It crackled blue and gold, sending sparks into the air. Like I said, me and witchcraft would look good enough to someone like King, who hadn’t seen enough craft to know better. But every time my sister saw me do a spell, she made a face like she’d just watched someone drink a glass full of lemon juice.
The symbols glowed and the lines between them powered up faintly. It’d do. I created a door in the spell with another symbol. With any luck, it would act like a mousetrap. The ghost could get in, but not back out. Now I just had to get her inside it. Too bad cheese didn’t work on ghosts.
With my own little Hotel California ready, I stood and realized I was shivering. A glance at King showed that in this perfectly temperature-controlled house, his breath condensed.
“She’s here,” I said. “Get ready.”
King took out his notebook and started drawing a circle. His hands were back to steady, and I watched as he filled in all the details with care. As he finished, the room flickered dark, light, dark, and then there was a ghost screaming in my face.
I swore, using the sort of language that, as a kid, would have gotten my mouth washed out or a backhand across the face depending on the foster home I was in at the time. Grabbing the container of salt from where I’d left it on the bed, I shook some out and the ghost flickered.
Right behind her, King took his finished circle and pressed it between her shoulder blades. His hand passed through, but thecircle stuck and I saw it alight in green, a strange tattoo on her black dress. The circle seemed to sap at her, tendrils of black seeping away from her body, like she was made of mist.
She flickered out of the room again, but the trail of green remained, a thread of fluorescence in the darkness.
“What is that?” I asked.
King spun in place, one hand still clutching his notepad, the other white knuckled around the saltshaker.
“Tracing spell,” he said. “It should lead us to whoever is casting the illusion.”
I followed the thread with my eyes, out the door and into the hall. King might think he was tracing the witch or alchemist casting the spell, but I’d bet that his trace would lead us straight to her remains.
“Let’s follow it, then,” I said. I picked up my own salt and gestured for the saltshaker that King was holding. The throw earlier had left it half empty. He handed it to me, our fingers brushing for a moment and I refilled it, offering it back. After a beat, King put away his notebook and took the shaker. I smirked. “Isn’t salt just for ghosts?”
“The purity can disrupt spell work,” he groused. “Even a Warlock should know that, Parker.”
Cautiously, we followed the green thread out into the hall, and then up into the attic. I jerked my chin towards the thin white rope that hung down from the attic door and King made awhy meface.
“You’re taller,” I whispered.
“By two inches,” he said. “Shouldn’t the expert go first?”
“What happened to protect and serve? Protectme.” I pointed at the ladder.
Shaking his head, King tugged on the rope. With a squeal that made me wince and whip my head around, looking for our poltergeist, the stairs came down. Pulling down the folded steps,King tucked away the saltshaker and took out a heavy utility flashlight, but didn’t turn it on yet.
He went first, and just to be safe, I drew a circle around the steps with the salt. Following him up, I took a second to get adjusted to the pale light. King kept his flashlight off, and in the darkness, the green of his tracing spell was the brightest thing in the room.
The green ended towards the middle of the attic and I gestured with the hand still holding the salt. King directed his flashlight to the point and flicked it on.
I groaned when I saw what it revealed. Toppled candles, a careless circle drawn in chalk, some charred herbs, andbones.
“Those are human,” King said, approaching. He knelt and brought his flashlight closer, but didn’t disturb the circle.
It looked like a knock-off alchemy circle, and I wanted to crow that at least it hadn’t been a witch’s spell, but given the carelessness, it looked like it was some novice who’d gotten their information from the internet instead of a legitimate alchemy studio or a coven.
“What is this?” King said. “The circle says it’s to... draw a spirit in from the afterworld, but this is...”
“I’d bet it was some thrill seeker who doesn’t know any better,” I said. “Someone who likes haunted houses and wanted to see our ghost.”
King’s mouth went flat. “Those are her bones?”
“That would be my guess. I’d bet eBay. Maybe Louisa Bowman had more value dead than alive.” I shivered. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a green flicker like a firefly. “She’s here.”
With a quick spin, King whipped the hand holding the saltshaker towards the ghost. An arc of white crystals spread from the shaker towards her. She dodged, which showed me that our poltergeist was just as smart dead as she’d been alive.
I reached deep and drew on my magic. Names have value. Especially to things like me.
