Lost Souls (Cainsville 3.6)

"Beth's right. Wouldn't want to spook the spooks."

Liv kept creeping until they were close enough to see the speakers. Four kids, maybe college age, sitting on a blanket, enjoying a cemetery picnic. One of the girls had long blond hair and wore a pale blue sundress.

"There's our ghost," Liv muttered and then began to retreat, grumbling under her breath.

Patrick fell in at her side and whispered, "It might not have been her the first time."

"It was."

"Then we need to keep trying. We know Christina Moore's ghost has been wandering about, and all the folklore for ghosts is very clear that if you summon them at their graveside--"

"The folklore is also clear that to stop a ghost, you have to dig it up and burn the bones."

"Uh, no." He paused. "You've been watching Supernatural, haven't you?"

She kept walking, pulling away now. "My point is that the lore is full of crap."

"We'll keep trying," Patrick said. "The night is young. Those kids aren't the only ones with a bottle. I brought wine. Fae wine."

That made her slow. He smiled behind her back and said, "Never had fae wine, have you? It might help with your visions."

She turned to face him. "You mean wine that fae use to induce permanent hallucinations in humans?"

"I wouldn't say permanent."

She spun on her heel and stalked off. He jogged after her. When his foot hit an embedded gravestone, he stumbled. As he righted himself, he heard Liv say, "What's--?" Then the pound of her footsteps as she broke into a run. He looked up sharply and saw a figure, just a few feet away. The figure of a young woman in a white sundress running for a mausoleum, with Liv in pursuit.

Patrick ran, whispering, "Wait! Don't--"

And they both disappeared.

TWENTY-TWO

GABRIEL

Gabriel strode down the empty street. When he saw a shadow recede into an alley, he ignored it. This was that sort of neighborhood. While they might take a look at the cut of his suit and declare him a worthy target, he knew how to deal with this sort of predator. He'd had more knives pulled on him than he cared to recollect. A few guns, too. Little ever came of it. He hadn't been mugged since he was a boy.

But when he ignored the shadow, the boy in his head whispered, Stop. Gabriel ignored that, too. He was done here. There were no real ghosts. Not Christina Moore and not the irksome ones from his past.

Irksome?

He glanced down the alley. No one was there. The shadow had been a trick of his imagination.

You have no imagination.

He snorted at that and carried on. When he reached the next alley, he turned to walk down it. He'd parked nearly two miles away, and while he might feel safe, that confidence did not extend to the safety of his vehicle.

As Gabriel turned into the alley, he saw a man standing about ten feet away, blocking his path. He slowed but didn't stop. Stopping suggested fear.

He couldn't see the man well, any light from the street swallowed by the tall buildings. The man seemed average in size. Blond hair. Bearded. Nothing menacing in his stance. He simply stood in Gabriel's path.

"I told you to stop," the man said. "When that didn't work, I thought this might."

Gabriel pulled up short. His gut clenched, as if reflexively, and he peered at the man, but more than just darkness hid him. The figure seemed half-shadow himself, seen through a veil of swirling fog.

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, forcing this particular phantom away. The man sighed, and when Gabriel opened his eyes, the figure had become the boy from earlier--the reflection of himself, backpack and all.

"Is this better?" the boy said. "It's all the same, you know. Him, me, you. All memory. All you."