Neither did Allie, but that really didn’t matter.
“Do you mean a place that’s already haunted?” the McGill asked.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“A place that’s haunted without explanation?”
“Exactly!”
The McGill stroked his swollen chin as he thought. “I know a place like that. A house in Long Island. We went there in search of Afterlights to capture. We didn’t find a single one, but the walls of the house kept telling us to get out.”
“Okay,” said Allie. “Then that’s where our lessons will begin.”
The McGill nodded. “I will call for you when we arrive.”
Once he was gone, Allie let her revulsion out, shivering and squirming, and then she returned to her bed, disgusting herself further with Mary Hightower’s volume of misinformation. She hoped that couched between Mary’s useless tips there might be a clue to defeating the McGill—the trick was finding it.
The McGill, being an arrogant creature, believed he could see through anyone who was lying. It was that arrogance that kept him from seeing how completely Allie was tricking him. He strolled along the deck, pleased with this new wrinkle in his existence. Around him, his crew did their busywork on deck. There was little point to all the cleaning, the swabbing, and the polishing the crew did. What was rusty now would always be rusty. What was covered in sulphur dust would stay that way, no matter how much the crew tried to wipe it away. The best they could do was to clear away the cookie crumbs the McGill often left behind. Still, the McGill insisted that his ship be like a real ship. his crew like a real crew, and cleaning is what crews did. It was always the same crew members cleaning the same things, and at the same time of day. Routine. It’s what made a ghost ship a ghost ship. Allie, however, was a break from the routine.
He proudly strolled past his crewmen, flicking little black bugs at them, or spitting on their shoes—just to remind them who was boss. Then he returned to the bridge and ordered the ship turned around, heading back toward Long Island and the haunted house he had told Allie about. Then he sat in his throne, reaching toward a tarnished brass spittoon that sat next to it. The bowl was originally used for spitting tobacco, phlegm, and other vile things, but it served a different function here. The McGill dug his claw in, and pulled out a fortune cookie—one of many that filled the copper pot.
Mary Hightower was not a fan of fortune cookies, and told her readers so. Just thinking about it made the McGill laugh. What Mary didn’t tell her readers is that fortune cookies were plentiful in Everlost—not quite as plentiful as those faceless coins, but far more useful. For once, Mary had done him a service. If others stayed away from the cookies, it meant there were more for him!
The McGill crushed the fortune cookie in his fingers, hurling the crumbs out on the deck for his crew to fight over like seagulls, then he settled into his throne and read the small slip of paper that had been hidden in the cookie.
Out of the water will come your salvation.
Allie had come to him out of the water, hadn’t she? He leaned back, well satisfied with himself.
The house on Long Island did, indeed, tell them to get out.
It told them loudly, it told them often. It was an annoying house. It was, however, all bark and no bite. There was a young couple living in the house — and although it yelled at them, too, they apparently could not hear it as they were both deaf. Since the house had no appendages by which to communicate in American sign language, it was profoundly frustrated. It must have been very satisfying for the house to finally have spirits within its walls who could hear it—even if they weren’t inclined to listen. Regardless, Allie had to admit it was the perfect location for her first bogus lesson in skinjacking.
“Okay,” Allie told the McGill, “first find a dead-spot in the room,” which was not very difficult since the whole house was spotted with them like Swiss cheese. Apparently many people had died here. Allie didn’t want to think about it.
The McGill took a spot near a window facing the sea. “Now what?”
“Close your eyes.”
“My eyes don’t close,” the McGill reminded her.
“Right. Okay then, keep your eyes open. Face the ocean…and wait for the sun to rise.”
“It’s noon,” the McGill pointed out.
“Yes, I know. You have to stand here, and wait until tomorrow when the sun rises, then stare into the rising sun.”
“Get…Owwwwwwwwt,” said the house.
“If we have to be here at dawn, why didn’t you tell me that before we came?”
“You know what your problem is?” Allie said. “You have no patience. You’re immortal, it’s not like you’re going anywhere. Skinjacking takes patience. Stand here, and wait until dawn.”
The McGill gave her an evil eye, spat out a wad of something brown on her shoe, and said, “Fine. But you wait with me. If I have to listen to this stupid house, then so do you.”
So they waited, ignoring the pointless activities of the people who lived there, and turning a deaf ear to the house.
The next morning however was overcast, and instead of a rising sun, the horizon was filled with a ribbon of gray.