“It’s not your fault, Gary,” Cain said immediately. Moving to stand behind Gary’s chair, he placed one hand on the back of it. “Those things come and go no matter what we do.”
“Exactly,” Clifford said. “Dark spirits go wherever they like. I imagine a party full of ghosts is a tempting target. They could send them into the crowded festival. Imagine the energy that would create?”
If his father meant to allay Gary’s guilt, the ghost didn’t look convinced. “Which means it is my fault.”
Slate agreed in the broad sense it was Gary’s fault—he got all the ghosts to show up—but that was overly simplistic. “Don’t beat yourself up over this,” Slate said. “They would’ve gone somewhere. You, however, brought them to a town that has four mediums trained to banish dark souls. If you think about it, you did the world a public service.”
Dash stiffened in the seat beside Slate. When Slate looked over, he kept his gaze on the floor.
“What makes a spirit turn dark?” Oliver glanced at Thomas, but when he didn’t answer, Oliver turned to Morten.
“For most ghosts, nothing,” Morten said. “Who they are in death reflects who they were when alive. In a few cases, the manner of death warps their personalities into something dark. Those souls, however, are easier to spot. They are angry spirits who focus on a singular person or place. The two weencountered in the woods appear to be the former. They remain on this plane because they fear crossing over to a place of peace and joy.”
“They stay because they’ve learned to feed on misery, and they like it,” Clifford said. “There’s only one way to deal with them—banish them.”
Slate had never heard his father so strident about dealing with spirits. Clifford hadn’t displayed this level of animosity when they discussed how to handle Gary. Clearly, his father drew the line with dark spirits.
Searching the room, the four ghosts were unusually quiet. Oliver looked confused, but the other three were stone-faced. “Isn’t there any other option?” Slate asked.
“I see on your face you’re not happy about this, but it’s not cruel,” Clifford continued. “It’s necessary for the well-being of everyone—ghosts and living. When dark spirits settle somewhere, they don’t just cause trouble. They destroy lives. People get sick, tear families apart, good people make terrible choices. You can’t negotiate with them because causing harm is the point.”
“Esmerelda banished dark spirits when she was alive,” Marjorie said. “She taught your father.”
“Morten, his father, and grandfather, all banished them as well,” Millicent said. “It’s what mediums do to protect people and ghosts.”
“Dark spirits aren’t lost or mischievous souls,” Morten added. “These aren’t spirits who need help or just want attention. You can’t change who they are.” He paused, met Slate’s eyes. “I’ve seen what happens when they’re left alone. Watched families fall apart, watched people get sick for no medical reason, watched neighbors turn on each other. It doesn’t get better. It only gets worse.”
The way they all piled on, Slate wasn’t sure who they were trying to convince. He understood that everyone who had done this work for decades agreed. This was standard procedure. It also made sense. Dark spirits didn’t deserve sympathy the way Gary or Cain did. They’d had a tragic end to their lives, and those deaths didn’t change who they were at their core.
“Has anyone ever tried talking to one?” Dash’s voice cut through the agreement. “Tried to understand them?”
The room quieted, and everyone looked at Dash. Slate’s parents, and the Reeves, regarded him with fond expressions, like he was a precocious child trying something for the first time. The ghosts were a mixed group. Thomas and Cain were interested; Gary disagreed; and Oliver appeared confused. Only Meredith seemed supportive.
Dash remained seated, hands still stuffed in his hoodie pocket. He didn’t accept things blindly. Just because it had “always been done that way” wasn’t a reason to keep doing something if he thought it was wrong. It was what made him Dash.
“Experience matters when dealing with spirits, Dash.” Clifford’s expression softened slightly, but it was still paternalistic. “I know it might seem harsh, but you only learn some lessons after working in the field for years.”
“Your heart’s in the right place, son,” Morten added. “It always is, but you need to trust me. These ghosts are not like the others you’ve met. They’re not lost souls. They know exactly what they’re doing.”
Dash didn’t push back. Instead, he kept his gaze on the floor and stayed quiet. The reaction concerned Slate. Dash didn’t do quiet. If he thought something was wrong, he fought back. The only time he went silent was if he knew arguing wouldn’t change things.
The conversation moved as if Dash had agreed with the decision. Meredith kept sneaking glances at her brother, but he never looked up. Slate knew Dash was listening, but he wasn’t looking for a chance to contribute. He’d asked a question, but the others dismissed it without a direct answer.
With his focus on Dash, Slate stopped paying attention. He caught snippets about timing, setting traps, and staying ready to act if the chance presented itself. He ignored all of it and kept his attention on Dash.
His silence made everything feel wrong. It sat in the room like a weight that people walked around. For a moment, he thought Millicent had noticed her grandson’s distress. She glanced at him with a concerned expression, but when he didn’t react, she pursed her lips and rejoined the conversation.
“Excuse me,” Meredith said, interrupting Slate’s father mid-sentence. Everyone but Dash looked at her. “It sounds as if you’ve decided that Slate and Dash are going to do this, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t agree to this.”
“Of course Slate’s on board,” Marjorie said. “He understands the portal Esmerelda gave her life to bring into existence is at risk. Isn’t that right, Slate?”
The room went silent, and Slate was the center of attention. Dash lifted his eyes from the floor. He didn’t look at Slate, but he was waiting to hear his answer.
Slate’s throat tightened. His father, Morten, Marjorie, Millicent—they’d all agreed. Decades of experience reached the same conclusion. They expected him and Dash, as the heads of ERP, to fall in line. Except Dash hadn’t agreed. He’d asked a question, and they’d dismissed him. The others took his silence as tacit agreement, but it wasn’t.
He and Dash were a them. They decided things together.
The pause stretched, and he felt the eyes on him. Everyone but Dash. This felt like a pop quiz he never expected. Dash wasright. No one had tried other options. His mother was also spot on. Thiswashis family’s legacy. His great-grandmother gave up everything for the portal.
