Gravity returned to him. Hisbody hurtled through the air, across the room, and slammed shoulder-first intothe half-circle of windows. They shattered, and daylight blinded him. Anembarrassing "hmph" escaped his lipswhen he tumbled out the window and rolled down the slant of the roof.
He landed on his back in athick bed of peonies, blooms bursting with white and pink petals all aroundhim. For a long, dizzy second, he lay there, staring up at the bright, bluesky. At least it hadn't been a rose bed. He sat up, shaky hands patting himself in search of broken bones. None.He stood, grabbing hold of an iron fence to steady himself before noticing thespikes at the top that could have easily impaled him if he had been a couple ofinches to the left. He gagged a little, almost losing his lunch.
"What are youdoing?" Emmeline yelled.
He looked up at the brokenwindow, expecting her to be leaning out it.
"Get your shittogether!" she snapped, and he jumped, finding herstanding on the other side of the fence. She passed through it when she closedin on him. "He knows why you're here."
Benedict groaned. That was theproblem with his ghost partner—if she saw into other spirits, they could seejust as well into her.
"Where?"he grunted the question.
Her arm stretched out,pointing toward the creek and the little shed at the back of the property.
Benedict nodded, headthrobbing when he did. He started dragging himself in that direction. His back twinged, his legs stiff, but every step got easier, faster,under the mounting sense of urgency.
The slope of the grass helped,downhill always better than uphill. He sank his hand into his pocket again,fishing out another bit of chalk. He couldn't remember dropping the last piece,somewhere between being picked up by a ghost and tossed out a window. Luckily,he always carried extra.
"He's coming," Emmelinesaid, suddenly beside him, keeping pace and throwing quick glances back towardthe house.
Benedict almost lost his stepwhen he reached the shed beside the narrow dock. He ground his teeth againstthe sharp pain shooting up his back. Sunlight glittered off the clear stream asit rolled over the stones, darkening under the shadow of the dock. Heshouldered open the flimsy door and fell inside. Dust billowed up from the oldwood planks. Crates of lawn decorations, fishing rods and supplies, andgardening tools gathered in the corners. He couldn't help but notice the axleaning against the wall, cobwebs collected around it as though binding it tothe spot. Falling to his knees, Benedict swept his arms across the floor topush the stacks of junk aside, clearing a spot. He touched the chalk down,barely starting to draw the seal when a furious, booming voice made his stomachdrop.
"What's his name?"Benedict shouted.
"Roger CliftonJames," Emmeline answered,voice steady but outside the shed.
He wrote the name inside theseal, looked over his work once, and then nodded, crawling to his feet andreaching for the old ax. His fingers brushed the rough wood wall, the corner,cobwebs, but not the handle of the ax. He twisted toward it, staring at theempty spot before turning a full circle to study the little shed. The ax wasgone.
The roaring of the ghost had ended, nothing but the gentle rush of the creek and thegroaning of floorboards underfoot.
Catching his breath, Benedictslowly opened the shed door. The ax lay on the soft, grassy bank of the stream.He took a step outside, gaze sliding up to where Emmeline stood not far beyondthe weapon. She leaned up on her toes, toward nothing he could see. She spokesoftly. Had she calmed the ghost? Soothed Mr. James into a trance of some kind?
Benedict took long, carefulstrides toward the ax, as though being quiet would allow him to go undetected.
He could make out the softsound of Emmeline's voice, rushed, as though the words she spoke were comingout piled on top of one another, no spaces in between. He was almost to the axwhen he chanced another glance up at her. Her eyes shone a vivid green,brighter than any blade of grass or perfectly lit emerald. The corners of hermouth grew sharp, teeth clicking every so often around her hushed words. Itcouldn't be calming, whatever she said to the ghost. It just couldn't be.
He didn't have the time toworry about it or second guess his choices. He needed to get the ax and breakthe seal in the shed. He needed—
His breath came out in a coldcloud just as he touched the handle of the ax. He stared down, the grass goneand his fingers curling into snow to wrap around the handle. That wasn'tpossible. This spirit couldn't be strong enough to make him see something likethis, to feel the dry cold of the snow clinging to his skin.
Benedict had only begun tostraighten his legs and stand when a body slammed into his, lifting him up andpushing him back. Together, he and the ghost crashed into the water. He felt itbreak under his back, not the way water should break, but the way thin icemight. Cold enveloped his body, but he felt it most around his skull and downhis spine, agony slicing through him with such a shock that he bowed, archinginto the other man. He was pushed down until his back touched the stones at thebottom. He tried to get to the surface, but a weight held him down.
He forced his eyes open, coldstinging at every nerve. The blue water shimmered with shapes of the worldbeyond the surface, bright with all the white outlines of winter. The surfacewas so close. He reached up, his fingers pushing out of the water, chunks ofice bumping his knuckles.
She stood there at the water'sedge, looking back at him. For one terrible second, Benedict stilled, staringat Emmeline. Her mouth opened, gasping for air, and tears slid from her greeneyes. Misery pooled in her expression, swirling in all the details of it. Hesaw everything in her then, splayed out before him. She was frightened,heartbroken, furious, and unsure. But what she wasn't wasmerciful.
What had she done?
Why?
Had the anger of the otherghost infected her?
How could she
