Chapter 4
I called Lara the moment I was out of Cameron’s earshot, but she didn’t pick up the phone until I was walking out of the clean, white front door of Cane Manor. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” I told her as she answered the phone. “Which do you want first?”
“Start with the good news.”
“I’ve got a few leads. This case just got a lot more interesting. I found out that Lance Ruben is involved.”
“Of the Venir?”
“Yeah. He knew the victim. Emmitt Cane worked for him, in fact. At least, Lance let it slip that he considered Emmitt to be one of his men.”
“You talked to Lance Ruben? What were you thinking?”
I rolled my eyes, and knew she could hear my sigh of annoyance. “He cornered me and threatened to shoot me. He thought I summoned the ghost.”
“That’s the bad news?”
“Err, no. The bad news is I lost the case.”
“Darn it, Thomas! You’re fired.”
“Can’t – My employment ended with this contract, remember? Which reminds me; it wasn’t a prank, so you owe me ten bucks.”
“Thomas, you can be so–”
“Yeah, I get it,” I interrupted before she could get out her jab. “But fired or not, Emmitt’s murder has gone a bit beyond a simple case. The Guardians seem think I might have had a hand in it, too. If I can’t prove I’m innocent, they’ll probably arrest me. That is, unless Lance gets trigger-happy first. Which is why I’m calling – I need a hand.”
“Fine.” She wasn’t happy, but she was family, and I knew she wouldn’t turn me away. I got to the car and reached around in my pocket for keys.
“Before he dumped me, Cameron pointed me in the direction of a man named James Freidman. Cameron said something about inhe–”
A man made of a translucent light approached me suddenly as I stood in the driveway. Slick mats of tangled hair draped down his face, clinging like they’d been smeared in oil. His clenched fists held as many scars on his ragged face, which was to say a lot. His sunken eyes loomed, flowing with a burning anger.
Like a wildcat, I leapt aside, out of the ghost’s reach. Like a klutz, I clunked into the side-view mirror, and nearly stumbled to the ground.
I held my hand forward, drawing energy into my ring. The man’s face dimmed, as though the spotlight on him had power surges. A soundless word burst forth out of his lips. Then, he simply disappeared.
“Thomas? Thomas, are you there?” Lara asked through my phone, annoyed.
“Zounds. I just saw a–” I began calming myself with a deep breath. “–a ghost.”
She responded with a skeptical silence.
“I, err, activated my vision a minute ago. There’s something here, and I know, ghosts don’t exist. Right?”
“You’re sure you saw one?”
I got into the car, debating whether I should turn off my vision. I decided to keep it active. “I don’t know what it was, but something just broke through the equilibrium.”
As I turned on the engine, she said, “A ghost isn’t out of the question. Well, a real ghost is, yes. But ghosts have appeared hundreds of times throughout history.”
“They don’t exactly follow the rules of magic, Lara.”
Even through the phone, I could feel her superiority complex. She loved explaining things, especially to me. “Magic’s main fuel is the beliefs of others, right? Well, typically you need a mage to focus that belief, but under the right circumstances a group of people could make a ghost.”
“It’s possible,” I said. The driveway opened up wide enough to turn around without backing up, so I did.
“I’ve never heard of using a ghost as a weapon for murder, but think about it. Lots of people believe in ghosts, right?” Lara said. “Well, what if a mage tapped into that belief? Used it for fuel.”
“It’s not focused enough,” I commented. “I suppose it’s possible, but there’s no how-to guide on ghosts. I mean, there are so many different kinds. Sad ones. Angry ones. Lonely ones. Ones that came from the devil and can possess people, and friendly ones that want to help people. That’s a lot of contradiction. Spells have to be specific. I don’t think even a group of mages that spent a lifetime trying could put a focus to a set of beliefs that broad. Maybe the ghost didn’t do the murder – it’s just there to throw us off. Oh, by the way, the ghost said something.”
“What?”
“I opened my vision, not my ears.”
“Amateur mistake,” she scolded, but I could tell in her tone that she was joking. “So what’s the plan?”
“I’m too far into this to back down. Lance and the Imperium saw to that. I’m thinking of coming home and looking for clues myself the old fashioned way.”
“With a magnifying glass?” she asked.
“With a computer.”
“I’m already at one.”
Now that I was on the road, I didn’t want to be talking on my cell phone. I hated people that did. “Oh, right. Well, look him up and let me know when I get there. See you in a bit.”
“Wait, wait!” she said.
“What?”
“James has a cabin a few miles away. You ought to check there.”
“Where is it?”
She gave me directions to a place not far from me.
“How’d you find that?
“Police Database. I just looked into James’ file.”
“I didn’t know you could hack.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Are you driving?”
“Yep.”
“Sheesh, call me later. Bye.”
I hung up and rolled my eyes. Police Database? And just how would she know anything about those? I closed the phone and slipped it into my lap. Then, the answer struck me. She probably just guessed the damn password. Lara Mercer – pioneer in the field of Luck.
I was bad at directions, and didn’t know the area, which is why I decided to stop at the first parking lot to look for a map. It was a gas station on the crossroads of a highway. After parking the car, I searched the glove compartment for a map, but Lara apparently hadn’t bought one. I realized where I parked and walked into the gas station.
“You sell maps?” I asked the cashier as I walked in.
It was a kid just out of high school behind the counter. Judging by the fact that his eyes were only half glazed over, I figured he’d just started his shift.
He pointed to a rack to the side of the counter. As I went to pay, I said, “Heard about the murder at the Cane estate?”
He nodded tiredly. “Heard it was suicide.”
“Well,” I leaned in. He tilted his head toward mine, as though to hear my secret. “Rumor is a ghost haunts that manor.”
“Uh–” he said.
“I know it’s probably just some made up story, but I’m a bit of a ghost fanatic myself. You ever see a ghost?”
The kid was looking at me like I was one of those nighttime crazies, or possibly a drunk. He answered, all the same. “They say there is a haunted house in few miles down, but I don’t believe it.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, man,” he said. “It’s just a rumor.”
“Okay,” I said, offering him money.
Believe it or not, I was investigating. That’s why I didn’t feel like a complete moron as I walked out. In the car I opened my new map and got a somewhat clear idea of where I had to go. Magic is powered by belief so maybe this ghost was a local legend. If that were the case, than I had a lead.
The ignition hummed to life as I set the map in the passenger seat, noting the gray car beside. A lone man taking a nap occupied the driver’s seat, which was odd. I didn’t recall seeing him there when I pulled in. Maybe it was just paranoia, but I flicked a gaze to its license plate as I left. The plate was an easy one to remember – ASH 124.
Lara’s Minimobile made it to the cabin with only two wrong turns. Stupid car. Just to be sure I didn’t draw
attention to myself, I parked at the end of the road and walked up to his place, refreshing my Vision as I did so. It was an hour past dark now, and the woods near the lake were especially dense.
Every town had a poor side, and this was it. However, Lakeside property meant big bucks, and poor for this area, would be better explained by the term, ‘less rich.’ They were only two stories along this side of the lake, whereas the ones on the far side were three, sometimes with a connecting garage and at least one boat. As I drove down the perfectly paved road, I passed three houses before I came to James’ place. Compared to the others, this was a tidy shack squeezed into a clearing. It was still two stories, but half of the second story was a deck, and it was so close to the lake that any basement would obviously be below the waterline.
A security light illuminated me dimly from two houses down. Slowly, cautiously, I approached James’ place. This was weekend-cabin territory, and most people didn’t stay as late as Sunday night, meaning the place would be nice and lonely.
Uninvited and unwanted, I realized I may be forced with the prospect of trespassing.
James Freidman is probably the murderer, Thomas. Get over it.
James Freidman... James Freidman... Where have I heard that name before? James... Freid–
He’s a mage! The sudden memory hit me so hard that I was surprised I’d ever forgotten. A year ago, in my days as a guardian he posed as one of our biggest threats. As the apprentice to a battlemage, it made the Imperium cringe when he didn’t try out for the Guardians. As far as I knew, he worked as needed for various factions of the supernatural world. A mercenary for hire.
The thought sent a new twang of fear through my thoughts, but I didn’t stop. I kept carefully aware of everything, unable to see beyond the dark woods.
The sturdy wood of James’ front door was at least a couple inches thick. The front wall had only one window, but the blinds were pulled firmly down. I slipped my hand around the doorknob, and found it locked, as I expected. I kept my hand on the doorknob as I unconsciously thumbed the ring on my middle finger, tuning my senses carefully for any traps as I did. Here I was, snooping around the house of a potentially dangerous mage, after all. A decent mage could equip a place with enough traps to take out a dozen men without harming the house, given enough time.
Bringing my exact desire to mind, I focused on my ring and the doorknob.
Although not my most powerful piece of equipment, the ring was durable and easy to hide. Given as a gift by Lucian Mercer, Lara’s father and my latest mentor, the steel loop had the Mercer family seal engraved upon it. The near microscopic engraving of a fisted gauntlet possessed three Ruby shards, each empowered with my essence.
I looked around the dark wood one last time, reaffirming my choice to break in. Then, as I picked up a small, fallen branch, I also slipped off the ring and let my magic loose.
Holding the ring to the doorknob as the spell began, my hand suddenly slipped into a warm, intangible oven, a pleasant side effect of the simple spell. Meanwhile, an icy glaze covered the entirety of the metal doorknob as a simple transference of heat took place. From there, all it took was a gentle smack with the stick to shatter the frozen metal. Shards of brittle metal rattled against the ground, no louder than the breaking of a slender wine glass. With a nudge, the door opened.
The darkness inside hid everything. With only moonlight outside, the inside was a deep cave. My Mage’s Vision offered no aid, but at least I couldn’t see any wards.
Which meant there weren’t any overt clues, either. I stepped inside, sliding my hand carefully along the wall for a switch. I found it, but it didn’t work.
I honestly hadn’t expected my day to end with a break-in. If I had, I’d have brought my flashlight. That is, assuming I hadn’t gone crazy, which is the only reason I’d have planned for my day to end with a break-in. This morning I was just some guy looking for a job. Now I had two authority figures hanging over me. The guardians, demanding I stay out of the way, and Mr. Ruben demanded the opposite. Three, even, if you include the police.
Typical. The Imperium can’t figure out how to play nicely with the Venir so they throw me in the crossfire of their argument. Again.
Sighing, there was only one way to get a good look at the place. I slipped on my ring, muttered a word, and winced. The ring drew heat from everything around, which it then converted into light. My hand went into an invisible fridge as a white glow illuminated the room.
Like the outside, the place was modest. Nothing you’d expect from an heir of Cane Industries. No big screen TV. No giant stereo, or surround sound speakers in the corners. In fact, it didn’t have any electronics at all. The furniture looked new, but made with wooden arms and legs, while a giant bearskin rug covered wooden floor. The kind with a stuffed bear-face attached. Antlers hung on one wall. Some were mounted alone. Others were mounted with the bucks’ heads still attached.
I took another step inside, fully crossing the threshold. That’s when the door slammed. Whipping around, I grabbed for the handle, but stopped a couple inches away, realizing the half of it that I hadn’t beaten off was cold enough to instantly freeze my hand. Instead, I turned back around.
A semi-tangible ghost stood rigid in the center of the room, with broad arms held tense at his side. He crouched in a bestial pose, enhanced by his hairy knuckles and feral face. The foundation of the entire house groaned with his rising anger, rumbling up through the floor.
Stumbling back toward the door, I smacked my elbow into the doorknob, which fell off in one piece. Sliding my hand into the doorknob’s hole, I yanked, but the inch I got it to open slammed as the ghost bellowed. I didn’t know what was louder, the creaking of the house’s foundation, or the voice of the man twisted with a rage so honest it left no guess about his murderous motives.
“You have no right,” he hoarsely bellowed.
On the wall far beside the fireplace, a rack of antlers glowed in my Vision. Seconds later, they unhinged themselves. Its shifting shadow enlarged on the back wall as the antlers shot toward me and my glowing ring. Pure reflex brought my arm up in front of my face.
The antlers slammed heavily into my leather jacket. A couple hard points pelted me – one in the shoulder itself, and the other numbing my arm as it speared into my triceps. Luckily, the jacket held up. The half of the rack I avoided dented into the door, making the crash of its impact bark against my eardrum.
The ghost, matted with grime and anger, bellowed before me as I heard something else move to my right.
Not bothering to look, I assumed it was harmful, so I threw myself across the room and over the couch facing the fireplace. I landed evenly on the cushions, but overestimated my leap. The resulting motion sent me rolling off the seat and onto the floor.
It’s been awhile since I’ve had hands on work, and fear tainted the equations I needed to cast my spells.
Think, Thomas!
I pushed myself quickly to my feet, my mind entirely on my ring. The ghost was by the door, his face contorted in an expression beyond anger.
Reaching toward the ghost, I shouted, “Dissupo!”
At once, it felt like I was pushing my hand through icy water as the kinetic energy of the thrust redirected toward the ghost.
The ghost met my blow like I’d thrown a well-aimed water balloon.
“You have no right!” He shouted as the house groaned around him. The rug underneath me shifted, ripping my feet right out from under me. My shoulder crunched down onto the hard wood. Then, the fire poker shuffled beside me. In no mood for a sword fight against an unbeatable enemy, I threw myself over to the poker, locking both hands around the handle.
I yanked. The ghost flared his eyes.
The house rattled as though caught in a sudden windstorm, creaking under unseen pressure.
“No right!” the ghost howled again, gazing at the prod, which ripped out of my one hand. As a last, desperate attempt, I nestled the prod between my body and my numb arm. A
cross the creaking room, the antlers, still stuck in the door, began to shuffle as I steadied one foot on the floor.
As the antlers gave a massive heave toward me, the hinges broke off door. The Ghost’s spell backfired, and the door flopped down.
I had an exit.
Like everything, Magic follows rules. Specifically, it follows the universe’s rules. A mage can tell the universe to make the occasional exception to the laws of physics, but that can only go so far, and no matter what, the law of conservation trumps all. The simple fact is that if you throw around a bunch of heavy objects; you’re going to need an equivalent amount of energy that comes from somewhere.
That’s when I realized what powered the ghost. The groaning of the house wasn’t a bonus perk for the spell – it was the source of it. It took the energy within the house itself and converted it into fuel, hastening the aging process. Best I could tell, the equivalent of years passed as the structure withered.
Thrusting the prod away from myself, I got up and turned toward the newly toppled door. Planting my weight, I made to leap over the couch, but the floor become too weak to support my weight. Instead of leaping, my legs fell through, leaving me balancing on the house’s foundation.
The ghost turned his see-through head in my direction as his hair fluttered up in some malevolent ghost-wind. The poker turned away and prodded the fire pit, which erupted into a majestic, blue flame.
“She is mine!” he howled, as flames grew and lashed across the floor. They turned orange as they did, igniting the couch and flashing up my arm.
Another rule of magic – it can’t affect living things directly. We can thank our soul for that. This includes magical flames, such as the ones that disappeared as fast as I noticed them. The magical flames that erupted against the curtains beside me, however, spread like they were soaked in kerosene. And while the source flames weren’t real, physics took over for anything they touched.
Put simply, the house ignited.
As did the couch, which also didn’t have a soul to ward of foreign magic. Fire is pesky that way. All it takes is a single spark to set the world ablaze.
Hovering in the center of the room, the ghost winced, as he grinned at me. The fire may have destroyed the house, and his source of power, but it did nothing to dampen his insane smile. His translucent skin melted away. His hair melted against his face, and with one final wheeze, the ghost said, “You’ll get what you deserve, boy.”
With that, the fireplace exploded outward, with blue flames lashing across the room.
“Damn it, old man!” I finally yanked one knee free of the fragile floor. Then, glad I had a flame resistant, leather jacket I slammed both of my elbows down onto the lightly burning sofa. As I hoped, my weight and the sofa’s combined was too much. The four wooden legs pelted straight through the floor like wooden daggers, and shortly after, the couch belly flopped downward.
Silvery blood ran down the ghost’s front now, drenching his body, yet he still managed to scream in outrage.
Fire isn’t what usually kills people in this situation – smoke is often more deadly. As I tried to take a panicked breath, my throat and lungs closed. What little light my ring gave off became useless within seconds. The brittle, dry walls cracked and splintered as the flames spread. Forcing myself to react, rather than think, I stomped my foot onto the fallen, half-buried sofa and lunched myself blindly at the door. Bracing myself for the landing, I hit the floor, which had somehow tilted.
“Damn it, house – You should be dead!”
While I still had my forward momentum from the leap, I threw down my shoulder and head, turning what would be a face plant into a graceless roll. Before I could figure out which way was down, the house simply flung me onto the grass outside.
What I’d actually landed on, I saw, was the door, which had fallen off its hinges and onto antlers. The whole thing a teeter-totter. I scooted away from the flames, glad to be alive.
Inside, fire and smoke swirled up the walls, while the front of the house was, for the moment, relatively clear. The lake behind it beamed brightly, mirroring the scene with an eerie luminescence.
Then, I simply sprinted away.
Or tried to. Only a few steps later did I stop to heave blackened sap from my throat. The few breaths of torched air were all it took to make me wheeze. Forcing myself into exhaustion wouldn’t be of any use, so I trotted to the nearest tree, several feet away and looked first at the burning ruins behind me, and then at the rest of the area.
The air was dry, which only aided the fire. This time of year wasn’t known for forest fires, but with the trees being naked of leaves, I knew it was a risk. Only one other cabin that had signs of life, but they didn’t seem to notice. I had my cell phone, but to call the cops was as good admitting guilt without a reason to be there, and I didn’t suppose any officer would accept, “I swear, it was a ghost,” as a decent excuse.
I only allowed myself a few more seconds to calm my nerves, before starting down toward the only cabin on the road that had any lights on. It was two houses down, and may have been a nightlight, but it was my only chance.
I already committed multiple crimes today. What’s one more? It didn’t take long to find a fist-sized rock. After testing its weight, I chucked it up, where it shattered the first pane of glass on the dual-paned windows. I sped up as I continued toward my car, relieved as several more lights in the house turned on. Their front door opened as the minimobile’s engine flared to life, but as I hoped, their attention was far from me. The man, wearing only pajama bottoms, ran out a second later directly away from me, toward the flaming cabin with a phone at his ear.
It wasn’t until half a mile later that I turned on my headlights, exhausted, and numb from shoulder to elbow on my right arm.
You made it, Thomas, I told myself without getting much relief.
I started up the engine. On the way out, I passed a few fire trucks. By the time I was home, I must have ground my teeth flat.