Book 3 of the Revenant Records
Kell Shaw returns with a harrowing tale of strained friendship and murder in the Vestiges of Magic universe.
Lukie and Tamlyn are searching for their client’s lost relatives, but their efforts only turn up a single name: a proprietor of the remote Brindlebranch Hotel. Lukie hopes their fragile partnership can survive the journey, as she suspects Tamlyn is hiding elements of his past while she still grapples with the events of her own murder.
Neither of them expected the hotel to be home to a vengeful spirit, bound up with the dark magic of a fallen occult cabal. When Tamlyn is hurled into the past, forced to confront the horrifying origins of the curse, Lukie is propelled into a race against time to save the hotel’s innocent guests.
With a malevolent spirit on a deadly rampage, Lukie and Tamlyn must confront their painful history and bridge the chasm that has grown between them. Their survival, and the lives of countless others, hinge on their ability to mend their broken bond and overcome the weight of two decades of anger and secrets.
Can they conquer their demons and unite against a relentless evil?
Discover the answer in this gripping new chapter of the Kell Shaw’s Revenant Records saga.
Ebooks
Paperbacks
- ISBN Paperback: 978-1-922897-08-4
- ISBN Hardback: 978-1-922897-09-1
- ISBN Ebook: 978-1-922897-07-7
- ASIN: B0DKMXG312
Chapter 1: The Apparition
Lukie didn’t see the apparition that nearly killed her friends.
She stared out the window, ignoring the folk music that Tamlyn insisted on playing as he drove. An orange sunset stained the sky. In a short while, her powers would return. She tapped her fingers impatiently against her knee in anticipation, watching green fields dotted with brindled cows peel away on either side of the car.
“Hey, can I play—” Lukie eyed her stack of Outside Sky CDs.
“No.” Tamlyn remained focused on the road. A potbellied man of nearly forty, Tamlyn had receding red hair. He rubbed his shaggy, graying mustache. It needed a trim. Lukie had reminded him. Several times.
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready for a change.”
Lukie drummed her fingers. No sense of a melody popped into her mind; her inability to compose was what she hated most about being undead. At least she could still listen to music. Yet after four days on this road trip, Tamlyn had limited her to one Outside Sky playthrough per day, and she’d already listened to Summer Republic this morning. She used the mirror in the sun visor to check on Pavish in the backseat.
The elf turned a page of their leather journal. Their long, brown hair shrouded their face, exposing their pointed ears that were longer and more defined than Lukie’s. She wasn’t sure if the elf was biologically male or female or somewhere in between, but like the legendary Saint Zilverel, Pavish referred to themselves as polygendered, using they/them pronouns in the Standard Speech. Pavish had assured her that everything was much clearer in an environment where everyone spoke elvish.
“Hey Pav! You’re nearly home!”
Pavish gave a bland smile, looking as interested in their destination as Lukie did when presented with a history exam.
“I can’t wait to see the Wanwood,” Lukie went on. “We’ll find your clan, and I’m sure they’ll welcome you.”
“This indicates that I have been there, but when? With whom did I meet?” Pavish turned a page of their journal. “If only I remembered.” They snapped the book shut.
“We can—”
“No!” Tamlyn wrenched the steering wheel to the left, hard. The wheels locked, and the car skidded.
Lukie whipped her attention to the front.
A ribbon of empty blacktop vanished into the horizon.
Tamlyn stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, mouth open. The car spun out of control.
“Tam! Tam!”
He didn’t respond. Tamlyn never panicked like this, even when they’d faced monsters like the Baron or the Phantasmal Hunt!
Lukie leaned over and grabbed the steering wheel, pushing it in the opposite direction to guide the skid. The car crunched off the side of the road into a ditch, nose-first. Lukie gasped as she snapped against her seatbelt. A second later, a large airbag engulfed her, then crumpled like a deflated parachute.
Lukie paused, wondering why she felt calm, and then reminded herself she was undead, with no pulse to speak of. She didn’t even need to breathe.
While she was a thing animated by the spectral energy of the Underworld, her companions were not. She clawed free of the fabric. “Tam, you okay?”
Still staring vacantly ahead. She snapped her fingers in front of him. Tamlyn blinked, confused. Awareness returned and his cheeks flushed red. “Yes.”
“Pav?” Lukie checked the sun visor mirror again.
Pavish hung forward like a wilted flower, secured by their seatbelt. “Please, release me from this carriage!”
“Won’t be long!” Everything was on a sharp diagonal slant, perhaps about a 120-degree angle if she remembered high school geometry properly. Lukie exited, landing in muddy, waterlogged gravel. Pavish was closer, so she scrabbled up the slope and pulled open the rear passenger door.
Lukie clicked the elf’s seatbelt off and assisted them from the car. With a splash, the leather-bound journal fell into the mud.
She guided the elf to the roadside and sat them on flat ground.
Next, she dashed to the driver’s side, unfastened Tamlyn’s seatbelt, and helped him free. He moved awkwardly.
“Are you okay?” She touched him briefly, not wanting to chill him with her undead touch.
“I saw him,” he whispered. “Walking to the cliffs…”
“Who?”
“It’s not important.” He closed his eyes for a lengthy pause, then snapped them open. “We need to push the car onto the road.”
“Wait until night. I’ll have my super strength then. It won’t be long.” She glanced at the evening sky, awash in bands of purple and gold. It was early in Sunstone, the first month of the year, heavy with heat, summer, and rain. To the north, the thin planetary ring, Marmaruk, arced across the horizon.
Tamlyn slid into the gravel ditch, studying the car. “I want to get moving now.”
Lukie skidded after him, worried. The vehicle was salvageable, with only a cracked windshield, a dented front hood, and bumper. No severe damage. Definitely drivable, and she knew about such things because her father had been a mechanic. A sharp pang spiked through her as she visualized Zeran, bent over a car at his workshop. “Tell me who you saw.”
Tamlyn ran his fingers along a visible crack in the windscreen: a distinctive, curved shape like a banana with fracture lines radiating from it. “Let’s talk about something else. What do we do with the Shadowf—”
“We’re going to throw in the deepest part of the ocean.” Lukie didn’t care about the evil relic at the moment. “After we drop Pavish home! But that’s not important. You and Pav could have died!”
“I’m sorry.” Tamlyn winced.
“What did you see?”
“I…” He balled his hands into fists. “Not now.”
“Anytime I ask you something personal, you clam up. Talk to me!” She stamped a foot, splashing mud on her jeans.
“I can’t.”
“What is your problem? Is it me?”
“Not everything’s about you, Lukie.” Tamlyn’s gray eyes studied the darkening sky above. “Sometimes, you need to give people more space…”
“If I gave you any more space, you’d be on the moon!”
Tamlyn removed his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “I’m calling road service.”
Lukie glared daggers and folded her arms. She could wait him out.
Her gaze wandered, noting Pavish’s journal soaking in the mud. She retrieved it and returned to the elf. “Sorry, Pavish.” Dirty water dripped from the book. “Are you hurt?”
Pavish grabbed the journal, turning the sodden pages. “No. I have survived worse. Once on a trading journey, I had to stitch my own wounds before seeking help from a village twenty kilometers away. Wait, I know this cypher.” They hunched over the text. “Please, give me a moment of quiet.”
Lukie stalked along the roadside, eyeing the blurry distance for signs of oncoming traffic. As the sun sank below the horizon, giving the world an edge of spilled gold, her powers kicked in. The distant, dark blur sharpened into distinct lines of trees as her dark vision snapped on. Lukie picked up a rock and threw it across the fields, where it sailed as if thrown by a catapult, buoyed by her enhanced strength.
Oh yeah. Now time to do something about this car. She returned to the ditch, where Tamlyn stood, his phone pressed against his face. Faint hold music spilled from the phone’s receiver.
“Let me handle this.” Lukie pushed on the front of the car. Physics made her sink deeper into the earth and mud until she found a rocky shoulder to stand on. The vehicle creaked and groaned as she shoved it uphill. “Look, it’s been over six weeks since I returned. And so far, you’re barely told me anything about what happened to you after I died.”
Tamlyn paced beside her, the phone pressed against his head. “There’s not a lot to say.”
“This is like school, where you never told us about your weird family temple—”
“It’s just a religion, Lukie.” Tamlyn clambered ahead of her. She gave a heavy grunt and finally rolled the vehicle onto the road. “Got it! What about your wife?”
“Ex-wife. She left.”
“That’s all you have to say about her?”
“Yes. You’re blocking the road.”
Lukie opened the passenger door, sat, and started the engine. The car silently slid forward at her command. “It works!”
“Good,” Tamlyn said. “Get out of the front seat.”
Lukie locked her fingers around the steering wheel. “Nu-uh. Not finished yet. What happened on that night you went to see Cage by yourself?” Her throat tightened as she recalled the plastic smile of the cruel monster hunter who’d enslaved her upon her return to living lands. I have to protect the world from monsters, Cage had said. Even tame ones.
“I’m not in the mood for this—”
“You said you’d get my photograph back—”
“I keep telling you, I don’t have it.”
“Then explain how you control my feeding!”
“Fine. You want to know?” Tamlyn brandished a coin at her. Worth fifty cents, it had the King’s profile on one side and a wolf’s head on the other. “Cage wouldn’t return your photograph. I got this instead. With it, I can command you to feed.”
Tamlyn flicked the coin in the air, catching it, like Cage had done.
“Where’s my photograph?” Lukie clenched her teeth. “You know, my missing cache object.” She felt in her jeans for her cassette and car keys; she’d re-entered the living lands with those special items that were part of her spirit and representative of the life she’d lost. Not having her photograph hurt, like an absent finger.
“Cage still has it,” Tamlyn said.
Fresh irritation and annoyance bloomed within Lukie. She wanted to flatten the pedal and leave him in the dust. Instead, she hit the horn. Tamlyn winced.
“How could you keep this from me? I thought we were friends.” She wound the window up, ejected Tamlyn’s stupid folk music CD and turned up Outside Sky. She leaned in the seat, hands behind her head, adjusting the sunglasses that covered her red, undead eyes. Meven, another revenant she’d encountered, had warned her that the only way for mortals like Tam to use magic was through objects. Tamlyn had repeatedly told her he didn’t have the missing photograph, and she’d trusted him. He’d been so reliable in school, and yet twenty years had passed for him and not for her.
Tamlyn tapped on the glass. She wound down the window. “You wanted me to go toe-to-toe with a centuries-old monster hunter?” His eyes narrowed. “I did my best, Lukie. Accept it. Now please, leave the—”
Lukie leaned forward, her hands coiling around the steering wheel. “Not until you tell me—”
“Perhaps we should get moving.” Pavish’s clear voice cut through their standoff. “I’ve decrypted one cipher my old self used. It talks about how my sister, Sirendel, runs a hotel in the Wanwood, and how I visited her, many times.” Their eyes, without whites, glinted like green marbles. “May we continue the journey?”
Tamlyn thrust the coin into his pocket. “Lukie, move over.”
“I’m driving.” She pointed to the seat next to her. “You’re welcome to ride shotgun.”
“You don’t have a license.”
“I do!”
“It expired twenty years ago.”
“I’ll drive so smoothly that the police won’t notice!”
Tamlyn’s cheeks puffed.
Pavish cleared their throat. “Mr. Tanner, would it not be best to let Lukie drive? You are still somewhat unsettled from the crash, and you have been operating the carriage for nearly eight hours. As a revenant, Lukie won’t tire.”
Without warning, Tamlyn opened the back door of the car and sat inside.
Lukie bit her lip. Why couldn’t he just talk to her? Especially after that horrible accident? What was wrong with him?
Pavish lingered in the street, studying their journal.
“Come and ride with me!” Lukie gestured at the elf.
“I have one request,” Pavish moved around to the front passenger side. “Turn that infernal music off.”
Chapter 2: The Brindlebranch Hotel
“This doesn’t look elvish,” Lukie complained as they drove through the suburban thoroughfares of Leafmourn, the major town in the elven Kingdom of the Wanwood. Everything was disappointingly mundane. Neon lights glittered atop bars, shopfronts glowed with soft lighting, and terraced apartments rose along the streets. Only elven runes above the familiar letters in Standard suggested they had crossed the border into a foreign country. There were also far more petharien, or people of mixed elf ancestry, about than she’d seen in the Stormfields.
Pavish examined the paper map they had taken from the customs officials. “What does ‘elvish’ mean to you?”
Lukie bit her lip. “Stuff I heard from Mama. Crystal castles, greenhouses filled with rare flowers, and princes riding stags…”
Pavish’s lips quirked. “I fear they are just that: stories.”
“Then why does this place look like any old place in the Stormfields?”
In the rearview mirror, Tamlyn pressed his face against the rear-left passenger window, enraptured like a dog that had seen a squirrel. Lukie scanned the streets but couldn’t see what had grabbed his attention.
“This is a trading town, designed to make other hominins more comfortable dealing with the elven clans. Especially Stormfielders, who keep insisting that they have the right to invade every part of the continent.” Pavish traced a finger along a road on their map.
“No one cares about the stupid empire anymore,” Lukie said.
“Perhaps,” Pavish said. “Old hates are slow to fade. If Sirendel is amenable, I will ask her to take us sightseeing around the Wanwood. You may not see deer-riders or crystal palaces, but there will be many wonders rarely shown to outsiders.”
“That would be amazing! What’s Sirendel like?” She peered out the window. “Which way?”
Pavish pointed ahead. “Go left here. She can be distant, and yet also very warm to those close to her. I am surprised she is running a hotel. She was a priestess of one of the old faiths. I have no idea what she has done with her life since Lythern fell.” They closed their eyes. “A century ago…”
Lukie hoped Sirendel was the nurturing person Pavish needed right now.
“I would know more if I could decipher the rest of my writings. I must have been paranoid to use so many ciphers.” Pavish studied the leather-bound tome in their lap.
“Well, you did own the most evil dagger in the universe.” The Shadowfang was currently at the bottom of Lukie’s bag. “We need to do something about it. What if we drop it into the deepest part of the ocean?”
“No!” Pavish straightened sharply. “Relics have a way of finding their way into the hands of those who can use them. Throwing it in the sea will mean it will eventually wash up on a shore or be cut from the belly of a whale by unsuspecting fishermen—”
“What about sealing it in a block of concrete?” Lukie asked.
“You can’t abandon something that malevolent,” Pavish said. “Even if you seal it in some impervious vault, the relic will find a way to escape. This is a thing of magic and is not constrained by the logic of the mundane world. Only active guardianship can contain it. There may be a ritual to unmake it, but who can say where such a thing may be?”
“Don’t worry.” Lukie resigned herself to being the Shadowfang’s jailer. For now. “I’ve got it. No occultist will get their hands on it.”
Pavish twitched. “My diary says that the dagger had a habit of returning to the Luminous Night Society. I worried that my ownership of it was temporary.”
“Relax,” Lukie wished she hadn’t brought the Shadowfang up. Poor Pavish had been through so much recently. “It’s safe with me. No group of evil magicians are going to get their hands on it. Don’t worry about it. Focus on how you’ll be with your sister soon. You’re going home!”
#
The isolated road wended upwards. Thick clouds blanketed the sky. Marmaruk, the planetary ring, gleamed like a white bar behind them. Dense forest gathered on her left-hand side. On the other, a sharp drop led to the lower portions of the mountain, so different from the beachside landscape where Lukie and Tamlyn had spent most of their lives.
“There will be a storm soon,” Pavish murmured. “A heavy one.”
“This hotel is in the middle of nowhere,” Lukie said. “Why would anyone stay here rather than in Leafmourn?”
“What might seem an out-of-the-way location for you is a canny trading hub that links different clans together.” Pavish stroked the leather journal in their lap.
Lukie changed gears as the incline increased.
“Slow down,” Tamlyn ordered. “There are sharp turns here, but no speed limit or warning signs.”
Lukie stifled a snarky comment about safe driving, especially after the crash earlier. Instead, she said, “I can see in the dark,” and slowed her ascent.
After another twenty minutes, Pavish pointed at a worn sign. “There!”
“Brindlebranch Hotel,” Lukie read.
“It’s not very clear,” Tamlyn said. “Like they don’t want visitors.”
“Only for you,” Lukie said. “Elves and revenants have amazing eyesight!”
The car bounced through a narrow road framed with overhanging branches. She stopped at a parking lot, festooned with weeds, that held three other vehicles.
“It’s a jungle!” Lukie said. “Hey Pav, is this common for elven hotels?”
The elf pressed their lips together in a thin line.
Lukie exited the car and studied the strange shrubs that stood before each parking spot. Fakes, but why? Oh, they were chargers. So adorable. She poked the fake tree until she located the port and plugged the Cloudrider in. “Juicing her now.”
Her companions left the vehicle. Tamlyn’s joints popped and cracked, and he rotated his neck in a stretch. “Let’s check in.” Tamlyn had a simple overnight bag, Lukie had her backpack, and Pavish slung two duffels over their shoulder.
Above, dark clouds massed overhead, concealing the fading gold that had gathered around the horizon earlier. Sweat beaded on Tamlyn’s forehead, and even Lukie, with her reduced physical sensations, felt the muggy heat press against her. That storm would be a blessed release.
Pavish guided them along the path, overgrown with purple and red milkvetch flowers sprawled on each side.
“Look, your special flower!” Lukie noted the similarity of the blossoms before her with those embroidered on Pavish’s robes.
“Yes.” Pavish surveyed the garden, their hands moving in an unfamiliar ritual.
“At my mother’s clan, there’d be lots of daisies. I wish I could see them.”
“Remember what happened when you visited Zeran?” said Tamlyn.
Lukie hit her forehead with a palm. “How could I forget? Look, I won’t make that mistake again. I’m going to stay firmly away from the mundane world and my family.”
Tamlyn’s face remained guarded.
“You believe me, right?” Lukie dropped her hands by her side.
“We’re still learning how the Indigo World works. Good intentions aren’t a guarantee.”
What did he mean by that? Did he think she’d screw up again so massively as she had done in the Thunderhead Ward? She closed her eyes briefly, seeing the gravebeasts run amok through the streets. No, she’d get everything right in the future.
Pavish turned over a milkvetch leaf, revealing a brown mold attacking the underside. They strode forward, and Lukie struggled to keep up with the long-legged elf as they crunched along an overgrown path that snaked through wide trees with overhanging branches.
“That’s the festival hall,” Pavish pointed at a low-slung building in the distance, carpeted with vines and moss.
“It’s seen better days,” Tamlyn observed.
Some windows had been boarded over, while a portion of the roof was covered with a tarpaulin. White patches of mold ate into the dark planks.
Pavish pressed their hands together briefly and then knocked on the carved wooden door that led into the building.
A blended elven man answered. He looked about forty or fifty, with a weather-beaten face. He reminded Lukie of Gyukam Byeon, the drummer from the 1970s Jadetower metal band Dead Cold Region. The thick, pungent smell of alcohol clung to him, like he slept in a wine barrel. He staggered past and vomited in the garden to one side.
Tamlyn stepped back as white splatter stained his shoes.
“Leave!” The man shooed them away with his hands. “Tonight is—”
“Keojung!” a voice screeched from within. “Who are you talking to? Get inside!”
Keojung muttered something in a foreign language and returned to the festival hall.
An elven woman appeared at the door, with an unmistakable resemblance to Pavish, but older. Age lines cut deeply into her face, and gray streaked her brown hair. She froze, although it was hard to tell when elves were startled, as their eyes lacked visible whites.
“Sirendel,” Pavish stretched a hand forth in greeting.
Sirendel talked in elvish and Pavish answered. As the conversation progressed, Pavish shrank, their shoulders hunching and their arms dangling by their sides.
Sirendel turned away from her sibling. “Keojung.” She stabbed a finger at the scruffy man. “We have three new guests. They will stay for the night.” She spoke slowly and deliberately, as Lukie’s cruel science teacher, Mrs. Culpepper, did when she wasn’t paying attention during experiments. “Show them to their cabins. Say nothing untoward. Then prepare for the coming storm. As for the rest, I leave it to you.”
Sirendel retreated inside the hotel and checked a watch on her left wrist. Her pace quickened as she exited through the staff door behind the reception desk.
Pavish remained still. Lukie snapped her fingers in front of them. “Pav! What did she say?”
“She seemed… odd.” Pavish grimaced. “I do not know what to make of her. She asked why I had returned. I greeted her and informed her I had lost many years of memory, but I wished to reconnect. She said I was welcome to stay, and that all my questions would be answered later. For now, we are to rest and enjoy the hotel.” They shook their head. “And she used a formal greeting for me—one associated with travelers and traders, rather than for close family. What happened during my last visit? Why did I do to her?”
“How many cabins do you need?” Keojung called from the reception, leaning on the desk.
“Three,” Lukie announced. To save money, Tamlyn had made the group share motel rooms the entire road trip, which was annoying because she wanted to watch the music channel all night and dance to it, except Tamlyn and Pavish insisted on sleeping.
“Cabins are for merchants and travelers, not family.” Pavish’s head drooped.
“The cabins are better. No one’s stayed inside for years. Apart from the staff.” Keojung gave a faint grimace, then walked around the desk, dangling three keys from his fingers, and handed them to Lukie.
Each was a lovely antique brass item with a carved wooden tag. One side displayed the numbers 1, 2 and 3 in Standard, while the other depicted a character in elven script, presumably the translated digit.
“What about visiting members of the Astralagus clan?” Pavish asked.
“They don’t,” Keojung said. “I’ll carry your luggage for you.”
“We can do it ourselves,” Tamlyn said. “Where are the cabins?”
Keojung pointed vaguely into the darkness.
“Perhaps you should show us,” Tamlyn conceded.
Keojung retrieved a bulky flashlight. He grinned at Pavish briefly, although it was more like a wolf’s yawn than anything friendly.
“Excuse me?” Pavish asked. “Have we met before?”
“No,” Keojung said. “I’m just surprised at your family resemblance to my boss.”
“How long have you worked here?” Lukie asked Keojung.
“Too long.”
“Are you a member of the clan?”
“No.”
“What did you mean by telling us to leave as soon as we arrived?” Tamlyn asked.
“What? You must have misheard,” Keojung said. “Follow me.” He stalked ahead.
Lukie glowered at the rude man’s back as they followed him to an outdoor picnic area with dilapidated tables and waist-high grass.
Keojung picked out a thin path on the edge of the clearing. “This is a loop trail. The other end is over there.” He pointed vaguely into the distance. “There are thirteen cabins in a ring, with electricity, running water, everything you need.”
Dark trees pressed on all sides of them, and insects drifted past on the heavy summer breeze as they continued.
“How is Sirendel’s health?” Pavish ventured.
“She’s fine.” A faint smirk distorted Keojung’s face.
“This place is amazing!” Lukie clapped her hands, marveling at how pretty the place was, even at night. Small rows of red and purple bioluminescent plants swayed in the breeze. Moths with ultra-violet striped wings rested on white-and-blue moonflowers.
“A night garden,” Pavish said. “I fear this is not well tended. Those blooms should be brightest at this moment of twilight.”
“It’s night.” Lukie regarded the cloudy sky.
“Elven twilight is later than human twilight,” Pavish said. “There’s some light above. I suppose it’s dark by human standards.”
Tamlyn squinted. “I can’t see much.”
“You don’t see the glowing flowers and insects?” Lukie said.
“No.”
“I fear that human vision cannot appreciate the craft of an elven night garden,” Pavish said.
“Keojung, can you see the flowers?” Lukie asked.
“Do I look like a full-blood elf? No.”
She’d offended him, damn it. What would it be like for a petharien growing up here in the Wanwood?
The whip-whip sound of unfamiliar birdcalls filled the night. “The storm approaches,” Pavish murmured, a sudden breeze causing their elven robes to billow outwards.
“There’s cabin one.” Keojung stopped and aimed his flashlight at the building. “The other two are further along. Cabin two, then three. The other guests are at the far end, in cabins six and seven.”
“There are others staying?” Lukie asked. Who’d come to a dilapidated hotel in the middle of nowhere?
“They’re in the festival hall,” Keojung pointed. “University students.”
“I thought we couldn’t stay there,” Lukie said.
“You can use the main area, just not the rooms,” Keojung said. “There’s a lounge, bar, and a pool table. All the comforts of home. Is that all the help you need?”
“Yes,” Tamlyn said.
Keojung grunted, and headed towards the festival hall without a word and a slight spring in his step.
“What an odd man,” Pavish murmured. “Sirendel clearly loathes him, and yet she keeps him employed.”
“Maybe he’s the only one she can get to work here,” Lukie suggested. “At least I attempted to be nice to customers when I worked at the Cubermarket.” She shook her head. “Let’s see this cabin.” She unlocked the carved door, and snapped the light switch on for Tamlyn. Inside was a homey wooden interior. A double bed sat on a beautifully woven carpet, with burnished furniture that blended in with honey-colored walls.
“It’s lovely!” Lukie declared. “So cozy. Who wants this one?”
Pavish cleared their throat. “I will, if you do not mind. I am exhausted.” The elf’s shoulders slumped, and they trembled as they entered.
“Good night!” Lukie said as Pavish closed the door.
Cabin two resembled the first, with carved wooden furniture blending into a woodscape, and shimmering silken rugs on the floor, whose patterns changed depending on the angle of the light, like Pavish’s elven robes.
Tamlyn placed his suitcase on the bed.
“There are no TVs!” Lukie realized with a panic. Neither of the cabins so far had one.
“You’ve got books,” Tamlyn reminded her.
Tamlyn unzipped his case and studied the layers of neatly stacked clothes. He selected a folded dress shirt from the stack. “I’m sorry I lost control of the car. I could have hurt Pavish badly.”
Lukie bit her lip. She’d been so hard on him earlier. “And I’m sorry I pushed you to open up after the crash. I was frustrated. I’ve been trying to give you more space, not pester you with questions. But it feels like you’re cutting me out, and I don’t know how to reach you.”
“There are some things I should tell you.” Tamlyn turned away from her, pulling off his T-shirt and spraying himself quickly with deodorant.
Lukie leaned forward.
“But not now.” Tamlyn slowly buttoned his dress shirt with steady hands. “It’s not only you, it’s all this supernatural stuff. Too much, too soon. I’m going into town for a break. By myself.”
“No worries. We could all do with some alone time after the trip,” Lukie said, even though she really wanted to go with him and explore Leafmourn. Four days in a car had set them all on edge, leading to their standoff after the crash. “I’ll chat to those university students; they could be fun.”
A rumble of thunder echoed overhead.
“Uh, is it a good time, really?” Lukie asked. “Pavish said there would be a storm.”
“It’s not raining yet,” Tamlyn said. “I’ll be careful. Will you be okay?”
“Yes. And I’ll stay out of trouble,” she added, because she knew he was thinking about it.
“Good. We’ll head back tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “And we’ll talk. I’ll tell you… about him. Then we can sort out what we’re doing with the Shadowfang.”
“Yeah,” Lukie said. “Pavish mentioned it’s got a habit of returning to the Luminous Night Society.”
“Let’s deal with evil wizards later. They rarely visit bars. The dark robes would be a dead giveaway.” Tamlyn gave a weary smile and stretched forth a hand. “Can I have the keys?”
You didn’t let drunk friends drive, but what did you do about friends who were shaken? Did you make space or lock them up? In the end, it all came down to trust.
Lukie handed the keys over. “Drive safely.”
Chapter 3: The Ghost Hunters
Given that there were people to meet, Lukie settled into cabin three, changed into a clean T-shirt, and freshened her make-up to give her pallid, undead flesh the bloom of life. The Indigo World was full of predators—worse than Cage—and she had to fit in, and not look like a refugee from a different era. She slipped on her sunglasses to disguise her red glowing eyes and grinned at her reflection.
Not bad; especially for a girl who’d had to unlearn all the fashions she’d grown up with to adjust to this new time. She hoped teased hair and puffer jackets would make a comeback.
Before she left, she dug through her bag, sorting through clothes, gear, a stack of teen novels, and notebooks (in which she’d spent hours failing to compose anything musical) to reveal the Shadowfang.
It was a magical relic, a black glass crystal dagger that Pavish had tried to kill the Blood Queen with, in revenge for the Phantasmal Hunt’s destruction of Lythern Village in 1903. It could destroy ghost lords, and even other godlike beings—if you had the correct ritual components.
It was also cursed, evil, and should really have been at the bottom of an ocean. Unfortunately, driving to the Wanwood had taken priority over obtaining a boat.
“You are going to behave yourself. No curses, nothing bad.” Lukie tapped it with her green-painted fingernails.
I have already been to this place; my work is done. A cold, smug voice spoke directly into her mind.
Lukie gasped. Anneth and Sienna had mentioned the blade could talk, but it had never spoken to her, until now.
“What do you mean?” Lukie shook it. “Answer me!”
My child is here. Perhaps their labors will begin tonight. Who can say?
“What?” Lukie brandished the relic again. “What are you planning? How can you have a child?”
Wait, and see.
“Stop being a drama queen! Tell me!”
No response. No matter how many times Lukie threatened it, it spoke no further.
Lukie gritted her teeth and concentrated, trying to sense her patron. To return from the dead as a revenant, she’d made a bargain with a powerful ghost lord, the (sigh) Dark Detective, a seventeen-year-old crime-solving prodigy (or so she claimed) from the 1950s.
“Are you there?” Lukie called. “I could use some advice.”
Her senses touched the thin Veil that guarded the physical world from other dimensions, and beyond that, the howling void of Tenebra where the Detective’s ghost realm hid. A mechanical sound clicked and a voice answered: “This is the operator speaking. The number you’ve called is busy at the moment. Please call back later.”
“What does that mean?” Lukie growled. Her patron’s sense of humor could be too much at times. “Why can’t you answer me? I know you’re there!”
No response.
“If something is going to happen tonight, I want lots of forewarning,” Lukie said. “With plenty of sensible, useful advice.”
No response.
Lukie sighed. How could the Detective be busy? All she did was haunt her ghost realm in Tenebra. Lukie studied the Shadowfang in her hands. Should she carry it with her?
Yeah, like nothing bad would take place if she carried the world’s most evil dagger around in her jacket. It was the size of a school ruler; difficult to conceal. After some thought, she slid the weapon between her mattress and the base and left the cabin, locking the door.
What sort of child would the Shadowfang have? A teeny-tiny knife? Scissors? Something else? Lukie resolved to inspect everything with a blade.
Darkness mantled the world outside, with the usual sources of light: moon, stars, and ring muffled by thick clouds. This would have been a great thing to discuss with Tam, if he hadn’t gone barhopping.
She stopped at cabin one, where a soft glow spread under the door. Pavish was awake. Lukie knocked. “It’s me. Are you okay?”
Footsteps shuffled inside. The door opened. Pavish stood there, long brown hair in disarray. Their unpacked duffel bags rested on the woven carpet. “I can’t sleep,” the elf admitted. “All I can think of is my family. Holding my Eilenau’s tiny body.” Their hands curled as they spoke of their murdered child.
“I’m going to the festival hall,” Lukie pointed. “Did you want to come?”
The elf stared at her with their glass-green eyes. “Yes.” They stepped outside their cabin and shut the door.
Lukie decided not to tell them about the Shadowfang and potential Babyfang threat; that had been the Old Pavish’s problem.
They reached their destination as the thunder rumbled and boomed overhead. No rain, yet.
The reception desk was empty. On the wall behind it, a painting depicted an elven noble, with a crown of red-and-white orchids, and flowing golden hair. He rode his charger through a group of wild-eyed peasants, their hands outstretched to him in mercy. His face was cold and dispassionate, and blood glinted on the end of his spear.
“That’s not a pleasant thing to show guests,” Lukie said. Pavish’s only expression was a slightly curled lip, before they crossed into the main area.
It resembled an old-style dance hall, with fitted planks and a high ceiling that could accommodate even ogres. Wooden beams, carved to resemble living trees, supported the roof, creating the illusion of a forest glade. A long table of gleaming oak, ran along the length of the room. Milkvetch plants tumbled from pots in the corners.
Pavish touched one plant and flipped over the curled leaves, exposing a brown-tinged underside.
“Not a good sign,” Lukie said. “Especially if it’s your clan’s emblem.”
“The milkvetch is more than a symbol,” Pavish said. “It is the flower my ancestors bloomed from in the legendary days of the world. A gift from the Precursor themselves.” They shook their head. “If Sirendel will speak to me tomorrow, I will ask her if I can assist with the gardening. If her establishment has fallen on hard times, then she will need all the help she can get. We were close once.”
“That was a hundred years ago,” Lukie said.
Pavish’s hands trembled.
Lukie winced. “Sorry…”
Pavish cut their fingers through the air and strode around into the main gathering area of the festival hall.
At the far end was a standard-looking bar, and a collection of armchairs. Four people in their late twenties lounged talking to each other.
A fierce hunger for friendship and conversation filled Lukie, for her lost school friends and mortal life. Now only Tamlyn remained.
Pavish sat next to her in silence.
“I know your reunion with Sirendel wasn’t as you had hoped. Uh, are you still thinking of sailing west?” Lukie asked.
“Yes,” Pavish said. “Especially if I cannot reach Sirendel. She knows my heart name, my maturation name, which Meven took from me…” Their fingers spasmed in the air.
“I don’t understand,” Lukie said.
“To the elves, a connection with clan and family is everything,” Pavish explained. “A heart name is shared between loved ones. Without that name, with no connections, you are isolated, adrift. You might die or become a monster.”
“A monster?” She recalled the Baron’s bloodstained lair; Anneth’s. “Like me?” And the wary look Tamlyn had given her. Was it because he feared her as an impulsive teenager? Or as a soul-eating horror?
Pavish pursed their lips. “Perhaps it would translate better as wrongdoer. Elves bond deeply. It’s why it’s always preferable for us to be with our own kind. When our connections are severed, it can be quite drastic. I hear humans survive traumatic experiences more easily.”
“And for pethariens?” This was Lukie’s new favorite word, which sounded nicer than half-elf or blended.
“It will be easier if you favor your human side.”
“Even if Sirendel’s a bust, we can still find other Astralagus clan members in the Wanwood,” Lukie reminded them. “The other survivors from your village may be there.”
“If any remain after the slaughter, and our imprisonment.” Pavish’s voice cracked. “And even if there are, I will be old and distant. Sirendel is my only hope. And now, I fear that is fading.”
“Pavish, I don’t understand what you’re going through, but I’ll help you,” Lukie promised.
A stirring of power shifted between them, and a flair of spectral energy rose like a night-dark flower and faded.
“What did you do?” Pavish pulled away, shivering at the surge of deathly magic.
“I made a promise. And they matter in the Indigo World. You’re my client.” There was a special bond between the revenants and ghosts in need of help.
Except Pavish was still alive. Her last client had been a ghost, who were, theoretically, straightforward to deal with—you sorted through their baggage, and transported them to the afterlife. Although managing Anneth had been anything but easy.
What did it mean she had a living client who was thinking of suicide? “Pavish, I’ll help you. If you… choose to go, I’ll make sure you get to the Lanes of the Dead properly.” Except that would not happen. Pavish would live. Somehow.
“The promise you made felt more significant than one old elf’s existential concerns,” Pavish said. “Like a warning. Are we in danger? Mr. Tanner had a vision that disturbed him terribly.”
Lukie forced a smile. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.” If another cascade of weird events was going to happen, everyone would live, and she wouldn’t do anything foolish. Not once.
A youth from the lounge approached them.
She was a young, pale-skinned, elven woman, with red-gold hair, wearing traditional silken robes that rippled with a faint orange cast. The blossoms embroidered into her garments were wide-petaled flowers, alternating with depictions of round fruit. Her eyes, solid blue, glistened with unshed tears.
Another member of the working-class field clans. None of the elves she’d met had come from the noble clans, which had floral emblems like roses, tulips, orchids, magnolias, or chrysanthuses. Those elves dominated folklore and national history, and were usually depicted as scheming, exotic outsiders who wanted to destroy the brave Stormfield nobility.
“Excuse me,” the apricot elf said. “I’m Prunus Kestrium Isarrel. I wish to meet with an elder, privately, for advice.” Isarrel’s hands twisted together slightly. “I beg forgiveness and will understand if you dismiss me after this interruption.”
Pavish gestured at Lukie. “I will leave this to my companion.”
“You don’t mind talking to her alone for a bit?” Lukie asked.
Pavish shook their head.
“Sure!” Lukie slid off her seat. The young woman bowed to Pavish and spoke rapidly in a dialect of elvish that Lukie couldn’t follow.
Lukie approached the group in the lounge area. To her surprise, all were blended elves. She’d never seen so many of her own kind before, at once. Two—a man and a woman—strongly resembled each other. Lukie recognized the signs of ogre-blooded people from growing up with Terek in Breakwater Bay. Both had wide, powerful, top-heavy builds, with an olive complexion, pointed ears, ridged foreheads, and thick brow ridges.
The other woman was a more familiar blend of human and elf, with dried flowers woven into her black hair and knotted into bracelets around her arms. Her skin was a dark brown, suggesting she, or her ancestors, came from the Lionmarches on the continent’s western side.
Electronic gadgets and recording equipment covered the table in front of them, along with cardboard takeaway containers. “Are you making a movie?”
Lukie hadn’t been able to compose music since she had returned from the dead; other people’s creative endeavors were always exciting.
The ogre-blooded woman adjusted her thick spectacles. “My twin is, at least. He’s the writer and visionary; I’m the technical assistant.”
Her brother leaned forward. “Exactly! This hotel has a unique history that we’re going to explore with a—”
“What are they discussing?” The human-blooded woman pointed at Pavish.
“I don’t know,” Lukie explained. “I don’t speak elvish.”
The woman flopped on the lounge. “It’s not fair. My fiancée can’t be bothered talking to me, but she can open up to some random elder who just walked into this shitty hotel hall.”
The frizzy-haired woman slid her spectacles higher on her nose. “Morenna, I mentioned that counseling might be appropriate in your circumstances. The university handbook mentions special services—”
“Shut up!” Morenna’s curled into fists. “Isarrel and I are not having…” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “There are no dramas.” She grabbed a cushion and pressed it over her face. Dried flowers dropped from her hair onto the floor. “Anyway, I’m not letting some third-year psych student poke around my head. No thanks.”
The ogre-blooded man scowled.
Lukie introduced herself, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Ben,” said the male ogre-blooded man. “This is my twin sister—Credence. And we’re here with Morenna.” He pointed at the different people as he spoke. “And Isarrel.” His face lit as he indicated at the elven woman talking to Pavish.
“Tell me about your movie,” Lukie eyed the gadgets. She recognized the compact camera, but the equipment also included a black box with blinking lights and a flashlight with a wide-spreading lens.
“Tonight, we’re going to get the supernatural on film.” Ben gestured. “I want to be the first to obtain indisputable footage of the ghosts haunting this hotel.”
“Or at least more blurry shapes.” Credence sipped her drink.
“Ghosts are real?” Lukie sat on the couch next to the brooding Morenna and feigned surprise. Technically, ordinary mortals shouldn’t know about the Indigo World.
“I’ve heard that the supernatural can be detected with technology.” Credence picked up the black box. “This device is a ghost scanner that measures the EMF fields ghosts radiate. And this special flashlight will illuminate manifestations.”
“Wow.” Lukie eyed the equipment. “I didn’t know you could use tech to find ghosts.”
“I don’t believe these will work, but it’s always enjoyable to experiment with new gadgets,” Credence said. “Do you want a snack?” She offered Lukie one of the takeaway boxes. “Elven dried beans, rolled in spice. Surprisingly tasty.”
“I’m good.” Lukie hadn’t eaten food since she’d come back as an undead. And boy, she missed it. She briefly recalled the taste of pancakes and syrup.
“Of course they’ll work!” Ben crammed a handful of dried beans into his mouth, with a loud crunching sound. “Ghosts are electromagnetic energy phenomena. They are an image of a person from a previous time that has a particular psychic moment or weight. That’s why these instruments can detect them.”
“Allow me to remain skeptical,” Credence said.
“A ghost isn’t a real person? A trapped soul?” In Lukie’s experience, that was what a ghost was. She remembered Karra turning away from her in the Baron’s prison realm, and the Blood Queen, raising her arms to command her army of gravebeasts.
“Well, no,” Ben said. “Souls can’t be proven. Magnetic readings of psychic impressions? That’s a little more plausible.”
“Everyone goes to the Precursor’s Garden.” Morenna spoke from under the pillow clamped to her face.
“Anyway, this hotel has a dark history. Lots of phenomena. I’m hopeful we’ll find at least a few supernatural manifestations this evening.” Ben held a binder filled with newspaper articles, each in their own plastic pocket. He turned a page. “A cult met here in the 1970s, and did an unspeakable ritual…”
“You have a newspaper clipping in your file, so it can’t be unspeakable,” Credence said.
“Apparently, they all died.” Ben’s voice lowered to a whisper. “They came here, pretending to be business people while conducting their terrible rituals…”
“Which are not clearly defined in the article,” Credence said.
“And they were all found dead in a strange circle, wearing lead masks and clutching strangely carved rune stones.”
“And this is the place they brought me here for a holiday!” Morenna moaned from under her cushion. “It gets one star from me.”
“Other guests mentioned seeing weird visions in the mirrors,” Ben continued. “Cowled figures, and a beautiful elven maiden in a blood-soaked white dress, saying words in a musical language that no one alive today can understand.”
“Wow. Are you sure this stuff really happened?” Lukie asked.
“As reported by disreputable occult magazines you’d find on the spinner rack at the Cubermarket,” Credence said.
“Anyway, we might get some readings if we walk around the hotel. And some videos I can make into a documentary.” Ben clutched his folder. “I want to speak to Sirendel about it. She’s brushed me off until tomorrow.” He squinted at Pavish, still in conversation with Isarrel. “Who’s that? Sirendel’s sister?”
“Her sibling,” Lukie corrected. “Pavish is polygendered. They also haven’t spoken to Sirendel in ages.”
“What’s their gender in elvish?” Credence removed her spectacles and cleaned them with a thick cloth. Her eyes were set far back in their skull, protected by their heavy brow ridges. “There are at least six, I think.”
“Uh, not sure,” Lukie admitted. “I’m only learning about elven culture now. What about you?”
“We were fostered in the Stormfields. We know little about our family. Ben has studied elven culture in his liberal arts degree, and I’ve read his textbooks.” Credence’s tone was crisp.
“Let’s walk around.” Morenna removed the cushion from her face. “All this waiting and talking is driving me crazy.”
Ben checked his watch. “7:47 p.m. Elven twilight has passed. Now all the hidden creatures of the night will emerge.”
“Like moths and owls.” Morenna stood.
Thunder rumbled and boomed overhead.
“No one’s worried about the storm?” Lukie said.
“I want to see what we can find before it kicks in.” Ben gathered his equipment. “Takes ages for them to get going up here.”
Lukie rubbed her hands. “Time to hunt those ghosts.” She sent out psychic tendrils, seeking spectral energy. Nothing. Perhaps it would be a quiet night after all.
Chapter 4: One More Drink
Tamlyn hunched on his barstool, alone. He swirled his dark stout in the glass. Oh, he hated the stuff, but it was ‘his’ drink. One more, then he’d return to the lodge.
He’d been here for a few hours. Men had brushed him off when he’d tried to strike up a conversation. Nobody had approached him. Was he too old? Too human? Too obviously a Stormfielder? Whatever the rules of this bar, he couldn’t deal with it anymore.
One more drink, then he’d be gone.
I blame you, Cage. The monster hunter had told him to get out more. Live a little. Break off with Breakwater Bay, which had alternately sheltered and drowned him. But he’d always taken refuge in protecting other people—his ex-wife Merl, his mother who’d had dementia, and who hadn’t recognized him in the year before she died, and now Lukie.
Nah, he shouldn’t have come to Leafmourn. He was too old, too out of place in his dress shirt, which made him resemble an escapee from a business conference. The other men wore flowing elven robes or garments that resembled them. They all had their hair long, were clean-shaven, and Tamlyn wasn’t even sure of some of their genders without asking. Father Stover, with his fixed view on gender roles, would have a fit if he’d discovered Tamlyn here. The Temple of the New Redemption community was fine with trans people, provided they behaved like the Temple’s heteronormative expectations of one.
Only now had it occurred to him that Cage had given him conflicting instructions. Protect Lukie. Meet other men, play the field.
He sipped his drink. Tonight, he should have stayed in.
The problem was, he was this close to falling apart. The Indigo World, with its bombardment of weird events, was eating his mind. He wanted something normal; a way to blow off steam. Some guy, and five minutes in a hotel room or even in the men’s toilets. He’d met Cage in a motel, the day after they’d slain the Baron. The encounter had relaxed him, so he’d sought something similar in Leafmourn.
Only, it hadn’t worked. He knew the scene around Breakwater Bay. Not here in this foreign town, which despite appearances, was nothing like the Stormfields.
Still, what would it have been like if he and Aubron Chambers had come here? Without guilt, without having to hide anything from their community in the Temple of the New Redemption?
He sipped his drink, grimacing.
That vision he’d seen on the road had been of Aubron. Looking like he’d done on that final night. Distant, and distracted, walking away to his end. To die alone, in agony.
Tamlyn closed his eyes, wishing he’d done something. Anything. He finished his drink hurriedly. If he couldn’t manage his stress, he’d end up like Aubron.
You have Lukie. Not that the company of an adopted daughter (although he’d never tell her that; she remained stuck in the past where they were equals and high school friends) was the same as a romantic partner, but she was all the family he had left.
Not that he’d been acting like it lately. Always overly emotional, Lukie had been desperate for more attention from him for weeks, and he had pushed her away. No wonder she was getting frustrated. That incident this afternoon had brought everything to a head. Shame burned within; he’d crashed the car and nearly killed Pavish, the person they were supposed to be helping.
All Lukie wanted from him was something he couldn’t provide.
Talk to her. Tell her about Merl, Dash, and Kylan. And about Aubron. Tell her what it was like to live in limbo for years after she and Karra were murdered. About the black glass sea, and the bullet that nearly killed you. And that you left the force to look after her and you’ve got no idea what you’re going to do with the rest of your life, or how you’ll keep her fed.
He finished his drink. First thing tomorrow, he’d tell Lukie everything. And then, hopefully, she’d settle. Get more focused, stop pulling stupid stunts like today. If Pavish hadn’t intervened, Tamlyn wasn’t sure what he would have done.
Tamlyn slammed his glass on a coaster, hunched his shoulders, and left the bar, passing a dance floor that boomed with catchy, orchestral rock and small booths where men entwined in each other’s embrace.
No one saw him leave.
Time to return to the lodge, sleep in, check in with Lukie, and figure out what to do with the rest of his existence.
The clouded night sky stretched overhead, promising a future storm. Tamlyn wished for a chance to see the constellations clearly, unhindered by light pollution. Sweat soaked his shirt.
Tamlyn clambered in the front seat of his car and started the vehicle, swerving as he left the bar’s parking lot.
How much did you drink? Pull over, sleep it off—
No. He’d get back tonight. Drive slow, and rest in a bed. Leave the next day.
Tamlyn eyed the curved fracture on the windscreen, cursing as he drove towards the Brindlebranch Hotel. Such a strange shape—most cracks were round. What did it remind him of—a crescent moon?
Dark trees pressed against both sides of the road.
Again, he thought of Aubron, walking away to his doom. Why had Tamlyn seen him earlier? Was it a bad omen?
Would the stress of the supernatural world catch up, and would Tamlyn be joining him soon? Lukie returning from the undead was one thing. But the gravebeasts? The Phantasmal Hunt? How much more could he take?
Cage had warned him that the longer an ordinary person remained within the Indigo World’s borders, the more their disconnection from the Golden World magnified. They lost jobs. Friends and families cut them off and didn’t return phone calls. It wasn’t logical, but that was how it worked. His price for accepting the responsibility of being Lukie’s guardian.
If only you could meet someone who could understand all this madness—
No, he couldn’t drag another person else into his mess. He’d cope and struggle alone, like he’d always done. Living on the edges of the world, away from the structure of his temple, the police force, and society.
Dry lightning illuminated the rainless sky.
In that flash, the figure of a crook-backed girl appeared on the road; her ragged white garments lashed by the rain and winds.
And he was about to collide with her head-on.
Chapter 5: Cabin Seven
“Where are these ghosts?” Morenna complained as the group meandered through the night-dark woods outside the festival hall. “I’m so hot and tired.”
Lukie stretched her arms wide, trying to remember how thick, muggy heat had felt when she was alive and how she would have driven her to the beach. She thought of Karra, plunging into the water, a memory so real and clear that Lukie had to remind herself that Karra was gone.
“The problem is we don’t know where the hauntings or deaths took place.” Ben’s head-mounted flashlight slashed through the darkness.
“Or if they occurred at all.” Credence, also wearing a light similar to her brother’s, examined the black box in her hand.
“Did you speak to the staff?” Lukie shone her ghost-hunting flashlight on the long grass that obscured the picnic area.
Ben kicked a stone. “Sirendel’s been distant ever since we got here. Keojung only spoke to me in grunts.” He glanced towards the bulk of the festival hall. “Although if reception is unattended, we could grab some keys and investigate the cabins…”
“We agreed nothing illegal this time.” Credence planted a hand firmly on her brother’s shoulder.
“This time?” Lukie asked.
“I take risks in the name of journalistic integrity,” Ben said.
“Like breaking into old buildings and nearly getting arrested,” Credence said.
“It’s called urban exploration,” Ben protested. “It’s a necessity when documenting the occult world!”
Morenna yawned.
“Let’s take the loop trail to the cabins,” Credence said. “We can drop Morenna off at the half-point on our walk. Perhaps there will be some manifestations to observe as we continue.”
The group cut through the overgrown picnic area, towards cabin 13. Black boughs extended above, revealing Amarune’s waning face as she peered through the dark clouds above.
Lukie stretched out her psychic senses like invisible tentacles, searching for signs of spectral energy. If a genuine ghost appeared, they would have problems. Tamlyn wasn’t here to instruct Lukie to feed, so she couldn’t directly attack.
Look, it’s the first month of the new year, she reminded herself. When the Veil between the real world and Tenebra is supposed to be the strongest. We’ll find some scary blobs to photograph and that should be it. And if there is a ghost, I can talk them into coming to the afterlife. If I can persuade Anneth, I can convince anyone. Yet her bargain with the Blood Queen had cost her greatly.
Cabin 13 loomed ahead. Like Lukie’s, it blended neatly into the dark trees behind it, its structure partially concealed by overhanging flowering vines. “Time to find some spooks.” Ben rubbed his hands together.
Credence studied her ghost detector. “I’m not sure I agree with this device from an engineer’s perspective—”
“You’re not an engineer yet,” Ben said. “One more year.”
Credence pushed her spectacles higher on her broad nose. “I can be an engineer without formal qualifications. Anyhow, the manual says it should glow and beep near supernatural emanations. When I pulled it apart—”
“I told you not to break it!” Ben gasped.
“I put it back together exactly. It’s only a fancy EMF emitter, you can buy one from the hardware store.”
Ben shook his head. “It won’t work properly now.”
“There’s another gadget.” Credence hefted a flashlight. “This will also illuminate ghosts in the area according to his documentation.”
She tried to pass the flashlight to Morenna, but the woman didn’t notice. Instead, she stared at the festival hall, her arms folded.
Lukie took the device, fiddling with it. A knob at the base changed its colors. One setting was a red and a purple effect that made her pallid skin fluoresce. “This is cool. I could run a disco!”
“Careful,” Ben said. “That’s a UV light. Don’t shine it at people directly.” He squinted at the cabin. “I’ll take some photographs.”
Lukie watched as the ghost hunters got to work, their head-mounted flashlights bobbing and strobing through their dark as they encircled the cabin. Lukie swept the area with her flashlight and only attracted thick droves of insects.
After detecting no suitable phenomena near cabin 13, the group continued their circuit. While no ghosts appeared, Lukie enjoyed the company and the pleasant ramble. She stretched her arms out, trying to see the ring where it bit through the edges of the clouds above. Insects with jeweled wings and glowing bands of fluorescent stripes on their legs landed in the cups of night-blooming flowers.
“So humid.” Ben plucked at his sweatshirt. “We could buy some elven robes while we’re here.”
“You’d look stupid in them.” Morenna stifled another yawn, ignoring a sour glance from Ben. “They’re designed for stick-thin elven bodies. And you don’t have a clan, it’d be appropriation. Will we be at cabin seven soon?”
Ben glared as Morenna stalked past him, oblivious to his anger.
“Not long,” Credence said. “I wonder why these cabins are all spaced apart the way they are. The guidebook said this was a hotel for trading groups, and yet with thirteen two-person cabins, what—that’s about twenty-six guests at once. Perhaps more if people sleep on the floor. I assume the forest clans that come from the depths of the kingdom must bring their own tents or supplies.”
Ben aimed his camera at a shadow on the ground. “The setup reminds me more of a religious site for pilgrims, like at Mount Catchfire or the Diamonddelve. Elven Harmonists prefer small intakes to their holy sites. That’s why you can’t see one cabin from the next. Harmonists like to be alone with nature.”
“Then where is the shrine?” Credence asked. “Where are the sacred gardens?”
“Maybe there’s a secret altar somewhere else, and that’s where all the cultists died,” Ben said.
“I fear you are reaching,” Credence said.
The group continued their explorations. The heavy breaths of the living cut through the buzz of the insects and the calls of the night birds. Lukie deliberately inhaled, to take in the moist scents of the forest loam, the rotting leaves, and flowers.
“Cabin seven. Halfway around the loop.” Ben puffed, pointing at the vine-roofed building looming towards them. “It’s one of the two buildings that is ogre-sized. Got to make the ogre guests walk the furthest away from everyone else.”
“Finally! I’m going to turn in,” Morenna said. She removed a brass key from her pocket and unlocked the door of cabin seven.
“This is like my cabin.” Lukie eyed the carved yellow-brown interior, bed, and wardrobe. “Like being in the middle of a tree.”
“You can see in the dark?” Morenna flicked a light switch near the door, which filled the room with a warm, amber glow.
Crap. Meven, dirtbag though he was, had warned Lukie about using her powers in front of mortals. If she stood out, she’d be a target for monster hunters. “Uh, I’ve got good vision from my elven side.” She adjusted her sunglasses, which no one had commented on so far. To distract them, she pointed to the two bedside tables, cluttered with carvings and curios, including a sleek, curving sculpture made of inlaid horn and wood, and an ornament showing milkvetch flowers trapped in blown glass. “Those knick-knacks are cool. There’s none at my place.”
The ogre-blooded siblings stooped over the threshold and relaxed, standing comfortably under the high-vaulted ceiling.
Morenna sat on the edge of the massive bed. “I wonder why we got the ogre cabin as well.”
“So we can have room parties.” Ben stretched. “Let’s hunt some ghosts.” He scanned the place with his video camera. Lukie swept the area with her flashlight. Credence checked under the bed.
Thunder rumbled again outside, and the sound of chirping insects intensified.
Lukie opened the front door, checking if something had disturbed the night creatures.
Behind her, Morenna screamed.
Chapter 6: The Five Niner
The figure loomed in his headlights: a young woman, with long dark hair streaming across her face in a breeze. She stood, hunched and awkward, on bandy legs. She stretched forth a too-pale hand, pointing to the right.
Tamlyn hit the brakes, hard. The wheels locked, and the car spun in an out-of-control skid.
Tamlyn closed his eyes, expecting to feel the thump of the vehicle smashing into a tree.
Instead, it swung to a stop. He concentrated on his breathing, until he felt composed enough to function, and studied the world beyond the cracked windscreen.
The girl was gone.
His hands clenched. At least it wasn’t Aubron again. But who was she? Another dead person?
Another manifestation of the Indigo World, coming for him.
He opened the door.
The hot summer breeze filled his face. The car’s headlights illuminated the edge of the road, a sharp drop into the tree-lined valley behind, concealed by a layer of trees and wild scrub.
What sort of country didn’t put a railing around steep drops? Or even a reflective sign? Did the elves understand safety standards?
If he hadn’t stopped when he did, he would have gone down the mountainside.
Tamlyn’s stomach clenched, and he vomited over the bark and leaf-lined shoulder of the road.
He’d come that close to death.
Again.
The time he’d swum into the black glass ocean on his brother’s surfboard, with no thought of returning to land at all.
Or when he’d narrowly missed a high-powered air rifle round to his skull when trying to arrest the Hawker brothers for drug running in their bungalow near Wildgrass Beach.
And now two apparitions in the past twenty hours. Sendings of death that wanted to drag him to Aubron’s fate.
“Leave me alone!” he shouted at the Indigo World, unsure once more whether these versions were the encroach of the supernatural or his own brain chemistry getting screwed up with age and stress.
Only a few more years and you’ll become like your mother. You forgot where you put the car keys the other day. What happens when you forget your own name? Where you are? What will happen to Lukie then?
He sipped too-warm water from a plastic bottle to erase the acidic taste from his mouth and paused, heart hammering. Above him, the weather-beaten sign to the Brindlebranch creaked. Barely legible in the darkness, he’d almost driven past it.
He took a deep breath, forced himself to relax, and started the car again, slowly driving to the right along the narrow track that led to the hotel. Branches lashed against the side of the vehicle, and twigs snapped under the tires. He pulled up when he reached the parking lot and exited, light-headed.
He’d nearly killed himself with his reckless driving.
Maybe he should see a psychologist. He had health cover because of his retired police benefits. What he wanted right now was Lukie, to apologize for leaving her on this night when weird things were happening, and to talk about something mundane like music or speculate about what careers their old school friends had.
He stood, squinting into the darkness. No electric lights. How were late-returning guests supposed to get to their damn cabins?
Tamlyn returned to his car for a flashlight and snapped it on.
There were no other vehicles in the parking lot. Had he come by the wrong entrance? He shone the light about and recognized the trail to the cabins, now severely overgrown.
The breeze that moved through the overhanging trees cooled his sweat-sticking shirt. The heavy scent of flowers clogged his nostrils. What did elves do if they had allergies in their flower-obsessed culture? He shrugged and rearranged his priorities to focus on getting to bed. Supernatural shit could wait until the morning.
Tamlyn staggered toward his cabin, forcing his way through the overgrown trail, pushing aside bushes and overhanging branches with his hands. He’d need a machete to get through this properly.
The first cabin loomed in the light, an empty shell covered in vines and moss. A cloud of jewel-winged insects rose into the air when his flashlight illuminated the vegetation.
This was not the same hotel he’d left earlier that evening. Then, the sky had been heavy with clouds and the promise of rain. Tonight, the stars gleamed overhead, and the ring encircled the northern aspect of the firmament.
“Lukie!” Tamlyn shouted, his voice echoing to the skies. “Lukie? Where are you?”
Managing the strangeness of the Indigo World was easier with her there. Keeping an impulsive teenager in check was something normal, even in the face of the bizarre.
He ran forward heedlessly into the thick forest, flashlight shining upon unfamiliar trees, shrubs, and the rotting frames of cabins. Finally, he arrived at cabin three, where Lukie was staying.
He walked to the decaying front door and surveyed the ivy-strangled roof and walls. The cabins had mostly returned to nature. “Lukie!” He flashed the light around. There were no signs that his friend had even been there. No sign of her luggage or presence.
“I can’t do this without you.” Why had he gone to the bar? Why had he left her alone? Some friend he was! How would she feed if she was facing some supernatural threat? His reasons for going to town, which had seemed so rational at the time, now seemed so selfish and petty. He grabbed his phone, but it had no signal. With a scowl, he returned it to his pocket.
Something strange was happening, and he was completely unprepared. At least he’d focused on Lukie during New Year’s Eve; what would happen if he was alone?
Time to return to the car. He mopped the sweat from his face, thinking of mundane horrors like snakes and spiders. As he returned to the main clearing, the sounds of the night cut into his consciousness. Calling birds, humming insects. The heat soaked his shirt, and it wasn’t even the season of Scorch, or high summer, yet.
The decaying bulk of the festival hall loomed in the distant beam of his flashlight.
Before him stood a waist-high marble block, surrounded by neat rows of milkvetch flowers.
He recognized it from visiting Pavish’s village in the Thunderhead Ward: a mourning stone. Left unadorned, on a site associated with a terrible tragedy.
What had happened here? Had he slipped through time to the aftermath of a horrible future? What year was it?
He hated how his mind defaulted to time travel as the most sensible version of events. What if he’d gone to a similar hotel? Or arrived at the Brindlebranch via another exit? Hell, he could have missed the mourning stone on their previous visit, as it had been dark. There had to be a rational explanation—
Behind him, a faint light burned through the darkness, beckoning. Like a slice of sunlight from a window, or a lighthouse gleaming through the trees.
“Hello?” Tamlyn called.
The reasonable thing to do would be to return to the car to sleep off his drunken state and stress, and yet he knew that he’d be lying awake.
The light faded slightly, weakening.
Help me! A simple, whispered voice, burning with pain, rasped in his ears.
Tamlyn straightened.
The cry had come from the forest.
And while part of him argued it could be a trap; the call had sounded genuine.
He remembered Aubron, and how he’d spent hours dying alone on the rocks. No one had heard him.
Tamlyn gritted his teeth and sprinted towards the source of the noise.
He analyzed his reaction even as he ran into the thick forest, flashlight cutting through the darkness. Why get involved?
Because he was the only person here who could do something.
“Hello?” Tamlyn called.
The light dimmed to a meager glow.
Damnit, where was Lukie? He broke through the brush onto a well-maintained trail. Under the starlight, a stone hexagonal building appeared.
The light gleamed from inside.
Tamlyn walked across the clearing—little more than a bowl of dead earth bereft of plants and entered the structure.
Hanging between the pillars was a cracked glass mirror with a crescent moon fracture that resembled the one imprinted on his windshield. Light spilled from the surface as though it was a television screen, showing a dimming sunset in another sky.
He checked to make sure that no one was following him and inspected behind the mirror, hoping for something understandable, like wires or cables. His heart sank in despair when he saw there were none.
Help! The voice whispered once more, this time weaker and more desperate.
The same person as before, and yet he was hearing them inside his own mind, rather than with his ears. “Who are you?”
I don’t know anymore, the voice wailed again. It filled his head with raw emotion; he could tell that they were extremely upset but couldn’t discern anything about their identity. What had happened to this person who had forgotten so much of themselves? It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t even call the police, because this was the Indigo World, a monstrous place that cared little for its victims.
The procedural part of his mind kicked in. Everything he’d done as a police inspector had been guided by procedures, forms, and rote behavior. This person, whoever they were, was a trauma victim. And there was a procedure for that—Form Five Nine with its standard list of questions that he’d asked countless traumatized individuals.
Clearing his throat, he spoke to the Five Niner. “Would you tell me what you can remember of your experience?”
I don’t know anything. Only that I’m dying.
Tamlyn gritted his teeth. With a typical Five Niner, a sexual assault victim, he had a fair idea of what had happened.
With a severely upset supernatural entity, lacking substance, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t ask for their clothes to gather forensic evidence, or palm them off to forensics, or call in Ellie, the police social worker, to sort out the next steps.
“How can I help you?”
Everything will end when twilight fades.
Tamlyn glanced behind him. Still night; the sun had set ages ago.
“You got murdered? Are you a ghost?” Lukie was better at dealing with this stuff; not him. He checked to see if she was outside, running towards him with that impish grin on her face. And yet only darkness gathered.
The voice wailed; a faint, dying echo.
He touched the mirror again, trying to reach for the person, and his fingers vanished into the broken glass. Like he was sticking his hand through a window.
He whipped his hand back.
The light emanating from the cracked pane weakened to a candle flame.
“Can you tell me anything more?” Tamlyn asked.
No response.
The light dimmed again, this time to the momentary, dull glare of an old electric light bulb after it was snapped off.
If he waited, there might be nothing left to help.
He hesitated. He didn’t trust the Indigo World. It belonged to monsters. And, as Cage had said, the people who hunted them.
Did he want to get involved? He was a normal man, not cut out for the supernatural. He should walk away, return to his car, and hope he’d wake at his proper reality.
But if he left, the voice could die.
The way he’d let Aubron go.
And could he live with that?
The light flickered low. He had a second to make his choice.
Tamlyn stepped through the cracked glass mirror.