The old guy’s hand moved fast as lightning.
He jumped two of her black chips and cackled as he lifted his winnings off the board. “I’m hard to beat.”
That had to be a positive sign, right? She asked the ghost again, “Would you ask your soldier friend to come here?”
“He can’t play. No good with checkers.”
Tristan’s anxiety ramped up.
She shot him a warning look and he calmed down. Evalle smiled warmly at the ghost. “If you’ll call the soldier so we can talk to him, I’ll move another chip.”
The old guy’s eyes rounded with such excitement that she hated that she didn’t have time to play a whole game with him. If Grady had been here, he would have taken the time to entertain this man, but Grady wouldn’t have been happy down here.
In the next few seconds something must have happened between the ghosts, because the soldier’s image wavered into view on the other side of the checker player.
Tilting her head slightly toward the spirit, she used her eyes to tell Tristan he had a connection to the soldier and had better fix this mess.
Tristan said to the Civil War ghost, “Sorry I yelled earlier. I need to talk to you.”
She gave Tristan a silent attaboy for apologizing again but noticed the soldier didn’t speak. Maybe he had to take a fully corporeal form to communicate.
What was he waiting for?
The old guy said, “He’s here. Your move.”
So the old guy had to be appeased first, huh? She placed another black chip. Her two-hundred-year-old opponent won three of her chips that time. He laughed and slapped his leg.
That must have done the trick, because the young soldier’s form solidified. He stared at Tristan. “Why you so unhappy?”
Tristan answered in an even tone. “I’m looking for my three friends again,andmy sister. Do you know where they are?”
“She done told me.”
“Will you lead us to them?”
“I ’spose . . . if you promise to makehergit out.”
The soldier had to mean Kizira. Evalle glanced at Tristan, who told the ghost, “If I can help my friends and sister escape the witch, she’ll have no reason to stay. And we’ll leave, too.”
“Alrighty,” the soldier said. “I reckon that’ll work.”
The checker player asked Evalle, “’nother game?”
She swallowed her misery over having to disappoint him, even if he’d probably asked that question repeatedly for a hundred and fifty years with no positive results. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“Okee dokee.” He started setting the board as if she’d agreed.
The soldier began floating backwards into a dark tunnel.
“Evalle,” Tristan called softly.
“I know. Let’s go.” She stayed close to Tristan, who followed the shimmering shape of the soldier’s now semitransparent, and glowing, form. Their moving beacon took a path through a narrow walkway that began dropping in elevation, then turned right, then left, and continued to descend.
No furniture. No plants. No maniacal pitchfork guys.
So far.
Tristan stumbled a couple of times, which indicated he didn’t share her exceptional night vision.
