Ghouls Rush In

  Ryan took the next two steps before I stopped him. “I don’t…I don’t think we should go up there,” I said in a trembling voice. “The dogs must have sensed something, Ryan.”

  He glanced back at me and his expression was determined. “I need to find out what that shatterin’ sound was.”

  I swallowed and watched him take the next few steps. That voice in the back of my head warned me not to follow him, but there was no way I could let him investigate by himself. What if something happened to him? I glanced back at the dogs, who both stared at me from their droopy eyes, imploring me not to allow their master to continue. But I had no choice; he was already halfway down the hallway while I was still stuck on the stairs. I took a deep breath, turned around again, and shot up the remaining steps, easily catching up to him. He turned around to face me and shook his head.

  “Peyton, I can check things out myself. I know you’re scared—”

  “I’m not scared,” I interrupted, trying to convince myself. “I just think your dogs are acting weird and it has me concerned.”

  He looked down at the dogs, who hadn’t budged from the bottom of the stairs, and shrugged. “They’ve never acted like this before.” Before I could respond, he was already moving down the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the buffed wood floors. He stopped in front of the first door and pushed it open, revealing a bathroom. He turned the light on as I came up behind him.

  “Shit!” he yelled as we both faced the mirror above the sink. It had a crack in it that must have been an inch wide, running down the center from top to bottom.

  “How could that have—?” I started.

  “I don’t know,” Ryan interrupted, shaking his head. “Maybe the dogs somehow jumped up and broke it?” But as soon as he finished his sentence, I could tell he didn’t believe it, not for a second. And neither did I.

  He stepped out of the bathroom and started down the hallway again, this time ducking into the next room, which was a bedroom. The room was comprised of a queen-size bed with a black headboard and footboard, a matching chest of drawers, and a square wall mirror, which had to be five feet tall. It, too, was broken. But instead of a long fracture in the glass, it looked like someone had taken a blunt object to it. The mirror had a circular smashed area in the middle of it, with weblike fractures radiating outward.

  Ryan didn’t say anything but ducked back out of the room with me on his heels as he started down the hallway again. He paused to open the double doors that led into a wood-paneled home theater. The flat-screen television, which hung on the opposite wall from where we stood, looked like it had been blown from the inside out. The screen was completely missing and scattered in sharp fragments all over the hardwood floors. Some of the pieces littered the plush, black leather movie theatre–style seats.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said in complete shock as I brought my hand to my open mouth. But Ryan still didn’t say anything and, instead, turned around and closed the doors behind us. His silence was beginning to make me very uncomfortable because I didn’t understand it. If my house had been vandalized in such a bizarre way, silence would not have been my reaction.

  With every step we took, the feelings of dread, which had first accosted me on the staircase, increased tenfold, and my instinct to turn around and escape became increasingly difficult to ignore. But Ryan didn’t seem to share the same sense of self-preservation. Instead, he ambled forward, throwing open the door to another bathroom where the mirror on top of the sink was also cracked, this time in an “X” formation.

  He didn’t hesitate, but continued down the hallway until it ran into a set of double doors, those of the master bedroom. Glancing back at me only momentarily, his face was completely emotionless. It was like he went on autopilot or something. He opened both of the doors and walked into the room, while I took up the rear. Once we were in his room, he stood stock-still. Following his gaze, I noticed an ornately carved mirror that was so large, it took up half the wall beside the attached bathroom. The mirror appeared to be an antique, judging by how cloudy and gray the glass was.

  Ryan breathed out a sigh of relief, probably because, strangely enough, this mirror was completely intact. He started for the bathroom and I followed him, both of us taking in the two wood-framed mirrors that hung above each of the sinks. They, too, were broken, each with cavernous cracks running from top to bottom.

  “Why do you think the mirror in your room isn’t broken?” I asked in a small voice.

  Ryan shook his head as he started for the bedroom again, and I followed him. We both stood in front of the mirror and studied it. Ryan crossed his arms against his chest, looking completely troubled and puzzled. “I don’t know,” he answered, continuing to shake his head. “None of this makes any fuckin’ sense at all,” he admitted finally.

  I nodded and didn’t know what more I could say because he was right. Whatever had happened completely defied logic. As we stood there, staring at the mirror, my attention started to wander around the room as I took in the furnishings that all reminded me of Ryan. Next to the bed was a nightstand and on it, a picture. I took a few steps closer and picked up the frame, realizing it was Ryan standing next to a woman I didn’t recognize.

  They were both laughing and both beautiful. Ryan’s hair reflected the sunlight, his crisp white shirt almost glowing in the sunlight. His arms were wrapped around the woman’s waist and she was facing him, her left cheek buttressed against his chest and her arms clasped around his middle. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and with her olive complexion, her happy brown eyes, and her long, slim body, she was stunning.

  I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness, envy, and guilt as I stared at the picture, which represented a much happier time in Ryan’s life. I sighed as I turned to face him and found him staring at me, his expression unreadable. I offered him a slight smile and propped the picture back on his nightstand. “She was really beautiful,” I said.

  He nodded. “That was taken on our first anniversary.”

  I wanted to say something but didn’t really know what to say so I just stood there instead, looking up at Ryan while he stared back down at me.

  “Sometimes when you laugh, you remind me of her,” he continued.

  “I do?”

  He nodded. “When you’re embarrassed about something and you laugh, you cover your mouth with your hand. She used to do the same thing.”

  I wasn’t really sure what to make of the comment but figured it was simply an observation that didn’t really require a response. Instead, I just smiled at him and hoped he understood that this was difficult for me too. After another protracted silence, I took a few steps toward the double doors, figuring it was best to go back downstairs so we could try to piece the puzzle together, although I felt like we were missing most of the pieces.

  When I realized Ryan wasn’t following me, I looked back only to find him still standing in the same position, staring at the mirror. “It belonged to Elizabeth,” he said in a hollow voice.

  I walked back toward him and we stood side by side. I reached over and slipped my hand into his to let him know that I understood why the mirror was so important to him. I had to imagine it was one of a few reminders of the way his life used to be. He watched me with heavy eyes and I smiled as a popping sort of noise suddenly came from the mirror. It felt like slow motion as Ryan and I turned toward it. Then, like the earth separating along a fault line, the glass cracked straight down the middle. I was only slightly aware of my own scream, but Ryan didn’t make a sound. He just stood there, unmoving. My heart pounded through me and the urge to leave the room almost suffocated me. I glanced at Ryan and followed his gaze back to the mirror where the glass continued breaking. It was like watching ice cracking on a frozen lake, the sound just as eerie. It seemed like someone was using an invisible diamond on the glass, outlining where each new crack would begin and end.

  “Ryan,” I started as I grabbed his arm, my need to escape the room now my primary con
cern.

  But Ryan shrugged me off and stared at the mirror as it continued to break.

  “Ryan, we need to go!” I begged him, focusing entirely on his profile because I couldn’t look at the mirror. I only knew we needed to get away from it. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good. “Please!”

  But he ignored me and continued watching the mirror until every inch of it was broken into small squares, rectangles, and triangles. I pulled on his arm again, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Ryan!” I yelled at him. Suddenly, I felt an incredible blast of air against my face and the sound of glass exploding from the mirror. I felt Ryan’s body on mine as he shielded me and knocked me off my feet, slamming us both into the floor to escape the flying glass. When I hit the ground, the impact knocked the wind right out of me and it took me a few seconds to restore my breathing. Pieces of glass rained down against the wood floors, and I covered my head with my arms to protect myself.

  “Peyton!” Ryan’s voice sounded panicked as he rolled me over and stared at me with wide eyes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  I coughed and forced myself into a sitting position before eyeing the mirror, which was now devoid of glass.

  Christopher Raven Adams, the warlock-for-hire, was not what I’d expected. For one, he was much younger than I thought a necromancer would be. He was tallish—maybe six feet or thereabouts—and had a general doughy appearance to him, both in the color of his skin and his musculature. Although I’d guess he was in his early to mid-thirties, his hair was completely gray, even white in some parts. His face possessed a certain warmth to it with large brown eyes. He was dressed, as I supposed befitted a warlock, in black—long pants, large boots, and a long-sleeved, billowy shirt that reminded me of Jerry Seinfeld’s puffy pirate shirt.

  “Please come in,” I said, smiling as I opened my front door wider for him.

  “Christopher, it’s good to see you again,” Ryan greeted him with a hefty smile at the smaller man. Christopher didn’t say anything to either of us but half smiled at Ryan before sweeping theatrically into my house. That was when I saw the black cape. He looked like a chubby, goth superhero.

  Closing the door, I hoped the various shop lights suspended randomly around the house were bright enough to conduct the “testing.” Christopher explained to Ryan that it needed to be done immediately. After the breaking mirror incident at Ryan’s house, Ryan hadn’t seem as concerned about the time and, instead, had immediately phoned Christopher. The warlock-for-hire had instructed us to return to my house where we were to wait for him to test the energies in my house so he could evaluate just what we were up against.

  Christopher removed his cape and handed it to Ryan, who took it with a slight smile, folding it over his arm. As Christopher sauntered past me, I noticed the tiny Chihuahua that was clutched underneath his left arm and dressed in a black sweater. I glanced at Ryan, who just looked back at me with a shrug. We both followed Christopher through the foyer, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Christopher kept saying along the way as he glanced left and right, as if inventorying valuable artwork. But the walls were bare, some of them even without drywall, depending on the progress of the demo work.

  When we reached the kitchen, which was still mostly intact, Christopher spun around a few times and leaned against the kitchen counter. He closed his eyes and continued to nod as if someone were talking to him and he wanted to signify he was listening. When he opened his eyes, they narrowly focused on me.

  “You’ve got yourself quite a big problem, missy,” he said.

  I felt my heart plummet to my toes. “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? What do I mean?” he answered, tapping his index finger against his mouth and eyeing the ceiling, as if the answer was up there. Then he retrieved his strange little dog from under his arm and held it up to his eyes. “What do I mean, little Esbat?”

  I glanced at Ryan again, who simply shrugged at me like this was standard procedure. Christopher faced me again as he rolled Esbat back under his arm. “There are two powerful, strong energies here,” he started. “One seeks to nurture you, and the other is more nefarious.”

  “Are they energies from people?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen counter beside Ryan. I was convinced that one of the energies was Drake, and I was worried about him. Since the last encounter I’d had with him, when he’d warned me that this entity was draining his power, I’d come to realize how much Drake meant to me. Even though he only existed in my dreams, he’d become my friend. Yes, it sounded crazy even to me but the more I considered it, the more I couldn’t deny that I cared about Drake—just as much as he cared about me.

  “One is,” Christopher answered immediately. “A young man associated with this house.”

  “Drake Montague,” I finished for him eagerly. He scowled at me, apparently miffed at my interjection. “Sorry,” I offered, biting my lip while Ryan chuckled and squeezed my upper arm, trying to comfort me.

  “The other energy is less easily explained,” Christopher continued, dropping his gaze to the floor as he sighed. “It is dark, no doubt, but as to its nature and evo-lu-tion, I am less certain.”

  I was quiet for a few seconds as I wondered if I was allowed to ask a question yet. Still uncertain, I raised my hand slightly like I was back in grade school. Christopher saw me and arched a perturbed brow before he simply nodded. “Are you able to see Drake or talk to him?” I asked, taking a deep breath. I figured it might sound crazy to Ryan, but I was concerned all the same and decided I should just come out with it. “I’m worried about him.”

  Christopher nodded as if he understood my concern. “His power is fading and he grows weaker.” He started petting his dog. “The entity has attached itself to him as a parasite attaches itself to a host.”

  I felt myself gulp as a lump formed in the back of my throat. The idea that this thing was hurting Drake made me feel sick to my stomach. Even though Drake was just a spirit, he was real to me and the thought of losing him made me suddenly want to cry. “How do we stop it from happening?” I asked. Ryan shifted uncomfortably next to me but didn’t say anything.

  Christopher furrowed his brows, no doubt irritated that I couldn’t resist interrupting him. “We do not stop anything from happening.” I shook my head and was about to argue, but Christopher stopped petting his dog and held up his hand in a gesture that I should shut up. I bit my lip as he continued. “This benevolent spirit, Drake, as you call him, has formed an association with you,” he said, eyeing me placidly. “As he has made contact with you, so you shall be the vessel through which he again can taste the richness of life.”

  “Huh?” I asked, not caring if I pissed him off or not.

  “You lost me on that one as well, Christopher,” Ryan admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently, he didn’t like what he thought Christopher was saying.

  Christopher sighed as he shook his head like both of us were stupid. “What does a spirit lack?” he asked me in particular.

  “Life,” I answered almost immediately.

  “Ah, yes,” he said as he held his index finger up like he was about to scold me. “The power of life, the blood of life, is an immense power, an all-encompassing current of energy. If you lend your life current to the deceased, their power and energy shall increase.”

  “Lend her life current to the deceased?” Ryan repeated, frowning all the while as he narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggestin’?”

  Christopher scowled at him. “I suggest nothing!” he called out histrionically. His silly shirt billowed as he lifted his arm and did a strange little wave thing. He looked like a lost Pirate of Penzance. “I am merely responding to the lady’s question,” he added after calming down.

  I wasn’t sure what I thought about lending my life current to Drake. I didn’t even really know what that meant, but based on Christopher’s reaction to Ryan’s inquiry, I also didn’t dare ask. Instead, I thought about the alter
native. “If everything continues as it is now, what will happen to Drake?”

  Christopher nodded as if the question were a fair one and faced me, pausing for a few seconds. He sighed as if it were a difficult answer for him to explain, and dropped his eyes to the ground before looking at me again. He exhaled heavily. “He will simply be absorbed into the power of the entity, thereby further strengthening it.”

  I nodded in silent understanding, promising myself and Drake that I wouldn’t allow that to happen to him. Because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if Drake was alive or dead, a ghost or corporeal; he was my friend and that was all that mattered to me. And now that Christopher had more or less provided proof that Drake wasn’t just a figment of my imagination, I was even more determined. “And you don’t know anything about the entity? How did it get here? How could it become so powerful?” I asked.

  Christopher shook his head. “I cannot answer your questions at this stage. The threat is too great for me to drop my defenses,” he said with his nose in the air. “I cannot delve too deeply for my own safety.” He held up his index finger again. “But, suffice it to say that whatever this threat is, it is quite a hefty one.” He checked around himself and reached out as if he were pointing at or touching something only seen to him. “I can feel rivulets of its energy flowing through the air, the ground.” He eyed me again. “It tries to attach itself to you, but as of yet, it is unsuccessful. This Drake spirit purports himself to be your…protector of sorts.” He nodded while saying this, as though someone were streaming the information to him as he said it to me. “The entity realizes this, which is why it attacks Drake. It seeks to remove him as an obstacle.” He fell silent for a moment and peered at me again. “Ultimately, however, it wants you.” He was quiet again as he nodded and then faced me. “It has already attacked you, left its mark.” Then he brought his fingertips to his neck while he spied mine, nodding once he saw the bruise. “This Drake character protected you, stopped this entity from further harming you.”