Letting out a breath, I turn around, seeing the dark shadow of a girl run through the living room. She comes from the library, emerging through the closed doors, and hurries through the house. Tears are streaming down her face and she’s not exactly corporeal. Her legs are moving as if she’s walking, pink dress swirling at her knees, but she’s more or less floating off the ground. She moves down the hall and I rush after her, flames still glowing around my hand.
I can’t burn a ghost. They’re already dead, and not knowing how to defend myself should be enough for me to pause and come back at this another way. But I can’t. The girl disappears from sight, but then something moves outside in front of the barn. I set my gun down, needing to use my left hand to open the door. Hoping I don’t set the house on fire, I move through the doorframe and go onto the porch. The breeze picks up, blowing the flames into my face. I clench my fist, watching them shrink down almost immediately.
I squeeze my fist tighter and they extinguish completely. Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this. There’s no time to think about that now. I jump off the porch and start toward the barn. The bad feeling comes back tenfold, so hard it’s making me feel like I’m going to throw up.
I’m overcome with the need to get back inside the house. Everything inside of me is screaming to turn and run as fast as I fucking can, because whatever is out there, whatever I’m following, is bad, bad news.
I stop, wind blowing my hair around my face. I don’t see the girl anyway, and I’m not wearing shoes. It’s not like I could follow her well without them. The ground is rocky and uneven.
Still, I don’t want to turn and run. So I take a few steps back, reaching behind me and feeling my way up the porch. Then I can’t help it anymore, and I scramble inside, locking the door behind me. I close my eyes and let out a breath, and then I hear something coming from the kitchen.
Shit. My gun is on the kitchen table. I extend my right hand and the flames ignite. Swallowing hard, I march into the kitchen, ready to burn a motherfucker to the ground. But there’s no one here, though there is something out of place.
Jacques’s note about performing the banishing spell is on the center of the kitchen table, and I know for sure I didn’t leave it there.
“Acelina.”
My mother’s voice rings out, clear as day.
“Mom, is that you?” I bring my hand down, putting out the fire. “Are you here?”
“Acelina,” she repeats, tone calm and steady. “She’s not what you think. Stay away.”
