DARJA
The girl standing next to the egg lady was definitely dead. In fact, if I’d ever thought, “Hey, I wonder what a ghost actually looks like,” this would be the girl. She looked like she’d stepped right out of some sort of gothic horror movie, high-necked lace gown, brown hair piled on top of her head, and dark, glittering eyes. When our gazes met, she flickered in and out, her whole being turning to static in front of me.
We stared at each other for a long moment, my shock and curiosity reflected in her expression. Finally, I remembered Sofi. I could practically feel her trembling beside me.
“Darja,” she whispered, “can she see you?”
The she, I realized, was the egg lady, and I shook my head. “But there’s a girl,” I said quietly. “Like me.”
“Oh, God,” Sofi said, sinking back against the brick wall of the building behind her. Her eyes moved frantically between us, searching for something I knew she couldn’t see.
I looked over to the egg lady, who had gone very pale, beginning to resemble her non-corporeal friend.
The two of them were also conversing quietly, but heatedly, and I realized how she’d gotten the reputation for being the town crazy lady.
“What do we do?” Sofi asked, her voice wobbly and uncertain.
“We go,” the egg lady said, though the question had been meant for me. Bending with some effort, she retrieved her basket, looking around surreptitiously as she straightened her back. “We shouldn’t draw attention.”
I snorted, and the ghost girl shot me a withering glare. I shrugged an apology and turned to Sofi. “Go with her,” I said, nodding toward the egg lady. “I’ll find you.”
“But what do we—?”
“Just go,” I snapped. Then, softening my tone, “I’ll be there. I promise.”
Sofi took a deep breath and nodded. The egg lady gestured for her to follow, then hoofed it around the corner, faster than I would have given a woman of her age credit for. Sofi cast one last glance over her shoulder, and I tried to smile encouragingly. It felt more like a grimace.
Once they had disappeared around the side of the building, I turned to the ghost girl. She was still staring at me intently, as if I were a specimen under a microscope.
“So,” I said, wondering what kind of etiquette applied when meeting another non-living person for the first time. “I’m Darja. Uh…how are you?”
“Dead. And you?”
“Right. Sorry. Same, I guess.”
I thought I could see the start of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, but it never materialized. “How did this happen?” she said. Her voice was raspy, like sandpaper on metal.
I looked at her carefully. “I think you already know the answer to that,” I said. “Big party in the woods? Bonfire? Ritual sacrifice? Any of this ringing a bell?”
“The bond,” she said sharply. She flickered again, buzzing out then back in before I could blink.
“Isn’t the bond the whole point?” I asked, and she gave me an impatient look.
“Aside from Mirtel and I, the bond hasn’t worked in generations. I want to know why it worked for you.” Her face was pinched, but there was something else behind it. Something that may have been…hope?
“Wish I could tell you.”
She seemed impatient with my casual tone. In truth, I was about to come out of my skin. Spirit. Whatever. The rush of excitement I felt in knowing there was someone else like me—someone else like Sofi and me—was overwhelming. But I didn’t want to give too much away. We needed answers, and if they’d been living like this—existing like this—since they were 18, they must know something about the bond.
Ghost girl drifted closer to me, and I thought I caught a scent of lilacs drifting on the breeze. I’d only smelled ash and smoke since it had happened, and it caught me off-guard.
“Um… I don’t know,” I said, hating the uncertainty I could hear in my voice. “I don’t know why it worked.”
She assessed me for another moment, and apparently finding me lacking, shrugged her shoulders. “We need to hurry,” she said. “They’ll be almost to the wagon by now.”
“The wagon? What—” but before I could finish, she’d flickered out and disappeared.
I sighed. “I really freaking hate this.” I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling that almost-painful tug I noticed whenever Sofi wasn’t around. “Fine,” I grumbled, following the invisible pull, “apparate, or whatever.”
I flickered back into existence along the bank of the river that ran the far edge of Vaikesti. It was heavily wooded, but just ahead I could see a small clearing, and perched beyond the trees, an actual wagon. I imagined it had once been painted in bright purple and green, but had faded over time to a dull, chipped patina.
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered, moving closer. It was an old box wagon, the kind people who pretended to like camping stayed in when they wanted to rough it, but it had seen better days. A lot of better days. A tattered awning jutted out above the door in a crazy patchwork of mismatched fabrics, and a set of rickety wooden steps led up to the entrance. Around the side, a large patch of earth sat brown and bare, picked clean by the chickens I could see milling about. On the other side, between two trees, a clothesline was hung with a bizarre array of skirts and scarves.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I said, moving toward the steps. I wasn’t sure what to do next, so I closed my eyes again and followed the tug. When I opened them, I was inside. The small space was a crazy jumble of old, broken-down furniture, worn cushions and tatty throws. Every surface was stacked with books, some nearly reaching the ceiling. Against the far wall, Sofi and the egg lady—Mirtel, the ghost girl had called her—sat on a squashy loveseat covered in old quilts. Ghost girl herself hovered nearby, watching the two of them with a guarded expression.
Sofi looked up sharply when I arrived, relief plain on her face. I gave her a small smile and after a moment, she returned it.
“She’s here, then?” Mirtel asked, following Sofi’s gaze. Sofi nodded. So did ghost girl. A screeching noise pierced the air then, and Mirtel, not seeming phased by it, heaved herself slowly off the sunken cushions.
“Milk and sugar, dear?” she said, moving to a small counter where an old ceramic teapot sat on a single, battery-operated burner.
“Sure,” Sofi said, glancing over at me and raising her eyebrows.
“It’s goat milk,” Mirtel said, bustling around the small kitchenette and pulling a real china teacup from a cupboard mounted to the wall. “Much easier to keep than cows. And healthier, too. Besides, goats are much better company, don’t you think?”
Crazy, I mouthed to Sofi.
“Darja,” she said admonishingly, and Mirtel turned to her, a strange smile tilting her lips.
“Is that what it’s like?” she said, turning back to rummage through a drawer, eventually pulling out a small silver spoon. “It’s no wonder I’ve been the town nutcase all these years.” She glanced back at ghost girl then, and the two shared a knowing look.
“Well,” she said, returning to the loveseat and handing Sofi a cup of steaming tea. “I’m sure we have quite a few questions for one another, don’t we? But first, perhaps some introductions are in order? I’m Mirtel. Aforementioned town nutcase. Aggie—Agnes—is the one you can’t see. And you are?”
“Sofi. Sofi Ilves. And Darja is my…“ She looked at me as if waiting for me to finish the sentence, but I had no idea how. Ghost? Haunt? DFF—dead friend forever?
“Your bonded,” Mirtel said gently, and Sofi nodded. “Hello, Darja,” Mirtel said in my general direction. “You’re welcome here.” She looked at Sofi. “Both of you are.”
“Thank you,” Sofi said, then erupted into a massive yawn. “I’m so sorry,” she said, face flushing pink. She took a quick drink of her tea, becoming very interested in the delicate floral pattern on the cup.
“So, it’s only just happened then?” Mirtel said knowingly. “At last night’s ceremony?”
Sofi nodded.
“You must have so many questions, dear. But, there’ll be time for talking later. For now, you need to rest.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could—” Sofi began, then yawned again.
“You won’t make it through the festival otherwise. Just through there,” Mirtel said, pointing to the back of the wagon, where two curtains hung over a cord strung between the walls,” there’s a bed. It’s not much, but it’s quite comfortable. I’ll show you.” She got to her feet, and motioned for Sofi to do the same. With an uncertain look back at me, Sofi stood up, swaying with exhaustion. I nodded at her to follow, feeling guilty I’d kept her up for so long.
The two of them disappeared behind the curtain, and I heard Mirtel jabbering about this and that while Sofi mumbled an occasional acknowledgement. I looked over to ghost girl—Aggie—who was studying me unabashedly.
“So, you two have been bonded for…a while,” I said, not sure what kind of small talk dead girls were supposed to make.
“Fifty-two years,” Aggie said. Her eyes were a striking gray. She was pale, slightly translucent, like me, but I could tell this had been their color in life, like the sheer limestone walls carved out of the hills just south of Vaikesti. Her hair was brown, pulled up in an intricate twist and piled on top of her head. She must have died—been killed—sometime in the 70s, but the dress and the hair looked almost Victorian. It must have been for the ceremony, I thought, glancing down at my own old-fashioned dress. She was petite, shorter and smaller than I was, and her features were delicate. I wondered how she’d wound up with this awful fate. How any of us had.
Mirtel returned then, taking up her spot on the loveseat and looking toward the door. “She’ll be able to rest now,” she said softly. “Please, make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” I said, then realized she couldn’t hear me. “Can you tell her?” I said to Aggie, who nodded shortly.
“She says thank you,” she said, and Mirtel smiled.
“Well, dear, what a time you’ve had.”
I snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
Aggie gave me a look that told me she wasn’t interested in being my translator, then turned her attention back to the older woman. “Mirtel, how could this have happened? In all these years, there’s never been another bond. What changed?”
Mirtel looked troubled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Darja, I wish we had answers for you. I know you must be frightened and angry—just like we were.”
I stared at Aggie, aghast. “It’s been decades,” I said. “You don’t know anything about the bond?”
“I know more than you,” she said waspishly.
“Like what?”
“I know that it means my spirit can’t move on. To…to whatever is out there. Whatever is supposed to happen…after. I know that no one really believes the magic works anymore, but they keep on performing this... sacrilege... year after year. I know that when Mirtel tried to tell the others what had happened—that the bonding had worked—they laughed at her. Mocked her. Made her a pariah.”
“What’s supposed to happen,” I asked, “after?”
“Does it matter?” Aggie said with a bitter laugh. “We’ll never know.”
“But why? Why can’t we move on?”
“Because our spirits are trapped.” A heavy silence hung in the air between us. Aggie cast her eyes downward. “I’m sorry, Mirtel. I shouldn’t—”
But Mirtel waved her off. “We’ve been through this hurt before,” she said. “I would heal it if I could.”
“I know,” Aggie whispered.
“Perhaps,” Mirtel said then, “we should tell Darja what we do know. How we ended up…here.”
Aggie nodded. “Yes, of course.” She looked at me then, all the previous anger gone, her small frame seeming even smaller, depleted. “I’m sorry, Darja.”
“No big deal,” I said, even though it was.
Aggie nodded at Mirtel, who seemed to take this as her cue to begin her story.
“I was born in Vaikesti,” she said, “to a very poor family. My father was a farmer. His parents had lived in the old country before coming here to start over. My mother was from outside. She was happy to adopt the beliefs of our people, and they allowed her in, but never truly accepted her. They died when I was quite young. I’d likely have been sent to the koolis myself, but my father’s sister took me in.” Her voice was soft and her gaze was far away. “By the time I was seventeen, all I could think about was leaving Vaikesti, finding my mother’s family. But my aunt convinced me to stay until my ceremony.”
“And you tried to tell them?” I asked, forgetting she couldn’t hear me. “They really didn’t believe the bonding had worked?”
“They thought she was trying to improve her station,” Aggie said, and Mirtel nodded her agreement. “There hadn’t been a successful bonding since the town was first settled. No one thought it was real. It was just…”
“For show?” I said, and Aggie nodded. “But they kept murdering girls anyway,” I added bitterly.
“Yes,” Aggie said, and I could see a fire in her eyes that reflected the rage I felt. “They called Mirtel crazy. Spread rumors about her. Tried to drive her out of town.”
“They only pushed me this far,” Mirtel said, sounding a bit triumphant. “This was my father’s land. They’d taken most of the farm, but he held onto this parcel. We came here after my aunt died. I was twenty-one.”
“You’ve lived here for fifty years?” I said, staring around at the cramped space. “In a wagon?”
Aggie shot me a look. “It’s home,” she said, and I felt a flush of guilt.
“Better than the koolis,” I said, and Aggie gave a wry smile.
“That’s the truth,” she said.
“Did you grow up there?” I asked.
She looked away then, her face going hard again. “No,” she said flatly. “I grew up in town. I was moved to the koolis when I was sixteen.”
“What?” I sputtered. “You were almost to your own ceremony. What happened?”
“It isn’t important,” she said stiffly.
“Like hell it isn’t. Another two years, and you would have survived.”
“Sixteen months,” she said softly. “But I ended up there, and then I ended up here.”
I stared, mouth agape, not knowing what to say. This was all too horrifying to process. I wanted to flee the wagon, screaming about the outrage of it all. I wanted to wake up in my lumpy bed in my barren room in the koolis. I wanted Ms. Kross to write me up for disciplinary infraction. But more than anything, I wanted this whole nightmare to be over.
“Well,” Mirtel said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over us. “I don’t know about you two, but I feel invigorated.”
“What?” Aggie and I said simultaneously.
“We gave up on finding answers once it became clear no one in town was going to help us. Perhaps we gave up too soon. If there are others being bonded, there must be something that connects us. Some reason it worked for us, and not the rest.”
“And you never found anything about what’s supposed to happen?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Aggie said. “We scoured the library at the koolis, looked through every page in the history section, but never found a word about it.”
“But that’s not our town’s whole history,” Mirtel said.
“What does she mean?” I asked Aggie, who looked as confused as I felt.
“Mirtel,” she said, “what are you—?”
“There’ll be time to talk later,” Mirtel said. “Right now, I’ve got to feed the chickens. And then I suppose we have a Spring Day Festival to attend.”
“Mirtel, you haven’t been to a Spring Day in fifty years.”
Mirtel smiled. “Well then,” she said, “it seems I’ll need to work on making my entrance.”