"Hiya y'alright, kid?"
"Just fine," I greeted Carmen.
She dressed in what looked like a long-sleeved dress that fluttered in the breeze beneath a woolen peacoat. And when she stepped out, I could see the black, thigh-high boots she's chosen to pair with it. A particularly odd cleansing outfit, but who was I to judge? Not only was the woman was about to do me a favor, but I was in a mere jeans-and-blouse combo myself.
Beneath the light-gray sky, the pair of us convened on the hood of Carmen's car. She handed me a beer from a cooler in her backseat, but I held up my hand.
"I won't tell anyone," she snickered, "These things are best tackled when you're a little tipsy anyhow. And hey, you're skipping school already, aren't yeh?"
"School's not important," I dismissed, feeling the warmth of her car's hood through the butt of my jeans as we sat and stared at the house. "But thinning my blood before a fight?"
"Fair point," she took a hearty swig, "This thing really that strong?"
"Grandma's burns were second-degree."
"Damnadh," she breathed, shaking her head.
"I want to try talking to her again."
"What information did you get the first time around?"
The gold bangles on her wrists jingled and I noted the intricate twisting of the banding; those knots again.
"Her name, a visage of her corpse shortly after her death, and a little bit in the way of information, but I could use more."
"Information for what?"
"I want to know what killed her. Whatever it is, it's powerful."
"We can give it a shot," Carmen said skeptically, eyes still on my expression, "But if she's a fighter, it's just best that we work our magic and go. Speaking of, if you don't specialize in ghosts, what do you specialize in?"
"You first."
"Alright, alright," she chuckled, staring up at the window. Her eyebrows raised in amusement and she held up her beer bottle in cheers. "We have an audience."
I followed her gaze. In the window, half-hidden by a white curtain, stood a bent-necked shadow.
"There she is," I frowned, noting the heavy frost forming on the panes, "She isn't happy to see us."
"Probably has an inkling of what's coming."
"I should probably go in first - "
"No, that's too risky," Carmen vetoed, her attitude finally sobering, "I'm not coming in to save your ghosted-ass without backup."
I pursed my lips, watching all four front-facing windows of the house crystallize with frost. Margret wasn't playing around. It was quite the reaction. My eyes slid warily to Carmen again as I tapped my lower lip with a forefinger.
"I really ought to give her a chance to talk it out. That's a lot of resentment there and we'd be one step closer to figuring out what's out in those mountains."
Carmen's sharp-gaze snapped to meet mine.
"Is it worth your life?"
"A good mystery is always worth solving," I eased carefully out of the tension, standing straight and gripping my makeshift ouija board, "It's fun. And people have died for less."
"I'll give you five minutes," she allowed with a little smirk, waving a hand. "You got any iron on you?"
"Yes," I sidestepped to my car where I'd propped the fire poker from my mantle.
"Dramatic, but it'll do."
"What do you use?"
"A knife, duh."
I breathed deeply, stepping up to the front door. The bolt thunked heavily before I even took the key from my belt-loop and the door swung inwardly.
"She's ready for ya! Stay alive long enough for me to get payment, alright?"
"I will."
A cloudy puff blossomed from my lips as I entered. The moment my foot graced the upward stairs, a gusty wind slammed the door shut behind me.
"Monster!"
"I brought the board - " I said, scrambling up the stairs.
"The monster!"
My eyes widened and the chill sucked all warmth from my core.
Merda!
I threw the ouija paper down on the hardwood floor with the iron rod, fumbling to take the planchet out of my pocket. A sear at my wrist forced me to suck in air through my teeth. My hand was ripped from my pocket.
The planchet dropped to the ground and scattered across the floor, disappearing under the living room couch. With a low oath, I reached for the iron poker and Margaret relinquished me in anticipation.
Sitting back on my heels, I looked about, cradling my half-healed hand.
"I need to know how," I hissed lowly, glancing toward the window I crouched beneath it, "This doesn't make sense. What's the connection between you and her?"
Cold air blasted across the nape of my neck as I saw Margret's shadow reach again for the hand that I cradled across my chest. Fear flared up in my belly as she grasped tightly, her grip searing through my skin.
Before my eyes it bubbled and seethed. A whimper escaped my teeth as her rage burned brightly, pulling back the skin of my wrist until no barrier was left between that and my muscle. A slicing sensation broke through my awareness and blood scattered across the hardwood floor. And the pressure of her intent left.
I rocked backward, holding my wrist close once more. The wound began to seal up. I panted as it pulsed painfully with my heartbeat. A loud knock at the door startled me out of the pained haze, the handle started rattling.
"Oi, Sara!"
"Monster."
A line of red caught my eye from the paper I'd set out in front of me. A bead of blood was being smeared methodically into a complex woven structure across the letters of my makeshift board. The edges of the paper crisped and curled slowly black as Margret looped the symbol in my blood.
"I'm alright!"
"I'm coming in."
I snatched up the paper with Margret's mostly-finished drawing and began folding into hasty quarters. A shouted incantation in a language I didn't understand burst the door inward off its hinges. Flipping the paper into the palm of my good-hand, I quickly sat up and slipped the folded symbol into my back pocket.
"She's behind you," Carmen growled, raising a dagger with a lit smudge-stick in her other hand.
"She's mad," I whimpered, holding my injured wrist as the skin sealed back over. "Be careful."
Carmen continued in the somewhat familiar language, narrowing her eyes as she advanced up the stairs. Frost curled over the railings, across the floor, and pictures on the wall began to rattle in the wake of Margret's wrath.
"She's strong."
"Very," I whispered, pulling a smudge stick out of my other pocket with a lighter. I lit it and white-smoke began curling from the thick, bundled sage. "Margret, it's time for you to go. Just go."
Carmen's eyes, like chips of ice, darted toward me as the chant continued to flow from her lips. Then she advanced down the hallway to layer the smoke into the rooms.
Another piece clicked uneasily into place: I recognized certain words of her language.
"It's not good practice to chase her from the upstairs into the downstairs," I reminded, stopping Carmen before she advanced into the kitchen.
"This thing nearly killed someone's grandmother," Carmen's brows furrowed, inspecting my outstretched hand with disdain, "Leading her down to where she'll be residing for all eternity is the least we can do - hey!"
Blood-scent shot through the air. She winced, lurching forward only to whip the hand with the dagger around. It embedded in the wall shortly after dispersing the shadow that had appeared behind her.
"You alright?"
"Oh, I'm sending her to hell now - "
"Watch it," I growled, moving to quickly descend the stairs to Catalina's and Sofia's room, "Wait for me here."
Scrambling and flinging around doorways, I smoked-out Cat and Sofia's rooms as quickly as I could manage. Above, Carmen's voice deepened.
"...damnaidh mian spiorad so gu ifirinn....
"Shoot," I hissed, entering the common area in the basement. Frantically, I looked to the little window embedded in the top of the wall. "At least one of those words doesn't bode well for you, Margret."
I ran over, pushing an end table flush to the wall to climb upon. With a little flip of the lock and push upward, I cracked it and scrambled back to the smoking smudge stick I'd set down. Little frost crystals patterned at my feet, wreathing me.
"I take your goals as my own," I whispered in casting-tongue, stepping through the cold and warding back toward the window, "Go now and rest. Because if she forces you gone, I don't know what will become of you."
The cold evaporated. Every shivering trinket and picture frame stilled. A deathly quiet fell over the residence, and then:
"Thank you."
The heater kicked on with a dull roar and normal sounds - creaks of the settling home, a breeze against the siding, bushes rustling outside - returned to the atmosphere.
"You alright, Carmen?"
"Fine."
I frowned, climbing the stairs to inspect her. Her lips pursed in a pout and she glared at me with accusatory eyes.
"What?"
"You let her out."
"Of course I did," I said unconcernedly, running a hand through my hair.
"Why did I even need to be here, then, huh?"
"I don't think she would've listened to me alone. It was the old 'good-cop-bad-cop' routine. We showed her the options and she made her choice."
Carmen loosened, tilting her head in concession, "Good riddance."
"Now I've got to fix all this before the family comes home."
"And you've got to pay me."
"Next Friday," I said, putting a hand on my hip, "I haven't collected anything yet, but I will. There's going to be a carwash - I'll text you the address. I expect that the skinchangers and vampires will both be there."
"So you did get in with the skinchangers."
"Only met one so far."
"Well, alright then," she shrugged then narrowed her eyes, "I'll be there, though there isn't really much point in a carwash if it's raining..."
"We've got good weather predicted - relatively speaking - for the area. No rain, no sun, just warm."
"Crimson's real curious about the vampires you mentioned. I think I might be able to convince her to attend, but no guarantees."
"Understood - "
"You have a plan for getting me some hair?"
"I'll make it up as I go," I shrugged as she led the way to the door. It was then that I noticed the red-stained back of her dress, but flaring my nostrils, I noted the lack of fresh-blood smell. "Nasty looking injury you got."
Carmen shrugged, "I've had worse. Looks like the ghostie didn't even scratch you."
"I've got a trick or two."
"What a coincidence; so do I."
"Witches can hardly afford to be fragile given what we're up against in this world."
She grinned, but said nothing as she handed me her still-burning smudge stick and swung into the driver's seat of her black porsche. I noticed that she disappeared when fully inside, the tint of the windows completely shadowing her. I waved, not knowing whether she returned the gesture, until she disappeared down the road.
The twinge of unease in my gut stayed.
Rubbing the smudge-sticks into the drive, I took out my phone. It rang only once before Mason picked up.
"Sara, where are you?"
"At Catalina's house. The ghost is gone, but it was messy. I'm going to need Leo and Anne for this to go as quick as possible. We're going to need a new front door and doorframe, Spackle for drywall, a perfectly matched paint, and some new picture frames."
"My word- are you alright?"
"I'm very durable. Take your time getting here though, there was a little bloodshed. Oh- and how well can you contain yourself around dried blood?"
"If it was yours I don't think I'd take that well."
"I'll err on the side of caution."
Mason grew silent on the other line.
"I'll explain everything once you're here," I told him softly, "Just be patient. You'll see me soon."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't risk you coming."
"You don't trust me?"
"It's asking a lot. After all, you've tracked me without my permission before. Tell me, when I head home today, will I smell a fresh trail around my property because I wasn't at school?"
He quieted.
"We'll discuss that," I spat acidly, "I can handle the house on my own, honestly. I just figured that you'd be curious, but if you're upset-"
"No, I'll tell Leo and Anne. We'll be there shortly."
He hung up, tension clear in the dropped call. With a petulant sigh, I got to work by pulling out another sheet of paper to transcribe the knot that Margret had drawn for me. When finished, I took out my lighter once more and set the bloody paper ablaze, letting it drop to the pavement as it crisped. With the transcription secure in my backpack, I headed into the house. On hands and knees, I was finishing up scrubbing with the bleach when Mason arrived.
"Sara," he called from the entryway.
His hands pressed to the invisible vampire-repelling barrier at the threshold.
"Hey," I greeted, heading out to meet him.
His car wasn't in the drive or on the street; he must've run. When I exited he took a step back, eyes roving over me thoroughly, worriedly. He was hesitant, face torn with indecision, arms partway-tense as if wanting to embrace me. I stepped forward, giving him nervous permission. He put his hands upon my waist, but his jaw tensed as he considered pulling closer.
"Don't push yourself," I warned.
He frowned down at me.
"I know how I must smell to you," I clarified, gazing up into his swirling green-and-silver eyes, "We haven't really been close before. So don't push yourself."
Embarrassment showed in the press of his lips.
"I know that trust is going to take time..." he said, picking up our conversation earlier, "But you should know that I can't trust you either. When you say that you're durable then in the same sentence, admit that you were bleeding; I can't believe you."
"That's different," I insisted, stepping back, "You can trust me to handle myself. I cannot trust you to know what's best for me."
He clicked his tongue disdainfully.
"You don't get to have a say in what I do."
"Would it be such a terrible thing for me to want to protect you?" he countered.
"You don't know how capable I am, Mason. That will come with time."
"I have all the time in the world, yes," he admitted grudgingly, "But you..."
"Irrelevant. I'll take as much time as I need."
Anger tightened his eyes and his fingers indented on my waist slightly, "You torture me."
"I'm not torturing anyone! You're an immortal, god-like creature who's been able to read everyone's minds for the better part of a hundred years. If anything, you're simply reaping the result of your entitlement."
His eyes widened at this for a second before his brows furrowed in thought.
"That's what I thought. I see it sometimes; the way you get frustrated when I'm able to keep my secrets. Has it occurred to you that's what normally happens? How people normally feel?"
His face smoothed into a reluctant, crooked smile as he chuckled.
"What?"
"You make me feel normal," he realized. He tilted his head and amended, "Relatively. I don't think most girlfriends fight ghosts behind their boyfriends' backs."
"I'm going to share with you what I learned," I hedged, gently probing for compromise, "I think it's time I got a few more sets of eyes on this case. And there's research that needs to be done if you're up for an all-nighter."
Slowly, he nodded, recognizing the olive branch I was extending.
"I'll stay up with you. But you need to concede a bit too. If you're going off to do something risky, I should at least know where you went. We're partners. You can't expect me not to worry about you. And if something were to go wrong..."
He shuddered.
"You should tell me where you will be and about how long it will take you."
I opened my mouth to protest but he continued.
"I promise not to barge in on your work, but if I haven't heard from you by the agreed check-in time, I have a right to be worried."
Pursing my lips, I allowed a begrudging nod.
"And," he started, hesitated, then decided to continue, "You should know better than me what the limits of your abilities are. That emergencies and accidents do happen, regardless of your experience."
A shudder coursed through me as I rooted to the spot. He pulled me close, rubbing my back.
"You're strong," he murmured, pleading, "But not invincible. None of us are. Just let me have your back."
Fingers trembling, I looped my arms around his waist and grasped his cool shirt beneath my fingertips, "Thank you."