slow burn once it was lit. Velt dropped off in a rolling motion, both because she wanted a speedy dismount and because she knew there was a good chance she was on fire as well. Rising back to her feet, she turned to face her flailing adversary. It was in hellish pain, no question about that, but it was still worming its way free from the coat. Velt found that unacceptable.

She squirted the rest of the mixture on the wraith itself. The liquid passed harmlessly through at first; however, about midway through the wraith’s form, the heat caused it to combust, creating a fire inside its shadow body. The roar of pain it released caused the house’s already-weakened structure to shudder and Velt to clutch her ears in agony. It would be weeks before her hearing would fully recover, and she was strangely okay with that.

The wraith finally bucked from her coat, now more cinders than jacket; it did little good, however, since the wraith was now on fire as well. The remnants of jacket still had enough oomph to light the floor on fire as they crashed down, the dry wood catching as if it had been waiting all its life for such a moment.

Velt’s fist caught the wraith in its hooded head, sending it tumbling through the air. She smiled despite the slight burning sensation on her knuckles. It was noticeably lighter; the fire had stolen a tremendous amount of the wraith’s power. She rushed over and landed two more rapid blows, each causing a dark cloud of energy to dissipate from the shadowy figure. She briefly entertained the idea of holding on and punching it; however, the odds of burning her hand clean off were far too high. A kick followed up her punches instead, its trajectory purposely aiming her opponent to crash in to a piece of the wall that was now burning with gusto. Another horrid wail sent dust swirling from overhead, and for the first time since the basement, Velt paused to consider her situation.

The house was definitely on fire now; the jacket’s floor-flames had engulfed two walls that she could see. Add in the home’s initial structural instability and it became clear that this abode was living on very borrowed time. Taking one last look at the shrieking shadow trying to claw its way out of the flames, Velt turned and dashed down the hallway. The boards still creaked below her feet, but now, she didn’t have the option of exercising her careful step strategy. Smoke was already filling the halls. It seemed the fire had spread more than she realized during her scuffle. Good. Velt had promised Adrienne no one else would get trapped here. Of course, that didn’t mean she was obligated to go down with the house. She ran faster, her breathing growing shallow as smoke began to fill her lungs.

After ample cursing of the M.C.-Escher-loving asshole who built this place, she at last found her way to the foyer. The door was there, barely visible through the acrid smoke, but there all the same. She was five steps from it when something grabbed her ankle and sent her tumbling to the floor. Fortunately, this part was not over the basement, so the shattering boards only gave her a multitude of splinters. Unfortunately, the thing that had pulled her down was the wraith, or what was left of it.

Gone was the billowing cloak of shadow, the formless figure who had stalked her. What remained looked like a charred skeleton, the fire having wicked it down to its literal bare bones. The phalanges encircling her ankle were still strong enough to hold her, though, and as the black skull stared at her with unadulterated hatred, she understood that it had abandoned all exit strategies. It was a being of anger and malice. It would destroy itself merely to ensure she burned to death as well.

“Why won’t you die?”

“Family tradition,” Velt spat, her fist cracking against its head with all the strength she could manage. Adrenaline compensated for lack of oxygen, and the wraith was thrown a few feet back, its grip broken. The shadow skeleton recovered quickly, skittering back toward her like a spider made of bone. It took long enough for her to pull free one of her bandages, though. As the wraith drew near, she acted first, pouncing forward and grabbing its wrists. Earlier, the wraith could have easily chunked her off, but now, her corporeal advantage had returned. She pulled its arms behind its back and twisted the cloth around them twice. Jerking down, she brought its wrists low, snatching its ankles and binding them with the cloth one by one. Her chest wounds had been soaking this cloth in blood for the better part of twenty minutes, so there was no risk of the magic running out before the fire did.

Velt left the wraith on the floor. It wouldn’t be able to phase away with something physical binding it. She staggered to the door, more groping her way than seeing it. Grasping at the knob, she twisted it vainly as the door refused to move. Velt smacked at the deadbolts, her vision now entirely gone in a mixture of burning tears and smoke. Behind her, she heard a hissing chuckle and realized the monster was trying to laugh at her. She pawed at the door furiously, turning the locks again and again to find the right combination. Her head was swimming, her ribs ached, and all she wanted to do was lie down for just a few minutes. Her last effort failed as she pushed against the door futilely. It was still locked, and she was out of energy to keep trying. She propped herself against the wooden barrier and closed her eyes. Dimly, she thought she heard a faint clicking sound.

The door came open and nearly fell off the hinges in the process. Velt stumbled out into the cool nighttime air, made it exactly six steps onto the damp grass, and collapsed.

Chapter 7

The funeral was held several days later. It was far from extravagant; mediums were hardly flush with cash unless they were charlatans, and the woman these people came to mourn had been dedicated to her craft. Granted, she was a bit difficult to be around at times, but she held the respect of her peers for her tireless dedication to aiding the wandering dead. Many people showed up, more than even she would have expected: people she had helped over the years, people who she would have thought had forgotten her. She would have been wrong. She’d left a lasting impact on the world, leaving it a better place than it would have been without her.

Velt was there too, so bandaged she felt like she was doing an awkward impersonation of a mummy, but there. She paid her respects to Adrienne’s grieving children, and then kept her distance. This was the celebration of a life that had passed on. There was no need to get into the nitty-gritty of just how that passing had occurred. Occasionally, she would catch Shel or Carol casting uncertain glances at her. They’d arrived sometime after her escape, discovering her unconscious form in front of what had become a full-on inferno. There’d been almost nothing left to save by the time the firefighters got there. The firefighters had brought EMTs with them, who had hooked Velt up to an oxygen machine and told her she was lucky to be alive. Velt disagreed; she wasn’t one to attribute a person’s actions to random chance. Someone had pulled the door open. Someone had saved her. Which meant someone had known she was there in the first place.

The cemetery where Adrienne—or at least a coffin stuffed with some of her belongings—was interred was a very nice one. None of the mediums noticed an excessive amount of spirits, which was a good sign. It meant peaceful people with full lives had been set down here. Velt was glad—even knowing her friend’s spirit was gone and the body had been charred to ash—the graveyard was where her family would come to pay their respects and visit. That made it important.

She hung back as the coffin was being lowered into the ground. There was nothing to be said, and her presence only made some of the people uncomfortable. The story she’d spun about getting a distress call from her friend only to find her stuck in a house had kept Velt from jail; though, it didn’t absolve her from the suspicions of their community. It seemed referrals were going to be a slim business in the time to come. Personally, she was just thankful to be alive and unincinerated.

“All clear,” Dylan reported, floating over from a nearby mausoleum. Since her close call, he’d barely let her go out alone. He kept saying that in her weakened condition, she was easy prey for a malevolent spirit, even though she’d rightly pointed out that as long as she kept her head down, no ghast could know what she was. Dylan had calmly listened to her arguments and then followed her anyway. It was annoying a lot of the time, but today, she was thankful for it. The wraith had left her on edge; coming to a place with lots of spirits was a scary prospect. Having backup helped her nerves stay in check.

“Good. We can head back now.”

“Don’t you want to stay for the prayer?”

“I’ll pass. Adrienne was a good person. If there is something nice for people who deserve it, then that’s where she’s going. Nothing we say or chant down here will make a difference.”

“Cynical as always.”

“I stick with what works.”

The cab ride home was a silent affair; Velt couldn’t hold a conversation with Dylan without the driver thinking she was a nutter butter. Sometimes, she kept a Bluetooth headset for when she wanted to talk with spirits in public and not get the crazy stares; but today, it rested, forgotten, on her mantle. A handful of cash to the driver, a quick ascent up some narrow stairs, and Velt was home. Thankfully, the building was warm; the day’s chill had seeped into her bones. She wore a threadbare windbreaker to cut the cold, but it didn’t have the same stopping power as the dear purple jacket she already missed.

“Stop!” Dylan yelled as they reached her door, throwing up his hands and breaking Velt from her internal reverie. “Someone has been inside here.”

Velt froze. She nodded to Dylan, who stepped through the door to scout. Her keys danced through her hands as she pretended to search for the right one. Her face wore a puzzled expression, masking the quickening terror rippling through her mind. What if the wraith had survived? What if it found her? What if it was devouring Dylan right now? That last one gave her nervous system a kick as she decided she’d waited long enough and advanced on the door. Before she had a chance to stick her key in the lock, it clicked open from the other side and Dylan pulled the door open.

“All clear?” Velt asked.

“No danger that I could find, but . . . I think you need to come see this for yourself.”

They walked through her hall, stopping only to close and lock the door, then down past the kitchen and into the bedroom. For a moment, she was uncertain what Dylan was talking about, and then her brain registered what her eyes were already saying was wrong. When she’d left, her twin-sized bed had been bare, but for the tangled sheets and one over-fluffed pillow. Now, something was spread out on top of it, something that couldn’t possibly be there.

Laid out as neatly as if it had been brought by a laundry service was Velt’s purple coat. She picked it up carefully, half-expecting it to explode at the slightest touch. This was her jacket, all right. Same scent, same soy sauce stain on the sleeve, same shitty repair patch where the shoulder had been torn.

“There’s no spirit energy that I can sense,” Dylan supplied helpfully.

Velt nodded without really listening. There was a yellow piece of paper tucked into the right breast pocket. She pulled it out carefully and unfolded it. On it were two words, written in immaculate, cursive calligraphy, and nothing more.

“Good job,” Velt read out loud, crinkling the page between her tightening fingers.

“What does it mean?”

“I think . . . I think it means that whole thing was a test,” Velt said slowly.

“That rather boggles the mind. How, and who, and why, and back to how again. I mean, to have organized all that would be no small feat.”

“No joke,” Velt agreed.

“So, what do you want to do?”

She stripped her windbreaker off and donned her hideous purple coat, surprised at how much better she felt with its familiar weight across her body. “Honestly? I have no idea. This shit is way above my usual level. I guess the best strategy is to see what their next move is.”

“We just wait for them to pull you into another trap?”

“I didn’t say that. I said we wait to see what their move is. That doesn’t mean we’re going to do nothing, though. I need to get better, I need to research the shit out of wraiths, and then, I need to train. Because whatever this dickhead sends at me next, I’m going to tear it to fucking shreds.”

“Tell me what you need from me.”

Velt glanced at her see-though roommate and gave him a very rare smile.

“Coffee. Lots of coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Drew Hayes is an author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books. He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of like a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.

Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail. He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at NovelistDrew@gmail.com Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.

Read or purchase more of his work at his site: DrewHayesNovels.com

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Bonus Story!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author