As if in answer, a hand pops out of the ground beside the rocks and slaps the soil, palm flat on the forest floor. Behind it, a head and then a dirt-covered body rise from the earth in a way that reminds me of a swimmer exiting the side of a pool.
“Shiiiiit,” I hiss, and then we run. We don’t get far. Another hand breaks through the dirt in front of us, the body of a man rising up from below. This one is dressed in animal skins, wearing a headdress that appears like a wolf’s skull with horns.
I stumble back and spin around to return the way we came, only to find three women waiting behind me, brushing dirt from their shoulders. I’m surrounded.
I touch the hilt of one of my daggers.
One of the women bares her teeth.
I leave it where it is.
They’re not attacking me, but they’re closing in. Studying me.
I clear my throat. “Can you take me to the leader of your coven?” I ask. “I need help.”
They circle me, studying me, their paths growing tighter and tighter, closing in. I try not to panic. “Phantom, do you know what these things are?”
“Wraiths, darling. Like us.”
“Like you?” My voice rises in disbelief.
“They are dead witches possessed by witch spirits.”
“Zombies.
“No. Zombies are animated corpses. These are spirits. Thinking, intelligent spirits that have manifested using the dead. Just like us.”
“Please,” I say to the wraiths. “If I could just talk to the witch who helped Damien… It will only take a moment.”
They act like they can’t hear me. They close in.
“These are spirits, Eloise,” Phantom says again. “You can command them. You have spirit magic.”
“How?”
“Believe you can and you will.” The fox steps into me until their side is brushing my leg.
I stand taller, lift my chin, and search deep inside myself for any magic that might connect me to these wraiths. I feel something, but I’m not sure exactly what it is. I’ve never used this part of myself.
“Stop!” I command, leaning my energy into a tingle I feel between my eyes.
The wraiths stumble to a halt. I want to ask where to find the witch in question, but without her name, I have no idea what to ask for. In the end, I simply say, “Show me to the witches of Dimhollow.”
All four of them step around me and start walking deeper into the woods. I turn on my heel and follow.
“Good work,” Phantom says.
“Let’s not count our witches before they’re hatched,” I mumble. “This is heavy magic.”
“Hang in there, darling. All you need is a name.”
I get the very real perception that we are navigating a labyrinth of trees. The way the path winds and folds in on itself disorients me, and I know without a doubt that I’d be lost if not for our ghostly guides. But every step comes at a cost. By the time we step into a large clearing between a neighborhood of quaint cottages made of stone and thatched roofs, I’m seeing spots and sniffing back the threat of a bloody nose. I’m also so cold I can’t feel my fingers.
Desperate for relief, I drop my hold on the dead. The relief is instant, like I’ve been carrying a five-hundred-pound weight on my shoulders and just dropped it into the dirt. But the moment I release my hold, they turn on me, screeching.
I bend myself protectively over Phantom as their icy claws scrape my back. The cuts are cold, then turn hot once they’re open. I howl in pain. Tears form unbidden in the corners of my eyes. It hurts so bad I shake.
“Please!” I scream, curled into a ball around Phantom. “Does anyone here know Damien?”
