Sisters of Blood and Spirit

  That was the theory. I’d never met a ghost who could be in more than one place at once. Of course, there was always the chance that Bent would completely destroy me and then my sister, or start with Lark and then come for me. I tried not to think about that. Instead, I reminded myself that Bent thought himself incredibly powerful—and he was. But so was I. I might not know how to best use my power, but I was well aware of possessing it.

  So, I lurked as Roxi and Gage watched some awful reality show on the hospital television, and waited. I’d have left here altogether if I hadn’t been worried there was some small chance that Bent would attack the two of them just for fun. He didn’t seem to have an agenda beyond increasing his forces.

  “You’re here again” came a voice from the door of Gage’s room.

  I turned—it was the man with the bloody legs and hospital gown. “Hello.”

  “If you’re here, does that mean he’ll be here, as well?”

  “I think so.”

  He frowned. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I want to stop him, but I need to protect my friends.”

  He peered past me at Gage and Roxi. “They don’t even know you’re here.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’m still going to protect them.”

  “Who’s going to protect us?”

  He had been a grown man when he’d died—at least in his early forties. I assumed he’d been a fully functional mortal. “You are.”

  Johnny Shirt shook his head. “He’s too strong.”

  “There’s one of him, and a whole bunch of you just wandering these halls. If you stand against him he can’t hurt you. That’s just simple math.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, you’re Dead Born.”

  Could they smell it on me or something? Did I glow an odd color? “And I know next to nothing about what that means.” It was embarrassing to admit that. “Yet here I am. I’m going to stand up to him. I’m going to fight him.”

  “You’re going to lose.”

  I scowled. “Go find some underwear.”

  And then he was gone—just blinked away. I guessed I’d hurt his feelings, but he annoyed me. Maybe it was wrong of me to lure Bent here when so many of the hospital’s ghosts were vulnerable to his power, but surely they’d faced bullies before? Either in life or in death. I was surprised a hospital this old didn’t have its own version of Bent. At least some sort of hierarchy. Other than Johnny Shirt I hadn’t really spoken to anyone else. There was that poor little toddler who had upset Lark, and that strange girl with no face, and that was it.

  Why hadn’t anyone come to inspect me? They had to be curious. I was still wondering about that when I felt a jolt up my spine. Lark was in danger. The ghosts at Haven Crest had found them. I shouldn’t have to wait much longer...

  “Hello, child.”

  I closed my eyes—just for a second. I had to gather all my courage just to turn around. Bent scared me. There was only one thing that scared me more.

  “Don’t call me that,” I said. “It’s condescending.”

  Bent put his hands in his pockets as he entered the room. “What should I call you, then? Miss Wren?”

  I lifted my chin—tried to look imperious. “That would do.”

  He chuckled. “I think I’ll just call you Girl.”

  “And I’ll call you Douchebag.” Oh, wouldn’t Lark have a laugh?

  Bent’s brow furrowed. “What sort of name is that?”

  “An appropriate one,” I replied.

  “It sounds like it might very well be an insult.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s because it is.”

  A smile curved his thin lips. “Then perhaps I should simply call you Wren and you may call me Josiah.”

  “I’ll call you Bent.”

  “Even better. Wren.” He glanced around the room. He looked so out of place in his old-fashioned clothes. “You’ve given the boy some protection from me. The girl, too.”

  “Did you think we would leave them vulnerable to attack?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I’d hoped that you might be ignorant enough to do just that.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “You know I would have been content just to toy with them a bit if you and your sister hadn’t come along.”

  “I may be ignorant, but I’m not naive,” I informed him. “You would have slowly infected and killed them all.”

  “Perhaps. You’ll never know, will you? Because now my focus has shifted to something much, much more dear.”

  Why did he bother trying to be cryptic about it? “Me.”

  “And that delectable sister of yours. Where is she, by the by?”

  As if he didn’t know. “Right now she’s probably putting an iron bar through some friends of yours.”

  “They’ll eat her alive.”

  I shook my head, even as fear kicked up in my stomach. “You don’t know my sister.”

  “I know she’s not nearly as strong without you—or you without her.”

  “You have no idea how strong we are.” Of course, neither did I.

  Bent moved away from the wall. “I’m older than you are, sweetheart. I’ve been doing this a long damn time. You think I’m going to let two little bitches come between me and what I want?”

  I made a tsking sound. “Such ungentlemanly language.”

  His face changed—became harder and sharper. “I’m done playing nice with you. It’s time you learned your place, and I intend to put you in it.”

  On the bed, Gage turned to Roxi. “Does it feel cold in here to you?”

  She gave him a worried look. “Yeah.”

  He took the moss agate from beneath his pillow and held it in his fist. Then he pulled his girlfriend close. “Kick his ass, Wren.”

  I smiled. It was the most perfect thing for Gage to say at the most perfect time. I turned to Bent. “So, what now, Douchebag?”

  A lot of people thought that ghosts fought by flinging things around, but that wasn’t really it. We were as physical as humans, but it was also about exerting one’s will over another ghost. It was like dominance. I expected Bent to stalk me, like a cat on a mouse.

  He charged me, coming at me in a streak of malevolence. He caught me up in the force of his attack, whipped me around and threw me through the wall out into the corridor. The force of it made the cupboards in Gage’s room clatter.

  I spun myself right and landed on my feet in front of the nurses’ station. The faceless girl sat on the counter, watching. She had the toddler in her arms, and it was playing with her hair.

  Bent stepped through the wall. It was grandstanding, because he could have just come out the door.

  “You could make this easy on yourself,” he told me as he approached. “Just join me and spare yourself a world of hurt.”

  “Or you could just go away, stop picking on teenagers and end all of this now.”

  “Why on earth would I want to do that?” He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Their fear feeds me. Their torment strengthens me. Why should I give that up?”

  “Because mortals aren’t here to provide you with a buffet.” It was how ghosts drew energy, though. “You used to be one, a long time ago.”

  Bent’s face contorted into a twisted mask. “You think you’re superior to me because you never lived.”

  That wasn’t what I’d meant at all, but I’d take it. “I’m superior to you because I don’t need to make others afraid to feel important.”

  “Important.” He spat a gob of ectoplasm on the floor. Disgusting. “No one but your sister and that puny medium can even communicate with you.”

  That struck a nerve. “Did killing all those girls when you were alive make you feel important, Josiah Bent? Could you only be a man when you had s
omeone’s throat under your blade?”

  Apparently that struck a nerve as well, because he charged me again. This time I was ready. I caught him up in my arms, engulfed him in my darkness—the power all ghosts have, that boils deep within us, black and tempting—and then threw him to the floor. He could either go through it, or take the blow. He took the fall, skidding across the tiled floor until he hit the wall.

  Slowly, he rose to his feet. He hadn’t expected that from me. “I’ll feel like a man when I rip your sister apart,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy her.”

  It was a cheap trick, but effective. Anger bloomed deep inside me and spread like a wildfire. I went at him like a freight train, only to be caught up in his energy—that swirling choking mass. He didn’t let me go right away, either, but held me tight.

  “That’s it,” he crooned in my ear. “Get furious. I want you to lose control. Give in to your true nature and join me. No one will be able to stop the two of us together.”

  He was right. We’d be so powerful, he and I. We’d take whatever we wanted. Even the ghosts watching our struggle were afraid. The fear of other ghosts was even more potent than the fear of humans. I felt it tickle my spine, fill me with anticipation. I wanted that fear. I wanted the power he promised me.

  Bent released me. We were back in Gage’s room. He and Roxi were still on the bed. They watched their show, but their eyes darted about the room and they clung to each other like vines.

  As if one was really any protection for the other. Foolish little mortals.

  “Do it,” Bent whispered. “They’re yours for the taking. Don’t let a little piece of rock stop you. Imagine how afraid they’d be of you.”

  I didn’t have to imagine—I knew. I could kill them so easily, slip my thumbs into their eye sockets... I would like it, and it would all be because of Josiah Bent.

  I turned on him with a smile. He was smiling, too.

  “You have really pretty eyes,” I said.

  LARK

  Three ghosts down, and I was exhausted. I wasn’t going to last much longer.

  As I swung the iron bar through another ghost, I could feel Wren like a whisper inside my head. She was fighting Bent. I couldn’t stop long enough to be afraid for her.

  “Lark!” Ben shouted. “Get back in here, now!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. They’d finished placing the iron and flags. I started walking backward, keeping my attention on the ghosts closing in on me. It was like something out of a horror movie—a whole line of corpses pressing down upon me. Some looked good, as they had in life, while others looked like twisted, monstrous things. I believed that what a person was in life manifested when they were dead—it showed on them in ways they’d managed to hide when living.

  My steps were careful. I glanced behind me again as I neared the iron bars. If I knocked them with my foot I could create an opening. A fraction of an inch would be enough to let a ghost in. I wanted to reach out my hand to Ben, let him pull me in, but that might mess up the line, as well. Sarah’s thick barrier of salt was only going to hold out as long as the breeze.

  “How far are you?” I asked.

  “I just hit something,” Mace answered. “They didn’t bury him six feet down.”

  “Awesome.” And I meant it. It was about freaking time something worked in our favor. If all we could have was lazy grave diggers then I’d take it.

  I was maybe a foot from the edge of the perimeter when a new ghost appeared before me. She was tall and sturdy—what they would have called “handsome” in her day. She had really strong, striking features. She was dressed in capri pants and a snug blouse—very rockabilly without the tattoos. I could feel power rolling off her.

  And then I felt it in an entirely new way when she backhanded me.

  I fell to the side, landing hard on my hip. Thankfully, I missed the bars.

  Ben shouted my name.

  “Keep digging!” I yelled back. “Get that son of a bitch uncovered!” It was the quickest way to end this and ensure my safety. As it was, I was a little skeptical on that last part at that moment. I reached for the bar I had dropped, but before my fingers could wrap around it, I was picked up, and held up in the air so that I looked down at the ghost. She smiled—like a shark—and then tossed me like a rag doll.

  I flew through the air and came down hard on a grave marker. They were flat and not very large, but they were still stone. I felt one of my ribs crack under the force as all the air rushed from my lungs.

  Oh, crap. Oh, hell. That hurt. Slowly, I struggled to get to my feet, holding my hand against my ribs. I’d barely made it to my knees when she grabbed me again. This time she hauled me to my feet and slammed her forehead into my face. Blood spurted from my nose. Had she broken it? Great. I liked my nose, and now it was going to be all messed up.

  I should have been more frightened—I realized that. I didn’t know why I wasn’t. Adrenaline, maybe. Stupidity. Whatever the cause, it made me focus enough to land a good solid punch to her throat. She staggered backward—surprised that I’d managed to strike her—and I used that hesitation to come at her with a spinning round kick to the head. She retaliated with a hard left. Then she picked me up and slammed me to the ground.

  Something else snapped inside me. I tasted blood in my mouth.

  She was going to kill me. I knew that.

  Having died once already, I wasn’t afraid of repeating the process, but I’d be damned if it would be at the hands of a ghost. I was more afraid of what would happen to the others with me gone. With any luck I’d end up with Wren, but more than likely I’d end up a prisoner of this place—and that was what really terrified me. I didn’t want to be one of Bent’s puppets.

  I would not be one of Bent’s puppets.

  I kicked her hard in the knee, and she went down. Then I landed a kick to her face, crushing her nose. Ha! Then suddenly she was on me—moving with the speed of the dead. I was aware of her fists slamming into my face, but I couldn’t tell you which one or how many times—it was all a blur. A painful, bloody blur.

  Behind the red film seeping over my eyes, I saw the white-haired woman. Was she there or in my mind? Looking at her filled me with a sense of peace.

  “My dear girl,” she said in a low, melodic voice as she reached out and touched my face. “This is not how you end. Now get up and fight.”

  It was like she had flicked a switch inside me. Awoke something. One moment I was a battered meat-sack on the verge of death and the next... Well, I didn’t know what the hell I was.

  The white-haired woman was gone, and so was the blood in my eyes. I reached up and grabbed my attacker’s wrists. I threw her to the side and leaped to my feet. My ribs hurt, but it didn’t matter. In fact, none of the pain or blood mattered. I felt strong—so strong.

  “What are you?” the Bettie Page wannabe asked, her eyes wide.

  I smiled. “I’m Lark.”

  When I lunged for her I moved faster than I’d ever moved before. I hit her hard and sent her scattering. My fist was more effective than an iron bar.

  What the hell?

  I couldn’t even wonder at what I’d just done because another ghost took her place. This one was a kid from the ’70s. I might have had some sympathy for him if he hadn’t called me a disgusting name before he attacked. I kicked him in his ghostly nads before shoving my fist under his chin and up into his skull. Poof! He was gone.

  This time two more came. They managed to get a couple of punches in before I nailed them both. A third sneaked up behind me and kicked me hard between the shoulder blades. I staggered forward, right into the path of another ghost, but I dived out of the way before he could strike. I lashed out, scattering both of them.

  I was surrounded. At least six or seven dead had formed a circle around me. My mysterious savior had made me incredibly strong an
d fast, but there was no way I could take on this many at once. I bent my legs into a crouch, then pushed up hard. I jumped high into the air and did a backflip over the heads of the ghosts that had been behind me.

  I’d never done a backflip in my life. Never. I scooped my iron bar off the ground where I had dropped it and threw it at the circle. It took out three of them before embedding itself in the ground. The remaining three came at me. One hit me hard about the head, but I shoved my fist through her chest. Another went for my stomach and doubled me over, but I managed to punch him in the groin. The last one I kicked and then struck as he fell.

  They were just going to keep coming. The ones I scattered would eventually regroup and return. I couldn’t win this fight. It didn’t matter how good I was. Eventually they would wear me down and finish me.

  “Got him!” Mace yelled.

  I ran for the grave and jumped over the barrier. The ghosts charged after me, smashing hard into the barricade we’d built.

  Sarah stared at them. Her face was pale and streaked with dirt. “Oh, my God.”

  They meant business if they were manifesting. That meant our crude defenses didn’t have much time before they fell. Against one ghost we’d do great, but not against an army. The ghosts might not be able to touch the iron or the salt, but they could disrupt the energy around them enough to break through.

  I looked down. Several feet below me, in a roughly dug hole was an old wooden coffin. The lid had been busted open by Mace’s boot. I gave him a hand up out of the grave. He dumped the can of salt all over the coffin and through the hole in the lid and followed that with lighter fluid. Then he handed me a box of matches.

  “You want the honors?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “You do it.”

  “You sure?”

  “One of you just fucking do it!” Sarah shouted. “They’re getting through!”

  Mace struck a match and dropped it. It fell into the hole in the coffin, flickered and then—just when I thought it had gone out—burst into beautiful blue-and-orange flames.

  The ghosts screamed—a thunderous screech that froze my soul. For a second I thought they were going to charge, but they didn’t. Some of them disappeared. Others took to the sky. A few turned and walked away. And a few...a few smiled before fading from sight.