Right now though, being dead and all, she had other priorities.

  Despite the fact the door was now closed, she walked right through.

  She was a ghost.

  It was going to take a long time to get used to that fact. As she passed through the wood as if it were nothing more than a vision, she stopped on the other side, frozen, and looked down at her arms with a shocked expression pushing up her eyebrows.

  “Dear god, I just walked through a door,” she said through a hiss as she finally let her arms drop to her sides.

  However, that distraction could not last; soon enough, she looked out at her store.

  Her friend. Her companion. Harry.

  In the past – when she’d been alive – walking into her store had always been accompanied by a rush of warm, pleasant magic.

  Now she could sense the magic rushing past, but she could not truly feel it. It didn’t collect along her arms and play down her legs. It didn’t give her a rush of potential, the sudden belief that anything was possible.

  A grimace crumpling her features, Ebony walked further into the store.

  In a way, in a very big way, she didn’t want to do this. The picture of her mother, Ben, and especially Nate, filled with grief at her passing, was one that still shook her soul.

  She almost couldn’t bring herself to face Harry and see what state he would be in.

  Almost.

  She was still going to do this, though, because Ebony would find out what was going on here. Yes, she was dead, but that didn’t make her any less determined.

  Plus, there was always the possibility that whatever had happened to Ebony, whatever state she was currently in – it wasn’t permanent.

  It certainly felt strange. Everything she knew about death and ghosts didn’t match what she was currently going through. So despite the uneasy feelings tracking across her ghostly form, she pushed on.

  She walked through the store, hands trailing over the dust on the shelves without actually touching it at all.

  She walked up the stairs, her chest crumpling, her arms drawing in as she did.

  The prospect of facing Harry, of seeing what he looked like, made her want to turn around and run.

  Just as staring at her mother had made things feel more real, seeing Harry’s grief at Ebony’s passing would make the fact she was dead unavoidable.

  Clutching her hand to her chest, shifting her palm against the silk until she pushed it out of the way and touched her warm flesh, Ebony took a breath.

  It took her a moment to realize she was warm and breathing.

  Ghosts didn’t generate heat, and neither did their hearts race and their chests pump out with shallow breaths as they climbed the stairs.

  It solidified her will to find out what was going on.

  She walked up the stairs to the third level.

  She knew he was up there; she could hear him.

  She climbed the last step.

  Harry was seated on the couch, staring out of the window.

  His eyes were unfocused, his body unmoving. He could have been a statue or a picture painted over the scene.

  Ebony’s face crumpled with grief, her tears so heavy they felt like hail striking her cheeks.

  That’s when Harry turned and looked right at her. “I was wondering when you were going to get home.”

  Ebony buckled. The shock of hearing him speak to her, the fact he could see her – her legs jerked out from underneath her, and she fell flat on her butt.

  “Sitting down is not going to make things easier,” Harry said as he still sat there, not bothering to get up.

  “Harry, Harry.” Ebony’s voice shook. She pushed herself to her feet and ran toward him.

  She threw herself at him, her arms collapsing around his shoulders.

  “Yes, yes, that’s all very nice, and I’m sure you are happy that someone can see you. But, Ebony Bell, this is serious,” Harry said as she withdrew from him.

  She was shaking, all over, her mind reeling. Her skin tingled all over as if she’d swallowed a live wire.

  He could see her. He could see her.

  She sniffled, tears still streaking quickly down her cheeks.

  “Ebony, you need to pull yourself together; you don’t have much time.” Harry’s tone was curt, and it was clear he was serious, very serious.

  Ebony didn’t care; she just let her tears flow, her body shaking as she alternated between laughing in joy and sobbing in shock.

  It was all over. Someone could see her.

  Maybe Harry could read her thoughts, because he crossed his arms and shook his head. “You are still dead, Ebony Bell.”

  His words shot through her like bullets.

  It forced her to sit suddenly, her legs giving way as she landed on the coffee table.

  She didn’t fall through, her body melting past the wood and glass. It seemed that if she concentrated, she could move past it, but if she chose to let it remain solid underneath her, it could. She figured she still couldn’t lean down and pick it up, though.

  She was still dead – his statement took root at the base of her skull and burned through her joy at speaking to him.

  “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but this is serious.” Harry shook his head with a sharp, bitter move.

  Ebony pushed off the table, crumpling to the floor instead. Ever since she had watched her own body die at her feet, she’d been doing nothing but crumpling. All the force of her body gone, all the strength of her emotion and mind consumed by the fact of her passing, she couldn’t seem to stand straight anymore.

  As Harry spoke, the bitter quality to his expression overwhelming, she crumpled even further at his feet, bringing her arms around her knees as she did.

  “What happened?” she asked, voice one long croak.

  “You made a pact with a demon, and now you’re paying your price,” he answered simply.

  Ebony let out a sharp, edgy laugh. “Paid my price. I’ve died at its hands.” She spread her arms wide and looked at them for about the hundredth time.

  “Paying,” Harry corrected. “And if you don’t use the time that’s left, you won’t be able to fight it.” He shifted forward, bringing his face closer to hers. “It will consume you.”

  Ebony leaned back, her shoulders banging against the coffee table then sailing right through until she fell over.

  She picked herself up and then stared at him. “What’s going on?” she asked in a shaking voice.

  “What is going on is that you have entered into a contract with one of the Devil’s henchmen,” Harry said with a snort. “And this is the negotiation phase.”

  She didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. He was talking in riddles to her addled and shocked mind.

  She had to pull herself together.

  Harry was here. She could see him; he could see her – so she could at least get him to tell Nate and her mother that she was… kind of okay.

  She pushed herself up. “Harry, you need to call them—”

  Harry didn’t let her finish. He shook his head, arms still crossed over his chest. “No, I can’t. You still don’t understand. You won’t be able to talk to them, make them hear you, touch them, make them feel you, interact with them in any way – and that will extend to everything. There are, however, creatures in this realm you will be able to interact with.” Harry patted his chest. “I’m one of them. Ghosts, demons, dark creatures. Possessions. But no matter how much you beg, we will not be able to pass messages on for you.” His gaze softened with sorrow as he stared at her. “No matter how much grief they are going through, I won’t be able to say a word to alleviate it.”

  A surge of anger laced with grief punched through her. Eyebrows crumpling and lips scrunching up, she shook her head. “Why would you do that? Harry, you have to tell them—”

  He raised his hands suddenly. “I can’t. I can’t come between you and the demon. This is your contract. Though I can see you – because, like you, I’m dead – I can’t pass messages between your realm and the next.” As Harry spoke, bitter emotion infiltrated his words, making them quiet and slow.

  Ebony started to shake, her arms shivering against her sides.

  “This is all going to be up to you, Ebony,” Harry finished.

  “I don’t understand, I still,” she brought her hands up and grabbed her head, her fingers pushing through her locks and digging into her skin, “don’t understand. Am I dead? Am I a ghost? What happened? What deal am I negotiating with the demon?”

  Harry stood, his arms dropping from around his middle. “You’ve got to find out,” he stared into her eyes, “you have to find the demon; it will tell you the rules of the game. Then you have to try, Ebony, with all your might, to get your life back. Break the contract.”

  It was the first time she’d heard it was possible.

  She could get her life back? It sent a strong flare of emotion through her belly.

  “I’ll be here,” he assured her suddenly. “I’ll be your rock. You can come back, you can see me, talk to me whenever you need.”

  Ebony took a step back, right through the coffee table.

  “Now, don’t waste any more time. Track it down. Find it. Go back to where that demon dwells, and demand to know the terms of this contract. It will have to tell you; demons may strike up contracts willy-nilly, but they are still bound by them. There will be some way to break this. Then try, Ebony Bell, try with everything you have to do that. Because if you don’t…” Harry trailed off, and as he did, he sat roughly back in the chair. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, but I won’t be able to go against the terms of the contract, and I won’t be able to contact the living. Now go.”

  With that, Ebony turned on her foot. Then she fell toward the stairs. In fact, she fell right through the railing, tumbling down them.

  She didn’t break her arm or her neck. Though her body rolled all the way down, she struck the floor below and stood.

  She could not be hurt, it seemed.

  Unless she did what Harry said, that would become a moot point.

  6

  Ebony Bell ran back to the church. She ran so fast in fact that she no longer cared about using pathways or doors or streets. She ran in a straight line, instinctively heading for the church.

  She ran through buildings, people, cars – her body flying through them. She was aware of their presence, but they could not impede her nor slow her down.

  She ran through a bank, through an office, through a tree, through a bus. She saw snippets of people and their lives in Vale – disputes, quiet moments, joy, the lot.

  Yet she didn’t stop; nothing could make her stop.

  Or so she thought.

  As she shot through the hotel just opposite the church, her arm brushing through the doorman, she suddenly stopped.

  She saw Nate.

  His car was parked just outside of the church. He was inside, his body half crumpled over the steering wheel.

  She froze.

  She couldn’t see his expression; his face was covered by his hands – his fingers bent, the knuckles white.

  She walked toward him, her own grief swelling at the sight of his.

  She neared the car. As she did, she watched Nate lean back in his seat. He looked… he looked shattered. Dark circles pooled under his eyes. His cheeks were plaster-white, only marked by the dark stubble covering his chin. His shoulders were hunched in, his posture that of a weary, broken man.

  She wanted to walk up to him and wrap her arms around his neck.

  She needed to tell him it was okay. She was still alive….

  If she figured out what to do, and somehow broke the contract, she would be back.

  “Nate, Nate,” she called out to him, her voice shaking. Though part of her wanted to avoid him and head straight to the church, she couldn’t; her body was pulled toward him until she stood by his side.

  His car was parked close to the sidewalk, the tires just a centimeter from the curb.

  She stood just before it, her hand shaking as she reached through his window, her fingers passing easily through the glass.

  Nate was overcome by his grief.

  He was slouched, his head still pressed against his seat, his eyes still closed.

  Tears trickled down his cheeks, his open hands lying still in his lap in a move of complete surrender.

  As she stood there, she cried. Again the tears were hot, and her breath was sharp and shallow.

  It reinforced to her what Harry had said: she was not dead, and if she managed to break the contract, she would come back.

  She knew that. She knew she had to turn, find the demon, and demand it tell her what was going on.

  Yet she could not pull herself from his side.

  “Nate, Nate.” Her voice was barely there.

  She stumbled forward, her hand pushing all the way through the glass.

  She touched his shoulder, his chin, his cheek.

  She tried to touch him, desperately tried to clutch at his hand or cheek or arm. Yet she suddenly stumbled in her frantic attempts, and her hand shot right through his face and into the headrest behind.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t snap his eyes open.

  He hadn’t felt it.

  Ebony took a bitter step backward, eyes still locked on him.

  She waited there until he forced himself to drive off, his expression deadened. Lifeless. Defeated.

  “Nate,” she called into the wind. Though her voice was loud, it would not carry.

  She watched him until he was out of sight, his car disappearing behind a corner.

  If she wanted to, she could chase after him. Run across the street, plunge through the walls of the hotel and reach the road outside it before he drove past.

  Though energy picked up in her muscles, as if she were readying to do just that, she stopped herself.

  Ebony Bell turned. She used all her determination to return her attention to the church.

  This hurt.

  More than anything. Maybe more than anything ever would. It was no deep injury, no deep scar in her side, arms, or belly. But the grief and fear and guilt all swelled together and created a lump in her gut so dense and sickening that Ebony almost collapsed on the spot.

  Almost. Because she found some kind of reserve to push herself up the steps, through the flickering police tape, and into the church.

  Then she climbed the bell tower.

  She knew, instinctively, that it would be up there. Not in the shadows by the door where she had faced the man yesterday, but up there against the spire.

  Though she had not seen it from the street, it didn’t change her certainty.

  In the past, when Ebony had climbed the bell tower in the ‘20s, it had been treacherous, and in the rain and with her injury, she had almost fallen countless times.

  It didn’t matter anymore, though.

  Ebony walked with ease, and though at one point, she lost concentration and fell through the floor. She pulled herself up with a grumble and got back up there.

  She walked out onto the roof.

  There was a strong wind. She was aware of it not because it buffeted her hair, skirt, and blouse, but because the trees dotted around her swayed under its force.

  It was strange to be able to see the effects of such a strong gale but to be unaffected herself.

  She only let it command her attention for a second. Then she turned.

  The roof was bare.

  She could have turned back, defeated, but she didn’t.

  She closed her eyes. “I know you are there,” she let her voice ring out. “I do not know your name, but you know mine. Come out from the shadows and face me. If you have pulled me into a contract, I demand you tell me the terms,” she snapped her eyes open.

  The demon was there.

  It didn’t pull itself out from every shadow like the creature downstairs had done. It just went from not being there to being visible in the twinkle of an eye.

  Though she could not be sure, Ebony fancied that the demon didn’t appear at all – it simply allowed her to see it. It had always been there; she had simply been blind to it.

  She forced a steadying breath.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  It took a lot of courage to demand something from a demon, especially one as big as this guy. But a funny thing was happening to Ebony right now.

  It was Nate.

  The vision of him driving away in his car, his face hollowed out with deadening grief, just stuck there in her mind. She could not pull away from it. Though it saddened her immeasurably, it also pushed her on.

  She had to stop it, and the only way to stop it was to come back.

  The only way to come back was to face the demon.

  Ebony stood on the sloping, dangerous roof in the full wind, the gale blowing through her. She didn’t need to put out a hand to steady herself. She just stared at the creature and waited.

  “Payment,” it answered, again it used her voice.

  Ebony put up a hand, pressing her fingers into her throat. The same pressure was there, and exactly the same feeling was growing in her mind.

  It was using her voice and her very thoughts. But it didn’t own them – this time she could speak. So she did: “what is the payment to be? If we have entered a contract, we are both bound by it. I know my rights,” she trilled.

  This was not some legal defense. A contract between a demon was not presided over by a court, but there were still rules of conduct. Magical ones.

  Ebony straightened up, pulled her head back, and looked down at its claws. She wasn’t going to stare up at its head and let it dominate her with its size. No. She was going to stare down at it, even if that meant addressing a foot rather than a face.

  Though the shock of dying was still with her, the picture of Nate’s grief pushed her on, reminding her of what was at stake. It allowed her to draw in a rattling sniff, force her hands into tight fists, and call on all her strength, determination, and will.

  “You demand to know the contract,” the demon repeated, this time using its own legion of voices.

  Those voices boomed out, echoing around her like thousands upon thousands of thunderclaps.

 

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