But it didn’t come. She could not use it in her current state.

  The ghost zoomed past her, then right around her body as she pushed herself up, before finally stopping just in front of her eyes.

  Its own eyes were large, wet, and rimmed with red. They didn’t blink, and as they locked on her own, they seemed like searchlights.

  It was not a pretty sight – from the ghostly, amorphous, shifting body to the horrible concentration.

  Ebony shuddered backward.

  The ghost whipped around her again, pushing against her back and legs and middle as it twisted all around her form.

  Ebony let out a frightened yelp, batting at the creature with her arms.

  The ghost kept twisting around and around her.

  Harry was nowhere to be seen, and though she stumbled forward, head snapping to the side to find him, she could not.

  The ghost followed her every move, twirling around her so tightly that she could feel the touch of its body linger against each of her limbs.

  “Stop it, get away from me,” she snapped, batting at the ghost again.

  It did stop, but it didn’t get away from her. It paused again, right in front of her face, its eyes riveted on hers, practically touching her as it pushed up against her nose and cheeks.

  Fear forced her breath out in shallow, panting puffs.

  Ebony stumbled backward again, swatting at the thing’s face.

  Without her magic, she could do nothing. Her whole life, defense had rested within her fingers, within the potential she could draw from within.

  Now she didn’t have it. What was more, she didn’t have someone to fall back on either.

  No Ben, no Police, no mother, and no Nate.

  Nate.

  He would have latched a hand around her middle, pushed her out of harm’s way, and shot at the ghost.

  Nate always protected her when it mattered most.

  He wasn’t here, though.

  Ebony stumbled, her concentration waning, and her feet immediately slipping through the sodden dirt.

  She fell through it, right up to her middle. In shock, she caught hold of her attention and managed to stop her plunge before she fell right through the dirt and probably down to some grisly grave underneath.

  She hung there, torso and legs encased in the ground as her hands scrambled for purchase.

  The idea of what could be directly beneath her was terrifying.

  Graves, bodies, ghosts.

  Ebony was a witch. A witch was, technically, comfortable with death. Death was part of the cycle, the logical extinction of life. It was not something to be celebrated, but it was not something to be feared. It was to be respected. It was not horrible, shocking, or evil. It simply was.

  She realized in an instant it was like tolerance, however – untested, you could hold the most balanced and intelligent of views. When the real thing loomed before you, however – when death filled your every sense – things changed. The objective mind reeled backward from reality, and the chilling details of life’s end filled your world.

  The same thing was happening to Ebony now. The prospect of falling through into a grave made death in all its grizzly detail impossible to ignore.

  Ebony scrambled and screamed, her voice short, desperate, stuttering.

  The ghost shot toward her again, curling around her arms and neck, staring her in the eyes again.

  She could no longer swat at it; if she lost grip on the grass she bunched in her hands, she would slip below.

  She couldn’t marshal the concentration needed to waft up through the ground like Harry had shown her. She couldn’t focus past the fear.

  She could feel her legs and feet dangling there, kicking into things that made her skin crawl.

  The ghost didn’t push forward. It didn’t open its mouth wide and swallow her whole, bringing Ebony within the body of its own desire and sorrow. It didn’t force her to relive the tortured memories of its own life.

  It just looked at her. Eyes against her own, vision equal.

  Stuck there, Ebony could not help but stare back.

  Slowly, achingly, she stilled.

  When the ghost didn’t attack, the fear curdling within diminished.

  She could still feel the lump of fright and panic burning within her, but she started to grab hold of her determination.

  She had learned a lot; Ebony Bell had come far.

  She had faced death. She had faced the dark. Perhaps not this closely, perhaps not while she was so trapped. Yet that didn’t change the fact she could face it again.

  Slowly her hands released their desperate, white-knuckled grip on the grass.

  She didn’t slip through.

  Her body remained there, half-stuck in the ground as the ghost pressed up against her face.

  “What do you want?” she tried.

  It didn’t answer.

  “What do you want?” she tried again.

  The ghost still didn’t answer.

  A flicker of the same desperate fear that had seen her slip through the earth surged.

  She felt her body drop through the dirt a few centimeters.

  Ebony stopped a strangled scream that formed in her throat.

  She fought against it, trying to get control.

  The ghost moved with her. As she fell a little through the ground, it too let its body sink, its eyes always at the same level as hers.

  Would it break away if she sank further? Or would it follow her all the way down to whatever hellish grave lay beneath, never breaking eye contact, never leaving her side as it stared fixedly into her soul?

  That thought stuck in Ebony’s mind. As she considered it, it changed the feel of her fear.

  She didn’t ask what the ghost wanted again.

  She let go entirely.

  She didn’t hold on to the grass anymore; she brought her hands up in front of her.

  Everyone always tells you, especially when you are a witch, to face your fears. If the prospect of swimming fills you with fright, learn to swim. If spiders render you speechless and sweaty, pick one up and let it make its way across your hand.

  Fears bind you to the spot, but if you use your will to push through, they lose their power.

  Ebony knew this. The fact of it repeated in her mind. Actually facing her fears, however, especially when she knew what could be underneath her, was so very different.

  With a surge of determination, Ebony finally let herself sink.

  Right through the earth.

  It scared her, so very much – the prospect of the visions of death that awaited her, the very sensation of letting herself fall uncontrollably.

  But she let go of it as she let go of herself.

  Harry had been right; this wouldn’t be easy. She was facing one of the most powerful demons she had ever seen. The solution to her problem would not lie in avoiding danger and hardship. She would have to prove to the demon she was stronger than it imagined, and only then would she break free.

  As Harry would probably say, it was one thing being comfortable with death, but another to actually let yourself die.

  As Ebony let herself sink through the dirt, the fear was still there. She didn’t let it control her, though.

  The ghost moved with her, letting its own body sink down, its eyes always level with her own.

  Ebony could see the dirt as her face shifted below it. The grass, the roots, the worms, the rocks. Everything. It didn’t press against her eyeballs; she was still half a ghost. Nonetheless, she could feel it pushing against her. Its resistance was slight but enough that she knew what she was doing, the importance of her move unavoidable.

  Somehow she could see before her, even though no light could pass through the earth. Whether it was her own light radiating out, or the night-vision of a ghost, she didn’t know. Just maybe it was because she was now ready to face the dark below.

  She continued to sink down and down, with no clue of how far she could go. Technically, with a body as amorphous as her own, Ebony Bell could travel through to the center of the earth then up the other side.

  She would not have to, though. Because after a moment, her descent stopped.

  Her feet gained purchase, her body stiffened, her hair fell about her shoulders as if a measure of gravity had gained control.

  She was in a crypt.

  An old one. Ancient and dark, filled with dirt where sections of the roof had caved in over time. Though her sense of smell was not as sharp as when she’d been alive, she could still sense the dank surrounds of earth and rot.

  Though not a touch of light traveled through the place, her vision was not compromised.

  It was not a big crypt, but in the center was a raised plinth, a stone coffin on top. A large section of earth and rock from above had fallen down, and the lid and sides were broken, the contents so much scattered dust on the already dirt-covered floor.

  It was a stilling sight.

  Most graves were well-kept in the cemetery. The crypts were all maintained. If damage occurred, it was repaired. If some storm took one of the branches off the oaks and smashed it through a roof, eventually it would be pulled off, and the roof would be rebuilt.

  That was no doubt because the crypts above were in sight. This one was obviously so old and deep that it had been forgotten.

  Ebony could tell that all sorts of truths lingered in that thought, but now was not the time to tease them apart.

  The ghost was still with her; it had never left her side.

  When it had chased her above, sent her tumbling through the dirt by frightening her, Ebony had been sure the ghost was evil. Sure that it had been trying to frighten or harm her.

  Now, as she had faced the possibility of what lay beneath, she saw it in another light.

  It had stayed with her the entire time, not once pulling its gaze from her face, and not once fleeing her side to remain above.

  Ebony didn’t do it the indignity of asking it what it wanted anymore, and neither did she pause to find out who it was.

  It was linked to this crypt; she could tell.

  She kept her gaze on it, not pulling away to investigate her surroundings.

  It took minutes, but she stayed exactly where she was, looking back at it the entire time.

  There was a lesson she’d heard, maybe one she’d read, and definitely one her mother had shared: most creatures just want to be seen, acknowledged. Ignoring someone is the greatest act of violence. Reducing someone to insignificance is the worst wound you can inflict.

  So she watched.

  She watched until the ghost chose to pull away.

  Maybe this crypt was its own. Maybe it had fallen into insignificance. Maybe, over the years, everyone had forgotten about it. Maybe all it wanted was to be seen again.

  So Ebony saw it.

  As it pulled away from her, its gazed softened.

  It shifted back until it wafted directly over the contents of the broken tomb.

  She walked forward, still looking at it, never doing it the ignominy of staring anywhere else.

  “Here I belong,” the ghost said, its voice a mess of pitch and tone, as though with every word it screamed every note of the musical scale.

  Ebony didn’t let the horrendous noise affect her; she chose actively to ignore it. She had no magic with which to follow up that decision, nor could she rely on backup. All she had was will.

  Nate would be proud.

  She shouldn’t have thought about his name.

  Ebony shifted back, for the first time letting her eyes drop to the stone.

  The ghost zoomed forward, stopping just before her eyes, its gaze ferocious and concentrated.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I see you, and I won’t look away again.”

  That mollified it, and it drifted back again, never turning or zipping around her, just hovering half-a-meter over the tomb. “You see me,” it repeated.

  “Yes, yes, I do.”

  “But you don’t want to. You want to look away.”

  Ebony forced herself not to let her gaze shift, not even flicker.

  It was right; the ghost was very bloody right.

  Of course she didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t want to be down here either. She didn’t want to have to face any of these things. She especially didn’t want to be half-dead and contracted to a demon.

  She could not change the facts, though.

  Still, the ghost’s accusation rekindled her thoughts. There really was a massive difference between being comfortable with death and actually facing it, actually letting yourself die.

  As long as it was at arm’s length, it was a concept. When there was an ancient ghost with its etheric face pressed against your own, willing you to stare its way, it was different.

  You couldn’t hide behind your opinions anymore.

  “You do not like us,” the ghost hissed.

  Ebony locked a hand on her stomach as she felt queasy.

  She couldn’t deny the ghost’s accusation, and as the ghost was so close to her, she couldn’t entertain lying to it either.

  So she just kept on facing it instead.

  “You distrust the ghosts. Distrust the dark we live in.” The ghost’s trailing tail whipped around the room, indicating the blackness that surrounded them.

  It was all true. Ebony was a witch, she worked for the police department. It was up to her to control and fight the dark arts and creatures. It was up to her to keep the peace. It was up to her to ensure harmony and balance.

  “You talk of tolerance and harmony, but you practice self-interest.”

  “Vale… I have to keep it safe.” She defended herself, the sight of that thing’s eyes growing too much for her. “I’m responsible for keeping everyone safe.”

  “Except for the ghosts.”

  Ebony bridled at that. “You risk people. The dark arts, the dark creatures – you all act in a way that puts others at risk.”

  “You do not seek harmony and balance; you seek eradication.”

  Ebony bridled again, her stomach tingling with nerves. “No, it doesn’t work like that. I don’t decide to force ghosts to haunt buildings and manipulate people. Your kind does that. I just step in when I need to protect.”

  “You decide what is right and just. You enforce your will. You do not protect.”

  A bitter rush of emotion flashed over her skin. “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t stand by and watch someone be murdered. I can’t stand by and watch Vale be put at risk by the dark arts.”

  “You do not seek to understand. You have your opinion; you seek to make it right.”

  Ebony pulled her gaze to the side.

  But the ghost followed. It twisted its body up and down, squishing itself against her shoulder until it was right against her eyes again.

  She could not get away. She could not twist aside from it. Wherever she moved, it would follow. It would not let her turn from it for a second.

  “I do what I have to,” Ebony said, voice quiet.

  “Yes, and so do we. You are no better. You are different. You are not right. You are different.”

  Ebony could not believe that, not truly. She knew the costs of equivocating when it came to the dark arts. The more you let yourself believe in the moral relativity of power, the more you were willing to do to get what you want. If you lost the belief in the sanctity of life, killing would not bother you. Anything that served to increase your power would be justified.

  She couldn’t let herself become someone like that.

  She kept her gaze on the ghost, but her eyes narrowed as her determination surged.

  The ghost shifted its head slightly. “You still do not change. You seek help, but you are unwilling to give it.”

  “No, I’m unwilling to turn into you.” Ebony’s voice rang through the crypt, shaking the stone and dust.

  Briefly, it seemed as if her magic was back – the force of her words so powerful that they rumbled through the earth like an earthquake.

  The ghost didn’t reply. It just kept looking her way.

  It was apparently up to her to make the next move. Though she wanted to leave, she knew she should at least try to ask her question first. She couldn’t continue to waste time; she had to press on if she wanted to defeat her demon’s contract.

  Would the ghost answer, though? It seemed unlikely; in its eyes, she had failed it. By judging the dark creatures and wanting to expunge their kind, she’d already lost this ghost’s trust, if she’d ever had it, of course.

  A part of her didn’t care, another part of her, however, was starting to wonder whether she should.

  Ebony Bell forced a powerful breath. “Tell me if you know of the demon’s name. The demon who binds me.” She pulled her hands up and let her wrists press up against the ghost. “The demon who lives on top of East Street Church.”

  The ghost shot away from her, tumbling around the room until it came to rest in the opposite corner.

  It didn’t speak.

  Ebony stepped forward, her heels crunching against the rubble and dust and age-old rock. “Please, if you know anything about that demon, tell me what it is. And if you don’t, tell me what embodiment is. How is it different from being possessed?”

  The ghost kept on staring at her, its concentration always unwavering, but it didn’t answer.

  Ebony let out a frustrated breath, her chest heavy with it. “Please, I’m running out of time. I need to find out what it’s called so that I can fight it. It could threaten the very existence of Vale. Your home,” she emphasized as she stepped forward again, “magic like this can unbalance the Portal, especially considering something is already trying to push its way through. I can help; I can stop them. I can protect Vale.”

  “You want help, but you are unwilling to give it. You want control, but you are unwilling to release it to others.”

  Ebony bridled again. That statement was just so wrong. She did know exactly what it felt like to give up her control; she had released her magic to Nature completely on two occasions now.

  The ghost was wrong.

  “I do not know its name,” the ghost now answered.

  “Please, you must know something.” Ebony stumbled through the rubble and stone toward the ghost, not taking her eyes off it as her footfall was unsteady and uncoordinated. “Anything. Even if it is just another place to seek answers.”

 

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