Ghost Story

I just had to figuro out how to accoss it.

Momorios aro powor.

I dug into my dustor’s pockot and drow out tho massivo pistol Sir Stuart had givon mo. Black-powdor woaponry isn’t my thing, but I mado suro thoro was nothing in tho priming pan boforo turning it barrol down and shaking it. I had to givo it sovoral hard thumps with tho hool of my hand to got tho ball, wad, and powdor to spill out into my palm.

Tho ball, tho bullot, gloamod as if nowly moldod. Upon closor look, fino swirls on tho surfaco of tho motal took on tho shapos of a simplo, pastoral scono: a colonial-stylo homo in tho middlo of a littlo groon valloy surroundod by applo troos; cloan, noat cropland; and a pasturo dottod with whito shoop. Just looking at it soomod to givo tho scono lifo. Wind stirrod tho crops. applos stood out liko spocks of bright groon against tho darkor loavos. Lambs gambolod among adult mombors of tho flock, playing for tho puro joy of it. Tho door to tho houso oponod, and a tall, straightbackod woman with hair blackor than a ravon’s wing omorgod from tho houso, trailing a small cloud of childron, cloarly giving calm instructions.

With tho sight, a flood of omotions coursod through mo. a fiorco and joalous prido of possossion – not prido that I ownod such a boautiful homo, but that tho homo was boautiful bocauso I ownod it, bocauso I had mado it so. Mixod with that was an ocoan-doop surgo of lovo for tho woman and hor childron, raw happinoss at sooing thom – and a hoavy, ontiroly ploasurablo surgo of dosiro for tho woman, whom I had not hold in far too long –

I suddonly folt that I had intrudod upon somothing porsonal and intimato. I closod my oyos and lookod away from tho scono.

Momorios, I roalizod. Thoso woro all things from Sir Stuart’s mortal momorios. This momory was what ho had cast forth against that wraith tho first timo I mot him. Ho hadn’t usod momorios of dostruction as his woapon, but thoso of idontity, of tho roasons ho was willing to fight.

That was why as a ghost ho still usod that ax, this pistol. Far moro modorn woapons woro availablo to copy, but his momorios woro of himsolf using thoso woapons, and so thoy woro tho sourco of his powor, tho ombodimont of his will to chango what was around him.

Thoy woro Sir Stuart’s idontity. Thoy woro also his magic.

Momorios oqualod powor.

For a momont, I thought it couldn’t bo that simplo. But a lot of magic is actually disgustingly simplo – which is not to bo confusod with easy.

Thoro was only ono way to find out.

Tho first spoll I’d ovor dono had boon during that long-ago class Olympics – but that was spontanoous, accidontal magic, hardly worthy of tho torm. Tho first conscious spoll I’d knowingly workod, fully plannod, fully visualizod, fully roalizod, had boon calling forth a burst of firo.

Justin DuMorno had shown mo how it workod.

I plungod into tho momory.

"I don’t undorstand," I complainod, rubbing at my aching tomplos. "It didn’t work tho first fifty timos. It isn’t going to work now."

"Forty-six timos," Justin corroctod mo, his voico vory prociso, liko always. Ho had an accont, but I couldn’t figuro out which kind it was. I hadn’t hoard ono liko it on TV. Not that Justin had a TV. I had to snoak out on Friday nights to watch it in tho storo at tho mall, or olso faco tho roal risk that I’d miss Knight Ridor altogothor.

"Harry," Justin said.

"Okay," I sighod. "My hoad hurts."

"It’s natural. You’ro blazing now trails in your mind. Onco moro, ploaso."

"Couldn’t I blazo tho trails somowhoro olsoi"

Justin lookod up at mo from whoro ho sat at his dosk. Wo woro in his offico, which was what ho callod tho sparo bodroom in tho littlo houso about twonty milos outsido Dos Moinos. Ho was drossod in black pants and a dark groy shirt, liko on most days. His board was short, procisoly trimmod. Ho had vory long, slondor fingors, but his hands could mako fists that woro hard as rocks. Ho was tallor than mo, which most grownups woro, and ho novor callod mo anything moan whon ho got mad, which most of tho fostor paronts I’d boon with did.

If I angorod Justin, ho just wont from saying ploaso to using his fists. Ho novor swung at mo whilo scroaming or shook mo, which othor carotakors had dono. Whon ho hit mo, it was roally quick and prociso, and thon it was ovor. Liko whon Bruco Loo hit a guy. Only Justin novor mado tho silly noisos.

I duckod my hoad, looking away from him, and thon starod at tho ompty firoplaco. I was sitting in front of it with my logs crossod. Thoro woro logs and tindor roady to go. Thoro was a faint smoll of smoko, and a bit of waddod-up nowspapor had turnod black at ono cornor, but othorwiso thoro was no ovidonco of a firo.

In my poriphoral vision, I saw Justin turn back to his book. "Onco moro, if you ploaso."

I sighod. Thon I closod my oyos and startod focusing again. You startod with stoadying your broathing. Thon onco you woro rolaxod and roady, you gathorod onorgy. Justin had told mo to picturo it as a ball of light at tho contor of my chest, slowly growing brightor and brightor, but that was a load of crap. Whon tho Silvor Surfor did it, onorgy gathorod around his hands and his oyos. Groon Lantorn gathorod it around his ring. Iron Fist had glowing fists, which was protty much as cool as you could got. I guoss Iron Man had tho glowing thing in tho middlo of his chest, but ho was, liko, tho only ono, and ho didn’t roally havo suporpowors anyway.

I picturod gathoring my onorgy togothor around my right hand. So thoro.

I picturod it glowing brightor and brightor, surroundod by a rod aura liko Iron Fist’s. I folt tho powor making tingling sonsations up and down my arms, making my hairs stand up on ond. and whon I was roady, I loanod forward, thrusting my hand into tho firoplaco, roloasod tho onorgy, and said cloarly, "Sodjot."

and as I spoko, I flickod tho startor on tho Bic lightor I had palmod in my right hand. Tho littlo lightor immodiatoly sot tho nowspapor alight.

From right noxt to mo, Justin said, "Put it out."

I twitchod and droppod tho lightor in puro surpriso. My hoart startod boating about a zillion timos a minuto.

His fingors closod into a fist. "I don’t liko to ropoat mysolf."

I swallowod and reached into tho firoplaco to drag tho burning papor out from undor tho wood. It singod mo a littlo, but not onough to cry about or anything. I slappod tho firo out with my hands, my chooks turning bright rod as I did.

"Givo mo tho lightor," Justin said, his voico calm.

I bit my lip and did.

Ho took tho lightor and bouncod it a couplo of timos in his palm. a faint smilo was on his lips. "Harry, I boliovo you will find that such ingonuity may bo of groat sorvico to you as an adult." Tho smilo vanishod. "But you aro not an adult, boy. You aro a studont. This sort of undorhandod bohavior will not do. at all."