“Stop it,” the father said, “It’s uncomfortable to be this close and yet I feel you pulling me.”
Trust me,Xander thought.It’s not on purpose.
He wanted to shake the hand off his shoulder, but knew he couldn’t without having to acknowledge it, and that gave the spirit power. Kyra met his eyes then, a crease appearing between her delicate brows. He forced himself to nod, to acknowledge her concern. He wanted her done so they could leave, not pause to see whether he was freaking the fuck out or not.
“Get on with it,” he vocalised, the words laced with a growl.
The siblings stepped further back, closer to Kyra.
“It’s ready,” she said, pulling a short knife from somewhere in her bag.
The hand left his shoulder, but the father’s whole body solidified enough Xander could make out his cruelly pinched features, identical to that of the son. He saw the daughter in his eyes, soft but beady. His shirt was untucked, the suit jacket straining against a large stomach. That was another thing, ghosts wore the same outfit, or lack of outfit from when they died, not the pretty outfit friends and families buried them in. Ghosts were bad, but naked ghosts were worse.
“Why does my chest hurt so much?” the father asked. “Is that how I died?”
“It will be over soon,” Xander whispered beneath his breath, deciding to acknowledge him after all. “Then you can rest.”
“Rest?” he parroted, glowering at his children. “How can I when all they want to know about is their inheritance. Always cared about my money more than me, their mother would be ashamed.”
The beast, usually dormant rushed to the front of Xander’s mind. It took him a second to figure out why, the scent of fresh blood fragrant. Kyra had cut down her arm, the slice thin but blood pooled at the wound none the less. Anger kissed his bloodstream, and he was thankful he wore his glasses to hide the change in his irises.
The siblings were already slightly skittish, if they saw the beast through his gaze they would probably piss themselves.
The father must have felt a change, his ghostly sorrow and anger turning to fear. “How does this work? Does it hurt?”
Xander couldn’t answer even if he knew, his instincts screaming as magic, thick and dark oozed out of the surrounding dirt. Kyra’s lips moved, her words lost to the gentle hum that increased in pitch with every drop of her blood onto the grave. The soil blackened, the blood moving, merging until a shadow of the body was echoed.
The earth sunk, and the sister squealed.
“What’s happening!” she cried. “I don’t want to see him all dead, you know! I was told there wouldn’t be a zombie!”
Xander would have snorted if his beast wasn’t so prominent.
“Oh, now she cries,” the father muttered beside him. He began to walk to his grave, his body becoming corporeal once he stepped over the salt.
The father stared at his children, tears, like glitter glistened down his opaque cheeks when he turned to Xander. “They can’t see me, can they?”
It was Kyra who answered. “No, they can’t see you, Mr Harrison.”
“He’s here?” the girl asked. “Daddy, are you here?”
“I’m here Indya, I’m here.” He reached forward, his hand disappearing until it was barely visible once it passed the salt threshold. He still brushed his ghost fingertips across her cheek before repeating the gesture on his son.
Indya sucked in a breath, her palm moving to touch her face with trembling fingers.
“Dad,” the son began, “this is really important. We need to know where you’ve hidden your will. I called the family solicitor and they knew nothing about it.”
“See,” the father said, shoulders drooping. “That’s all they care about.”
Kyra flicked her eyes towards Xander, but didn’t repeat the words.
“Daddy, all your assets have been frozen. My allowance has stopped,” Indya said with a stamp of her foot. “Just tell us where you’ve hidden the will, please.”
“Witch, what is he saying? Where is the will?” the son asked with an edge of impatience. “Tell me!”
The father sighed. “This is all my fault, for bringing up two ungrateful brats. I was always too busy with work after their mother died when they were just young children. I threw money at them, instead I should have been there.”
“Daddy, we’re entitled to our inheritance,” Indya cried, dabbing forced tears with the edge of her scarf.
