The Ghosts You Left Behind

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The moment I land on the other side, the illusion vanishes. The road beneath my feet is cracked, but it is a road. A few yards farther down, there’s a faded sign that reads Cedar Hills Mall.

Malcolm’s standing opposite me now. Nothing blocks my view except a few slender saplings and some weeds. I can see his convertible, the highway, and the field on the other side—all of it perfectly clear.

“Katy!” His voice and expression are panicked. He turns his head and shields his eyes, and it’s only then it dawns on me.

He can’t see me.

“Walk on through,” I call out, but I’m not sure he can hear me.

Perhaps he can’t, or maybe he’s worried. Either way, he takes one step and then another, and then he’s with me on the other side, his eyes wide with amazement.

“Wow,” he exhales.

“I know.”

For several seconds, we stand there, marveling at nothing but the saplings.

“If we go back,” I say, pointing toward the highway, “do you think it will still be there?”

“One way to find out.” He takes my hand, and together we head toward the highway.

When we step into the illusion, the air shifts around us. Everything is cast in a greenish hue. Then the bright red of Malcolm’s convertible greets us. We turn around, and the pines are in place once again.

“Is that a necromancer thing?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Malcolm is already pulling out his phone. “But I know someone who will.”

Nigel picks up on the fifth ring.

“Oh,” he says after we’ve walked him through and around the illusion. “It’s a visible ward.”

“A what?” Malcolm says.

“You know what a ward is, right, baby brother?”

Next to me, Malcolm stifles a growl. “Explain visible ward.”

“Necromancers use them when they want to hide something in plain sight. You won’t pick up a message or a signature with this sort of ward. Anonymity is the point of using one.”

“It looks like it’s from a postcard,” I say, “or maybe one of those insurance calendars.”

Nigel snorts. “No one ever claimed necromancers were imaginative. Show me again.”

Dutifully, Malcolm holds up his cell phone and pans the copse of pines. Now that we know it isn’t real, all the oddities pop out at me. No birds land on the branches. No critters scurry beneath the limbs. No deer tracks. Even though the breeze is light, the trees hold themselves far, far too still.

“Yep,” Nigel says at last. “It’s a visible ward. Something like this usually takes more than one necromancer, though, unless he—”

“Or she,” I say.

“Or she is very powerful. Otherwise, it’s something siblings or couples do together. Malcolm and I could make one, assuming he was any good at wards.”

Malcolm’s lips twitch into a smile, and he shrugs one shoulder.

“Or you and Malcolm could,” Nigel says, “since you work closely together, and again assuming—”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know I’m lousy at wards.”

“It’s an advanced trick,” Nigel continues, “but once you have one established, the upkeep is easier than a regular ward.”

“How does it work?” I ask. With regular wards, you need to own—or at least claim—the property you’re protecting. “Do you need an anchor?”

“Since you’re hiding something rather than claiming it, no.”

“And the visible part? Do you find a picture and channel it or something?”

“Yes, that part is like placing a regular ward. The picture they used fits the landscape well enough that you wouldn’t even notice anything strange unless you look closely. Whoever made this probably does a drive-by now and then to reinforce it, but really, this type of ward can last for years.”

“And it could keep the curious away from your stash of ghosts,” I say.

“Indeed it could.”

It’s impossible to hide my smile, so I don’t even try. I cast Malcolm a sidelong glance. “Should we go get some ghosts?”

“I think we should.” Malcolm ends the call with Nigel and pockets his phone. “I really think we should.”

The road to the main entrance is both quiet and disquieting. All the everyday things you expect at a mall—cars, people, strollers, and carts—are missing. Over the years, the yellow lines in the parking lot have faded, so they’re barely there—ghosts lines more than anything. Weeds fill the cracks in the asphalt, and a few trees have pushed up and out of the cement sidewalk surrounding the building’s four wings.

Above us, the sign remains, tarnished gilt letters proclaiming:

Cedar Hills Mall

A Dream Come True

More like where dreams go to die. Nothing about this space reassures me—nothing except the sprite’s excitement as we pull up to the main entrance. It bounces inside its container as if it’s urging Malcolm to drive faster. He pulls the convertible into a regular parking space and then sits there with his hands on the wheel.

“I could actually park anywhere.” He casts me a look, his expression bemused. “Right?”

“You could, but—”

“It just feels weird.”

It does, in more ways than one.

We step from the convertible and inspect the entryway doors from several feet away. We’re far enough from the interstate that the sound of traffic doesn’t reach us. I expect to hear something, at least. Evening birdsong. The buzz of insects. I scrape my foot against the cement just to break the silence that has fallen over us.

“This is kind of creepy,” Malcolm murmurs.

He holds up a hand, and I know he wants me to wait while he inspects the front doors. I don’t, of course. I won’t let him step a millimeter closer without me at his side. He knows this as well, which is why he gives me a rueful grin when we reach the doors.

The sun glints on the glass, its touch against the back of my neck comforting—to a point. I clutch the container with one hand, the sprite ricocheting inside, and shield my eyes with the other and peer into the mall.

Shadows stretch the length of the hallway. Lumps that might be benches bisect its center. I think I see a planter and a tree, an artificial one, since it’s sprouting leaves.

Malcolm shakes the doors. The chain that’s looped through the handles rattles against the glass. The doors creak open, and the chain swings. From one end hangs a padlock by its shackle. The lock itself?

Not engaged.

“Oh, this is really creepy.” Malcolm’s words are so soft that I feel them against my cheek more than hear them. “Like horror-movie creepy.”

We both take several steps back, putting space between us and the front doors.

“Do you detect anything? A regular ward, maybe?” I say, although I have no idea how you’d place one of those around an entire mall.

He holds out a hand, fingers skimming the air above the ground and then tracing a pattern around the door. “No, nothing. It’s a mall, right? It’s not like a single person owns this place.”

“We have a ward on our business, but we don’t own the property.”

“But we own the right to use it. That’s the difference. A necromancer couldn’t claim this entire space as his—”

“Or hers.”

He shoots me a grin. “Or hers. It wouldn’t work.” Malcolm surveys the doors again and then the parking lot behind us. “But you might hide ghosts here and use a visible ward so other necromancers don’t stumble across them.”

That doesn’t explain why this place is so creepy. But yes, that’s the most logical explanation for the sprite’s incessant pinging inside the Tupperware.

Malcolm turns, studies the empty parking lot again, and the slant of the sun. “I’m not sure we should go in tonight.” He nods toward the west. “There’s not a lot of daylight left.”

It’s June, so the days stretch long. The sun won’t set for a few more hours. Still, the light has that early evening quality to it and will slip away completely before we know it. I’m about to agree. The most sensible thing is to come back in the morning better prepared. Before I can suggest this, the sprite springs from my grip with supernatural force.

The Tupperware container bounces across the concrete. I lunge, but I’m not quick enough. The plastic thwacks the sidewalk. Malcolm makes a dive for it, but the sprite simply propels the container up and over him.

The gap between the two doors is just large enough that it can slip inside.

I rush forward. By the time I reach the entrance, the sprite is gone, and all we hear is the echo of Tupperware against tile.

For several long moments, Malcolm and I stare into the abyss-like corridor.

This is just like a horror movie and just like a sprite. Leave it to them to do the most inconvenient thing at the most inopportune moment.

A hint of stale, cold air filters through the crack between the two doors. We could walk inside. It’s as simple as unhooking the padlock and pulling the chain through the handles.

We stand there.

“Do you think this is a trap?” I ask at last.

It has that feel. A lonely stretch of highway, a secluded and abandoned building. An adorable sprite as bait. Sure, Nigel knows we’re here, but we’re also a good thirty miles from Springside.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Malcolm heaves a sigh that holds the day’s weight in it. He turns to face me. “Or maybe it was a trap, at one time, like last year.”

“You mean with Orson.”

“Exactly. It would be like him to set up multiple traps.”

“So, he was going to do what? Lock up some ghosts, then send a sprite for me to follow here?” I peer down the hallway. Shadows play before my eyes, almost ghostly themselves.

“This would’ve been an ideal spot for retribution. No witnesses, no traffic, enough room for two dozen necromancers, easily.”

“What about now?” Because right now, this space is still all those things.

“He doesn’t have enough allies. He’s not chairman anymore, and he couldn’t pull off something like this.”

“Do we risk it?” I lean toward the crack between the two doors and strain my ears. Is that a light thump, thump, thump of plastic against the floor? Or am I simply indulging in a little wishful thinking?

Malcolm raises a hand, holding me in place. Then he dashes back to the convertible. From the trunk, he pulls out some of our emergency supplies. When he returns, he hands me a flashlight and drapes a whistle around my neck.

“It’s not like we’re headed off into the woods.”

“No, but ... things can happen during urban exploring. A whistle is a lot louder than a voice.”

He’s right. I bring the whistle to my lips and give it the barest hint of a test blow. Oh. Yeah. That will work.

“Ground rules. If possible, we keep this door in sight. Anything looks sketchy, we run, hop into the car, and get the hell out of here. Deal?”

“You read my mind.”

Malcolm pulls in a breath like he’s about to dive off a cliff. “Okay.” He takes my hand. “Let’s go.”