Lisbeth McQuarrie
I stared with uncontrolled interest as finally, Winchester took the stone off his brother.
It was… almost like this was a test.
What if Bram knew his brother’s secret?
I had a second to question that, then shuddered at the mere thought.
This could be a guess – no, this was a guess – but if a man like Bram knew there was a dead practitioner in the kingdom, he would simply make use of them. Even if he were his own flesh and blood.
But how would Winchester be able to control himself around so much power? As I had already told you, we dead practitioners had certain ways with soul stones.
I had only just met Winchester. There was most certainly no love lost between us. I had been very honest when I had promised that I would get out of his clutches as soon as I could. But I still couldn’t describe to you just how much my stomach clenched at the prospect his brother might find out who he was.
There was nothing I could do. Nothing… nothing?
Just as Bram handed the stone over, I thought I felt something moving through the corridor behind me. I felt it, I heard it, and I instinctively knew what it was, even though I couldn’t see it. For it was the same force that had crept down those stairs behind me at the Magical Academy. The same thing, in other words, that had been after Winchester only earlier today.
I might’ve just finished telling you that there was no love lost between Winchester and me. But if he was found out, and it was found out that he had indentured me, I would have to answer uncomfortable questions. Even beyond that selfish reasoning, I couldn’t… I couldn’t let this happen.
I turned.
I surveyed the corridor. I honestly couldn’t see the thing that I could sense, but I still knew it was there.
And it was coming closer. My senses warned me that I must act now or never.
I plunged a hand into my pocket. I still had a soul stone. It seemed rather pathetic compared to the massive crimson one now held in Winchester’s hands. That was not my point. Wintersmith himself had taught me how to protect soul stones from other people’s prying magic. As I wrapped my fingers around mine now, I knew no one could tell. I didn’t access the soul stone’s power. Instead, I let it anchor me. Wintersmith had said this was possible. If I were to get strong enough, I could secretly use soul stone power without letting any visibly charge through my form.
Wrapping my fingers around it harder now, finally I think I saw something. Momentarily, my senses aligned with my sight, and I saw a… I suppose you could call it a smear. It looked as if someone had taken a picture of this scene then they’d carelessly thrown a bit of water onto it until the colors had mixed. It was to my left, just down the corridor. Nobody stopped me as I walked away. All of the guards were there for the king, not me. They quite rightly thought there was little trouble I could get up to in the palace while all the greatest trouble was in the king’s bed-chamber.
I did not know what I was doing in this moment. I suppose I did at least know what I was not doing. Standing still.
A lifetime of searching for solutions to ghosts’ problems had taught me that standing still and ignoring them was the worst thing you could do. Their problems would only become greater, and as a consequence, yours would become greater as well. There comes a time when you must act. Hesitate or wait for someone else to solve your issues, and you will simply give them the strength to strangle you.
I would let nothing strangle me today. Or Winchester. I didn’t have the mental attention left to assess such a thought and throw it out. Winchester was a brute, I should have reminded myself.
Instead, I surreptitiously followed that smear.
I’m sure, whatever it was, it could probably hear, so I muttered to myself audibly, “I do wonder where the bathrooms are. I don’t want to bother anyone, though. I suppose I’ll have to find them on my own.”
As I muttered that, loud but not too loudly, I watched the smear.
It darted forward.
Soon it was out of sight through a door to my left.
I paused. I looked around. I sharpened my hearing. There was the sound of stone grating against stone, then nothing.
I acted quickly, heart in my mouth. I opened the door. I walked into some kind of office. I said some kind, because it wasn’t readily apparent whether the office was for an ordinary creature or a magical one. While I couldn’t see any potions or tomes lined up on the desk, it felt… edgy. If I were blind and all I could do was palpate an object, then this office felt like it had been carved into the sharpest of points.
I approached the desk warily. The smear was not in the room. I kept my hand clutched quite hard around my soul crystal to confirm that fact.
I reached the desk.
I opened the first drawer.
I was quite aware that what I was doing right now was snooping. If I was found out, heaven knew what would happen to me. I couldn’t think of the consequences. My mind focused on the task.
I found nothing in the first drawer. Nothing in the second drawer. And something rather disturbing in the third.
I flattened a hand on my mouth. There was a vial of blood.
I’d questioned whether this office belonged to somebody magical. I now knew. That blood confirmed it without a shadow of a doubt.
I had, due to my job, come across many a ghastly sight in my time. But honestly, ghosts aren’t usually that terrifying. They are simply what’s left of the personality and soul after death. Not necessarily the body. They have moved on from corporeal concerns. It is humans that fixate on body matters more. And it is humans who do ghastly things to one another for power. Wrapping my fingers around that vial, I quickly realized this blood had been taken violently and for the most violent of purposes.
I had come here on the premise of assisting Winchester. I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted. I pocketed the blood. I pushed it right next to the soul crystal, in fact, hoping I could use it to protect the blood’s obvious dark magical signature. Then I turned. I suddenly realized the smear must’ve disappeared somewhere. It was not a ghost. I knew that much. But it must’ve darted off somehow. It had not gone through the door, and unless it had climbed through the window silently and down the side of the palace, then there must be some other route of escape.
I could feel time slipping through my fingers. I kept thinking of Winchester, and once or twice, I’d grabbed up my hand and actually touched my indenture mark as if it were a fond reminder of him.
I kept trying to tell myself that I didn’t owe this man a thing. He was the one who owed me.
But no matter how many times I repeated those words, they were ineffectual. My heart was beating far more quickly than it ever had before. Every sense was telling me to do something. Anything. Now.
I started to check the walls. If there was some kind of hidden passageway, it would take time or tremendous luck to find it. But wasn’t I forgetting something?
I should’ve paid attention to the slight movement out of the corner of my eye. I was too late, however, for I was far too focused on the task at hand.
And that meant that a ghostly grip managed to push its way out of the center of the desk and wrap around my wrist.
I didn’t scream, though anyone else, perhaps even Winchester, would have.
I had a very strongly controlled startle reflex, considering my life.
I looked down to see a uniformed arm lift out of the desk, then beyond that, a body dressed in full regalia. I soon found myself staring at an old king.
I was not particularly fond of history, but anyone from this kingdom knew the line of succession that had brought us to the current day. The king I looked upon had been a magician himself. He had instituted many changes in the kingdom that had modernized it, bringing it out of the dark ages. Changes that had been unwound of late.
I stared at him. He stared back. “I know what you are. You know who I am. Please, if you care about this kingdom, follow. I will take you where you need to go.”
“But I’m after—”
“You’re after the half-ghost. Come. Now. The new king is about to rise. We must push him back down before he can.”
I had a thousand questions but no time. The king pulled me over to the wall. I’d already tried moving one of the candle fittings. He reached up, shifted a painting, and pushed a button.
Then the very wall started to move, grumbling like a hungry tummy.
Again, I did not gasp. For I simply knew whatever I saw now would be nothing compared to what was waiting for me within.
The old king grasped my wrist harder and pulled me through. He had a strong grip, but it was also a costly one. When ghosts had existed for too long, unless they were Wintersmith, apparently, they had to make sacrifices. If they wanted one part of their body to be strong, they needed to weaken another part. The king’s face became insubstantial as all of his focus and control locked on his wrist and holding me.
I let him. But his grip was far less possessive and far less dangerous than one Winchester Stone’s. And thinking about him was a terrible mistake, for it only made my heart beat harder. I strained over my shoulder in the direction of the bed-chamber.
“This way. You must stop them. If you care for your country, you must do what we could not.”
I snapped my head around. “What do you mean?”
“I always knew this day would come. I always knew bad actors would try to let the curse rise once more. I had put in place so many things to stop them. I even funded the Magical Academy. But everything that I did failed. For when power is at stake, the dark always rises.”
I stared at him. I only vaguely understood what he meant. But then my mind got stuck on the word dark. “What do you mean?”
“I imagine by now you have made contact with Wintersmith. I can smell his influence on you. Follow him. Do as he says. Save this kingdom. If you can,” he added.
“You’re one of Wintersmith’s ghosts?” I should’ve probably held my tongue, especially held my disdain as it crumpled my nose.
Yes, this man had once been a king. But now he was a ghost.
And I had quite a few rude words to share with Wintersmith, considering the mess he’d thrown me into.
“You’re running out of time. There may be nothing that can be done for the current king. But do not let your enemies get their hands on another dead practitioner.”
“You think I should run?” I stammered in the kind of voice that suggested that would not happen.
The king had finished pulling me down a set of stairs. We were in a dark, treacherous tunnel. There was no light, but ghosts can always provide their own ethereal glow. It leapt over his skin, drawing my attention to his eyes as he stared at me. “It is not you you must protect. It is the fool, Winchester. He’s the one they really need. To save this kingdom, you must keep him in hand.” As he said that, he dropped my own hand. Then he pointed forward. Suddenly, ethereal flames appeared over the walls, dancing within old carved torches.
Ethereal flames, mind you, and not real ones. All the king had to do was dramatically click his fingers, and they started burning, their glow singularly otherworldly.
Again I didn’t gasp. I stared at him. “Winchester is a fool. He used dark magic to indenture me. But—”
“He must be saved, nonetheless. Come. They intend to capture him with a half-ghost. You must exorcise it.”
To exorcise a ghost, ordinarily all you had to do was what they requested. Complete their final task, and heaven itself would exorcise them for you.
I knew that’s not what this king meant. I shuddered slightly. “I only have half a soul stone—”
“And you’re going to have to learn to use it properly. We are almost there.”
“Where?”
“Bram’s secret ritual room. He is at the center of this darkness. You will seek to discover and unmask the other players. You will find his half-ghosts. You will exorcise them. And you will do this before he has a chance to lift the curse.”
“Curse? What curse?” I turned dramatically as he took a step back and bowed. The ethereal light of the candles played over my face. “What curse?” I demanded.
“A curse that, if it were allowed to rise, would swallow this kingdom, turn every single soul into a zombie, and lift the dead. A curse that would deliver the kingdom to Bram, that would deliver every other kingdom in the land to him, too. A curse,” he said with a dramatic growl, “that must be thrust back down into the earth where it belongs. And a curse only you can fight. Now go, Lisbeth McQuarrie. Go and save everyone.”
He pointed forward with a flaring movement of his hand.
Wind chased down the corridor from nowhere but everywhere at once. It grasped my skirts and hooked them high. They fluttered dramatically around my knees as my hair was tugged loose from its bun. By the time it was finished fluttering, the king had already left in a puff of wispy ethereal smoke. It did not leave me alone. It left me standing there as a moan echoed down the corridor.
I turned. I clenched one hand into a fist as my hair finally sat still.
Then I ran.
For that was what I, Lisbeth McQuarrie, was good for and did best.