that he had gone through a period when he had signed his checks in Greek and
Aramaic characters. Perenelle s lips curled in a smile. He spoke sixteen
languages well and another ten badly. He could read and write in twenty-two
of them though there wasn't much chance to practice his Linear B, cuneiform
or hieroglyphics these days.
She wondered what he was doing right now. He would be looking for her, of
course, but he would also need to protect the twins and the pages that Josh
had torn from the Codex. She needed to get a message to him, she had to let
him know that she was fine and to warn him about the danger they were in.
One of the earliest gifts the young woman known as Perenelle Delamere had
discovered when she was growing up was her ability to talk to the shades of
the dead. It wasn't until her seventh birthday that she realized that not
everyone could see the flickering black-and-white images she encountered
daily. On the eve of her seventh birthday, her beloved grandmother, Mamom,
died. Perenelle watched as the withered body was gently lifted from the bed
where she had spent the last ten years of her life and laid in the coffin.
The small girl had followed the funeral procession through the tiny town of
Quimper and out into the graveyard that overlooked the sea. She had watched
the little rough-hewn box as it was lowered into the earth, and then she had
returned to her home.
And Mamom was sitting up in the bed, eyes bright with their usual mischief.
The only difference was that Perenelle could no longer see her grandmother
clearly. There was no color to her everything was in black-and-white and her
image kept flickering in and out of focus.
In that instant Perenelle realized she could see ghosts. And when Mamom
turned in her direction and smiled, she knew that they could see her.
Sitting in the small windowless cell, Perenelle stretched her legs out in
front of her and pressed both hands to the cold concrete floor. Over the
years she had developed a series of defenses to protect herself from the
unwanted intrusions of the dead. If there was one thing she had learned early
on about the dead particularly the old dead it was that they were
extraordinarily rude, popping up at the most inopportune and inappropriate
moments. The dead particularly liked bathrooms it was a perfect location for
them: quiet and still, with lots of reflective surfaces. Perenelle recalled a
time she d been brushing her teeth when the ghost of an American president
had appeared in the mirror in front of her. She d almost swallowed the
toothbrush.
Perenelle had quickly come to understand that ghosts could not see certain
colors blues and greens and some tints of yellow and so she deliberately
encouraged those colors into her aura, carefully creating a shield that
rendered her invisible in the particular Shadowrealm where the shades of the
dead gathered.
Opening her eyes wide, Perenelle concentrated on her own aura. Her natural
aura was a pale ice white, which acted like a beacon for the dead, drawing
them to her. But over it, like layers of paint, she had created auras of
bright blue, emerald green, and primrose yellow. Now, one by one, Perenelle
shut off the colors yellow first, then green, then the final blue defense.
The ghosts came then, drawn to her ice white aura like moths to a flame. They
flickered into existence around her: men, women and children, wearing clothes
from across the decades. Perenelle moved her green eyes over the glistening
images, not entirely sure what she was looking for. She dismissed women and
girls in the flowing skirts of the eighteenth century and men in the boots
and gun belts of the nineteenth and concentrated on those ghosts wearing the
clothing of the twentieth century. She finally picked out an elderly man
wearing a modern-looking security guard s uniform. Gently easing the other
shades aside, she called the figure closer.
Perenelle understood that people particularly in modern, sophisticated
societies were frightened of ghosts. But she knew that there was no reason to
fear them: a ghost was nothing more than the remnants of a person s aura that
remained attached to a particular place.
Can I help you, ma am? The shade s voice was strong, with a touch of the
East Coast in it: Boston perhaps. Standing tall and straight, like an old
soldier, the ghost looked about sixty, though he could have been older.
Could you tell me where I am? Perenelle asked.
You re in the basement of the corporate headquarters of Enoch Enterprises,
just to the west of Telegraph Hill. We got Coit Tower almost directly
overhead, he added proudly.
You seem very sure.
Should be. I worked here for thirty years. wasn't always Enoch Enterprises,
of course. But places like this always need security. Never one break-in on
my watch, he informed her.
That'san achievement to be proud of, Mr .
It surely is. The ghost paused, his image flickering wildly. Miller. That
was my name. Jefferson Miller. Been a while since anyone asked for it. How
can I help you? he asked.
Well, you've been of great assistance already. At least I know I am still in
San Francisco.
The ghost continued to look at her. Did you expect not to be?
I think I may have slept earlier; I was afraid I might have been moved out
of the city, she explained.
Are you being held against your will, ma am?
I am.
Jefferson Miller drifted closer. Well, That'sjust not right. There was a
long pause while his image flickered. But I m afraid I Can't help you I m a
ghost, you see.
Perenelle nodded. I know that. She smiled. I just wasn't sure if you
knew. She knew that one of the reasons ghosts often remained attached to
certain places was because they simply did not know that they were dead.
The old security guard wheezed a laugh. I ve tried to leave but something
keeps pulling me back. Maybe I just spent too much time here when I was
alive.
Perenelle nodded again. I can help you leave, if you would like to. I can do
that for you.
Jefferson Miller nodded. I think I would like that very much. My wife,
Ethel, she passed on ten years before me. Sometimes I think I hear her voice
calling me across the Shadowrealms.
Perenelle nodded. She is trying to call you home. I can help you cut the
ties that bind you to this place.
Is there anything I can do for you in return?
