Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(14)
Author: Kim Harrison

"This is Cincinnati?" he said softly, gaze darting from one building to the next.

"Yes," I said, then jerked my hand out of Robbie’s when he gave me a squeeze to be quiet. "What?" I hissed at him. "You think I should lie? He just wants to know where he is."

The man coughed, cutting my brother’s anger short. "I expect I’m most sorry," he said, taking one hand off the pole. "I’ve no need for breathing but to speak, and to make a body accept that is a powerful trial."

Surprised, I simply waited while he took a slow, controlled breath.

"I’m Pierce," he said, his accent shifting to a more formal sound. "I have no doubt that you’re not my final verdict, but are in truth . . ." He glanced at the driver. Lips hardly moving, he mouthed, "You’re a practitioner of the arts. A master witch, sir."

The man wasn’t breathing. I was watching him closely, and the man wasn’t breathing. "Robbie," I said urgently, tugging on his arm. "He’s dead. He’s a ghost."

My brother made a nervous guffaw, crossing his legs to help keep his body heat with him. We were right over the heater, but it was still cold. "That’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it, Firefly?" he said.

"Yes, but he’s so real!" I said, hushed. "I didn’t expect anything but a whisper or a feeling. Not a naked man in the snow. And certainly not him!"

Pierce flushed. His eyes met mine, and I bit back my next words, stunned by the depth of his bewilderment. The bus shifted forward as the driver braked to pick someone up, and he almost fell out of his seat, grabbing the pole with white hands to save himself.

"You drew me from purgatory," he said, confusion pouring from him even as he warily watched the people file on and find their seats. His face went panicked, and then he swallowed, forcing his emotions down. "I suspected I was going to hell. I suspected my penance for my failure was concluded, and I was going to hell. I’ll allow it looks like hell at first observance, though not broken and lacking a smell of burnt amber." He looked out the window. "No horses," he said softly, then his eyebrows rose inquiringly. "And you bricked over the canal, nasty swill hole it was. Are the engines powered then by steam?"

Beside me, Robbie grinned. "He sure uses a lot of words to say anything."

"Shut up," I muttered. I thought he was elegant.

"This isn’t hell," Pierce said, and, as if exhausted, he dropped his head to show me the top of his loose black curls. His relief made my stomach clench and burn.

I looked away, uncomfortable. Thoughts of my deal with Robbie came back. I didn’t know if he would think this was a success or not. I did bring a ghost back, but it wasn’t Dad. And without Dad saying yes to the I.S., Robbie would probably take it as a no. Worried, I looked up at Robbie and said, "I did the spell right."

My brother shifted, as if preparing for an argument. My eyebrows pulled together, and I glared at him. "I don’t care if it summoned the wrong ghost, I did the freaking spell right!"

Pierce looked positively terrified as he alternated his attention between us and the new people calmly getting on and finding their seats. I was guessing it wasn’t the volume of my voice, but what I was saying. Being a witch in public was a big no-no that could get you killed before nineteen sixty-six, and he had clearly died before then.

Robbie frowned in annoyance. "The deal was you’d summon Dad," he said, and I gritted my teeth.

"The deal was I would do the spell right, and if I didn’t, I would come out to Portland with you. Well, look," I said, pointing. "There’s a ghost. You just try to tell me he isn’t there."

"All right, all right," Robbie said, slouching. "You stirred the spell properly, but we still don’t know what Dad would want, so I’m not going to sign that paper."

"You son of a-"

"Rachel!" he said, interrupting me. "Don’t you get it? This is why I want you to come out with me and finish your schooling." He gestured at Pierce as if he was a thing, not a person. "You did an eight-hundred-level summoning spell without batting an eye. You could be anything you want. Why are you going to waste yourself in the I.S.?"

"The I.S. isn’t a waste," I said, while Pierce shifted uncomfortably. "Are you saying Dad’s life was a waste, you dumb pile of crap?"

Pierce stared at me, and I flushed. Robbie’s face was severe, and he looked straight ahead, ticked. The bus was moving again, and I sat in a sullen silence. I knew I was heaping more abuse on Robbie than he deserved. But I had wanted to talk to my dad, and now that chance was gone. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to do it right. And as much as I hated myself for it, the tears started to well.

Pierce cleared his throat. Embarrassed, I wiped my eyes and sniffed.

"You were attempting to summon your father," he said softly, making nervous glances at the people whispering over Pierce’s bare feet and Robbie’s lack of a coat. "On the solstice. And it was I whom your magic touched?"

I nodded fast, struggling to keep from bawling my fool head off. I missed him. I had really thought I could do it.

"I apologize," Pierce said so sincerely that I looked up. "You might should celebrate, mistress witch. You stirred the spell proper, or I expect I’d not be here. That I appeared in his stead means he has gone to his reward and is at peace."

Selfishly, I’d been wishing that Dad had missed me so much that he would have lingered, and I sniffed again, staring at the blur of holiday lights passing. I was a bad daughter.

"Please don’t weep," he said, and I started when he leaned forward and took my hand. "You’re so wan, it’s most enough to break my heart, mistress witch."

"I only wanted to see him," I said, pitching my voice low so it wouldn’t break.

Pierce’s hands were cold. There was no warmth to him. But his fingers held mine firmly, their roughness stark next to my unworked, skinny hands. I felt a small lift through me, as if I was tapping a line, and my eyes rose to his.

"Why . . ." he said, his vivid eyes fixed on mine. "You’re a grown woman. But so small."

My tears quit from surprise. "I’m eighteen," I said, affronted, then pulled my hand away. "How long have you been dead?"

"Eighteen," he murmured. I felt a growing sense of unease as the small man leaned back, glancing at Robbie with what looked like embarrassment.

"My apologies," he said formally. "I meant no disrespect to your intended."

"Intended!" Robbie barked, and I made a rude sound, sliding down from my brother. The people who had just gotten on looked up, surprised. "She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my sister." Then Robbie’s expression shifted. "Stay away from my sister."