“What kind of spirit did you say Ghost was again?”
“I didn’t,” she reminded him, earning herself a nasty look. Honestly, it was kind of a silly thing to be a stickler about, especially since these people were helping her, but Ghost had fought so hard for his name. Telling it to strangers just felt wrong. Maybe she was making too much of it, but until he told her otherwise, Marci had decided the Empty Wind’s true name and true nature was for her alone.
Of course, if she didn’t get a move on, it wasn’t going to be for anyone.
“Okay,” she said, putting her chalk in her pocket. “That should do it.”
She moved to the spot she’d designated as the beginning of the spell and put her hands down, fingers just touching the edge of the bright-yellow chalk circle. When she was sure she was in the right position, Marci put everything else out of her mind and reached out, gathering the rich, familiar, pea-soup magic of the outer DFZ into her body before channeling it back down her arms and through her fingers to fill the circle in front of her.
It didn’t take long. Compared to the thin, scattered magic of Heartstriker Mountain, being back in the DFZ was like standing under a waterfall. She barely had to hold out her hand and the magic rushed in, filling the circle instantly. And as the magic swirled and gathered, a small, flickering figure began to appear at the center, pulsing like a will-o’-the-wisp in the dark.
“That’s it,” she whispered as she pushed even more magic into the circle. “Come back to us. Remember your promise.”
The words rang with unexpected power, and Marci glanced up in surprise to see the cats moving their mouths in time with her own. They made no sound, couldn’t even physically form the words, but that didn’t seem to matter. They were clearly working with her, almost like a casting team would, and as they followed her lead, Marci could feel the faint lines of their natural magic mingling with her own, all of it boosted by something else. Something cold and familiar.
It was power of the forgotten, she realized with a start. The longing of the lost to be remembered, and it wasn’t coming from the cats alone. There were others here as well, shadowy figures hovering at the edge of the dark basement. Every time Marci reached for more power to feed into the circle, they reached out to meet her, handing her magic as cold and lonely as the grave itself.
If Marci hadn’t been in the middle of a spell, that would have been enough to send her running. It was one thing to see the undead tearing apart a violent dragon-hunting spirit who was trying to kill you, but it was quite another to take magic from them like you were borrowing a cup of sugar from your neighbor. Unsettling as it was, though, running wasn’t an option. The spellwork around the circle wasn’t just a binding for Ghost. She’d specifically engineered this spell to cut both ways, and with every fistful of magic she fed into it, the more tightly Marci bound herself to everything around her: the cats, the ghosts, the emptiness, the death, all of it. But while she was now inextricably part of it, the magic was not being offered to her. Now that they were flowing through her, Marci could almost hear their silent voices crying for him to wake up and remember what no one else bothered to. To wake and keep the names of the forgotten souls the DFZ was built on, to be a champion for the forgotten dead.
I have not forgotten.
Marci almost jumped out of her skin. The deep voice rose like a gale in her mind, scouring away every other thought. When it passed, only the cold remained, a grave-like chill that still froze her to the bone, though that didn’t stop Marci from mentally hugging it tight as she looked up with a joyful grin.
“Welcome back.”
In the middle of her circle, Ghost’s furry body shone bright as moonlight, lighting up the dark basement. He stayed like that just until he saw he had her attention, and then he changed again, the cat blowing away like dust to reveal the ghostly soldier in his ancient centurion’s armor, his blue eyes glowing happily from the depths of his empty helmet.
You came for me.
“Of course I came for you,” she said, laughing with relief. “I’llalwayscome for you. We’re a pair, remember? You to me, me to you.”
Always, he finished, his shadowy body shaking with emotion.Iwasright to choose you.
“Same here,” she said proudly. “Best cat ever. Now.” She spread her fingers, sucking in as much magic from the air as she could hold. “Let’s get you fed up and get out of here. Not to be cocky, but I’m probably near the top of Algonquin’s to-kill list at the moment, and I’d rather not stick around here longer than is strictly necessary.”
No need. I am ready.
Marci frowned. “Are you sure? Because I’ve only fed you—”
You have been good to me, so I shall be good to you, the Empty Wind said firmly.You have kept faith, Marci Novalli. I will do the same.
That didn’t sound like it had anything to do with obtaining an adequate amount of magic, but before she could point that out, her spirit made it a moot point. As soon as the Empty Wind finished speaking, the centurion vanished, his shadowy body blowing away on a wind she couldn’t feel. The shadows at the room’s edge did the same, the ghostly figures collapsing back into the dark with a unified sigh of relief. In the end, only the cats remained, and standing in the middle of them like a proud king was Ghost, big and white and glowing brighter than ever as he glanced up at Marci with a slow blink.
Ready when you are.
“So it’s back to the cat, eh?” she said, shaking her head. “You know, you’re not nearly as impressive this way.”
But far less obvious,Ghost replied.I don’t think your guests could take much more in any case. The pompous mage in particular looks like he’s going to pop.He swished his tail.I’d enjoy that.
So would Marci, but she knew better than to say so out loud. In any case, the look on Sir Myron’s face when she turned around was satisfying enough.
“Wh-What was that?” he demanded, whirling around to peer into the now-empty corners where the shadows of the dead had been. “What did youdo?”
Marci shrugged and held out her hands for Ghost, who jumped nimbly off the floor into her arms. “Exactly what I said I’d do. I took my spirit back to his home and fed him magic. Now he’s all better, see?”
She held out her glowing cat for Sir Myron to inspect, but the mage recoiled. “Yousaidhe was a Mortal Spirit!” he cried, his voice growing angry. “That’s a death spirit if I ever saw one.”
Marci nodded. “I thought so, too, at first, but while death is a part of his powers, he’s most definitely not a death spirit. You see, death spirits are just echoes—”
