Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (85)
“I believe so, yes,” Marcelene answered carefully. She peered idly into the orb that began pulsing slowly with a faint white glow. “But . . . do you dislike the entities that are drawn to you?”
The question caught me off guard. “Do I dislike being stalked by my dead stepfather and whatever wretched things are taking over his body? Yes, I’m not enjoying the experience.”
I couldn’t help the edge to my tone. I’d gone through their little trails with no objections, but I wasn’t up for being patronized.
“You are fond of a few of the dark beings that surround you, yes?” the leader of the crones asked, betraying no emotion, a simple question.
I sighed. “Yes, if you’re asking about the . . . The Halloween Boys, then yes, I like them.”
“And they like you profusely, fervently, even.”
My irritation rose in my bones. I could see why Ghost wasn’t particularly fond of them. “Your point?” I asked, crossing my arms. “I didn’t come here to be shamed for my choice of friends.”
“Are they only your friends?” Marcelene pulled out a small leather bag and untied the top. Turning it upside down, small bones clattered atop the purple tablecloth.
“Are you guys going to give me any answers, or just more questions and riddles?” I asked, exasperated. “Seems that’s what everyone in this town prefers to do.”
“No one in this place knows what to do with you, child,” Marcelene replied, surveying the bones. She didn’t seem put off by my surliness. “You waltz into Ash Grove, who hasn’t allowed a tourist in twenty years, and you walk amongst the myths and legends. They accept you into their groups happily.”
“Peculiar, indeed,” Victoria whispered. “Give me your finger, please?”
“Sure,” I answered, holding my hand out. The old woman took what looked like a sewing needle and pricked my thumb. I winced but didn’t want to cower or show fear. The witch angled my thumb, letting a drop of blood fall atop the crystal ball.
Upon impact, the glow faded and turned . . . black. Yet somehow, it still glowed. Could black glow?
Esther gasped, putting a hand to her throat. Her stare searched me with confusion. “She’s clearly alive,” she breathed. “But there is nothing living about her. It’s as if . . .” The apothecary witch leaned back in her chair.
“Alive? Of course I’m alive.” I shook my head. “You needed to put me through all this weird stuff to figure out if I’m alive? Are we almost done here?”
Victoria looked to Marcelene. “But the town allowed her in. The town sees her, though we do not. What could it mean, sister?”
Esther interrupted. “She has a familiar. A raven, at that. I would have killed to have a raven familiar. Yet she is not one of us.”
Marcelene tapped a slender bone, addressing me. “You are not a witch. Yet something feels so familiar about you . . .”
It wasn’t that I was hoping to be, or maybe I was. Maybe any sort of explanation would have been welcomed, but my heart sank at her declaration.
“If someone isn’t upfront with me soon, I’m leaving,” I declared, scooting my chair back a fraction. “You may think The Halloween Boys are terrible, but they’ve never treated me like a science project.”
“The Halloween Boys, especially that Ghost of yours, have damned you, child.” She scooped up the bones and tossed them down again. With an unsatisfied huff, she pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling with practiced speed. “The water and moon say it, the earth declares it, and your aura and palm confirm it.” Her voice grew in intensity as the table began to softly vibrate. The air froze in my throat. “Your blood screams it, child.” A card popped from the deck of colorful foils and landed with a flick. The two other women leaned in with wide eyes. Marcelene plucked the card and held it in front of me. The tarot card depicted a chilling outline of a skeleton holding a long, curved knife. “The card with no name. You are not of the living, Blythe. You are dead.”
CHAPTER 32
Ghost
BATS, BLOWJOBS, AND BURNINGS
You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me.
J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla
I leaned against my bike, peering at Magia Eclectics, deliberating on what would happen if I ordered Onyx to set it ablaze. Were they warded against dragon fire? Could they ward against an extinct species? Only one way to find out. I could walk in in my human form, but I couldn’t pass any threshold past the stupid little jars of dirt and fancy rocks they sold. I wondered if that was a flaw in their wards, if me as a human passed enough of their criteria that I made it through security. I wondered where else the flaws in their shields were. Spells and curses fascinated me, only giving me a puzzle to solve, a challenge.
The door chimed, and in broad daylight, he stalked forward, long feathers swishing on the wind behind him. His plague mask looked as ridiculous as he did. I pointed as he neared. “You’re on my shit list, Raven.”
He stopped a healthy distance away before continuing to cross the street. “The werewolf told me to get her to safety. The witches were safer than you last night. Tonight may be different.”