Turning to the center, I light the large, white pillar candle. When it flickers to life, I bow my head, stealing a moment to calm myself. Despite my best efforts, my pulse continues to race.
Should this go wrong, I’ve made assurances. My legacy will live on. Yet, I still hope for the best.
Digging into my left pocket, I hold out my hand above the candle’s flame until the skin aches from the heat. Should this be my last act, I want to at least remember what it feels like to be alive. Bowing my head, I whisper the words meant to call the Moirai to me.
If this works, it will go one of two ways. They’ll either forgive this transgression, or I will be dead before I can speak my piece. There’s only one way to know for sure.
Opening my palm, I allow the handful of frayed red threads to fall into the flames.
I wake up in a cold sweat, unable to move or even breathe. The dream was so real, but so far away. As if I was watching someone else—not me—do the actions.
Something big is coming and whatever it is, I’m totally unprepared for it.
If I can’t get Abigail to come to me, there’s really only one person I can turn to for clear answers.
Tomorrow, come hell or high water, I will find a way to track down my dad.
Chapter 6
One Reason
As it turns out, tracking down a man without a cell phone is more or less impossible. Over the next two days, I’ve tried just about everything imaginable. Just shy of calling my mom and asking if she would know, I finally resign myself to scribbling a note on the kitchen counter for James.
I still have no idea when he comes and goes. He’s almost as elusive as one of the ghosts. But if there’s anyone who would have details, it would likely be him. Even if he wants to pretend he doesn’t.
Tomorrow, Wade and I have to do our presentation on the Fates and we’ve barely even scratched the surface on research. After what happened last time, it’s safe to say neither one of us wants to study at my house. But I’ll be damned if we study at his. So, the Academy library it is.
With my dad still MIA and the study session lingering over my head, the entire school day drags on and on. As interesting as it is to learn about psychic drawing, spirit crossings, and truth hidden in myths, it’s not until I get to Malevolent Spirits 101 that I actually perk an ear.
“As we’ve been discussing, malevolent spirits aren’t always easy to distinguish. Oftentimes, they come across very benign,” Professor Lambert says, sweeping his light-brown eyes over the entire class. His expression is tight, as only a tenth of us seem to be paying any particular attention. The entire back row appears to be in varying degrees of grogginess.
To be fair, it’s hard to concentrate in his class. It’s the last one of the day and by this point, even with the cooler autumn air, the room is stiflingly hot. Add on top his slightly monotone speech and you have yourself a recipe for glazed eyes and nodding heads.
“So, with this in mind, what is the number one way to know if a spirit you encounter is benevolent?” he continues. Professor Lambert catches my gaze long enough to realize I’m awake and he says, “You there, Ms. Blackwood. Any thoughts?”
I sit up a little straighter. “Not exactly. But I can tell you from experience, when they’re angry, you’ll know it.”
The professor quirks a gray eyebrow. “You’ve encountered a malevolent spirit?”
I nod, scratching at the side of my head. “Oh, yeah.”
“Do you feel safe?” he asks, sudden interest blossoming in his tone.
I squirm a bit in my seat but tip my head. “Yeah, it’s no big deal. It’s only been the one time.”
He holds my gaze for a moment but returns to his air of academia. “You see, the manner in which a human dies plays a vital role in its ability to cross over. Not every soul becomes a ghost, and not every ghost deteriorates into malevolence.”
I raise my hand.
“Yes, Ms. Blackwood?” he asks when he notices.
“Is there any reason a ghost would go unseen?”
He narrows his eyes. “How do you mean?”
“Well, I already know I can see ghosts. But the one…the malevolent spirit—I can’t see it. I was wondering if you knew why?” I say.
Tipping his head in contemplation, he says, “Could be any number of things. Appearing corporeal takes energy. If the spirit is fairly new, it might not have mastered that ability. Did you say it was angry? Did it do something?”
My eyebrows knit together, and I nod. “Yes, it attacked a friend.”
Professor Lambert paces in front of his desk and rubs at his chin. “All right, so it could be that it needed to muster enough energy to physically interact. When we’re alive, we take all the physical interactions we have for granted. But when you’re a spirit, each interaction is depleting. The more energy it needs for one form or another, the less it has for a different form. Does that make sense?”
“I think so,” I say. “Basically, if the malevolent spirit wants to, say, choke someone or blow out lightbulbs, it can’t also muster the energy to be seen?”
“Precisely,” he says with a curt nod.
“Ah, gotcha.”
My mind is a cyclone of thoughts, each vying for a moment’s attention. I barely hear the rest of the class as I contemplate who—or what—is now in my house and how I can get rid of it. Even if it’s never attacked me, the energy has certainly turned more hostile, and the last thing I want to do is live in a haunted house. Well, more haunted than usual, anyway.
When class is over, I make my way down the hall as people everywhere disperse from the building and head home. Wade is already waiting for me at a back table when I enter the library.
“Hey,” he says, flashing me a tentative smile.
“Hi,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him. I drop my backpack to the floor and pull out my laptop.
“So…” he says, scrunching his face.
“So,” I repeat, locking eyes with him.
“How have you been? We haven’t really touched base much since the whole conjuring reenactment,” Wade says, smirking.
“I should be asking you that, actually,” I say, pointing to him. “Are you okay?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Fit as a fiddle. But definitely glad to be studying here.” His silver eyes catch mine and I can see the wheels in his mind turning. “Anything else happen? I mean, have you been—”
“Yeah, nothing really all that strange since. It’s weird, though… Since I can’t see it, I don’t know who or what it could be. I mean, I know it’s not Abigail, even if she’s been a bit MIA. I can still sense her around me. It’s like she’s just, I don’t know, busy or something. But this—”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s Abigail either. When I was disembodied, I got a good sense of her. She means well and definitely has an air of benevolence. Whatever attacked me…”—his eyes go distant—“it wasn’t her.”
“What did it feel like?” I ask, narrowing my gaze. “When it attacked you.”
“Like something was pressing on my throat and I couldn’t get any air,” he says, shuddering. “But first…there was just an extreme sense of oppression. Anger. Fury, even.”