Sisters of Blood and Spirit Page 37

“Yeah,” I replied. “I think we have to after what happened to Sarah.” The ghost was powerful if it could do a grab and go from a distance like that. “It could influence any of them.” I didn’t tell him what else I feared—that the ghost had no intention of letting them go. It was going to play with them and drain them, because this ghost had plans.

How did I know that? It was just a hunch, but a strong one. The recent construction at Haven Crest had stirred something up, and now it was threatened by the changes in its habitat. Ghosts weren’t big on change, and they responded to threats the same way people did—fight or flight.

I was going on the assumption that our ghost meant to fight.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.

I could have made a crude joke about taking his séance virginity but Wren was there and she wouldn’t have liked that. “Wren will help you. I need you to help anchor her, too.”

“I’ll be fine,” my sister insisted, but she was just going to have to deal with my paranoia. I’d seen ghosts try to influence her before. I knew she was stronger now, but I wasn’t going to gamble on that.

“Can I help you with that?” He nodded at the cans of salt and baking supplies I had strewn on the top of his kitchen counter.

“Sure.” I handed him a can of salt. “Dump this into the food processor. So, what do you want to know about the séance?” It wasn’t like I was an expert. I’d done two in the course of my life, and one had been by accident.

Kevin opened the can of salt. “What do you need me to do?”

Wren came forward to join us. “You summon the spirit. You order it to come to us.”

He glanced in her direction, and I knew that he could hear her as well as I could. “Won’t that piss it off?”

“Mediums are like catnip for ghosts,” I explained. “They are attracted to you because you’re a way for them to make contact and show off. I don’t think our guy will be able to resist. And we’ll have protection around you so he behaves.”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Wren promised. I felt awkward overhearing her make such a promise. She really cared about him, and that wasn’t good. They could never be together.

Kevin smiled at her. “So, I call it and then we trap it?”

“Pretty much,” I replied. “We won’t be able to hold it for long, but hopefully long enough to find out who it is and how to stop it.”

He dumped the salt into the food processor. “How do you stop ghosts?”

I shrugged. “There are a few ways, but the only way to really get rid of one is to salt and burn the remains.”

“What if there are no remains?”

“Then you burn whatever it is they’re attached to,” I said, handing him another can. “Put this one in, too.”

“Do you really think we can do this?”

I measured out some cloves so each batch of salt would have an equal amount. “Yes. We can do it, I just don’t know if time is on our side. If there are remains, great. If not, then we have to find what is left behind, and that’s the bitch of it.”

“Then let’s hope there’re bones.”

I gave him a slight smile. Finally, it felt as though he and I were on the same side.

We worked quickly and pretty efficiently, if I say so myself. I ground up all the cloves and the fennel and dumped each into the food processor one batch at a time. Kevin ran the processor, and then we both scooped the mixture back into the salt cans.

“Weird to think this works against ghosts,” he remarked.

A few feet away my sister wrinkled her nose. “I hate it.”

“Then stop hovering,” I told her. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

She stuck her tongue out at me, but drifted from the room when Kevin told her he didn’t want anything to happen to her.


Once all the cans were filled, Kevin and I took them to the dining room where everyone else was.

Sarah sat at the table, scratching at her cheek. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, except she was digging at the wound left by the ghost. It weeped black, the skin around it raw and red.

“Stop!” I ordered. Shit, it had really done a number on her when it had used her as its puppet.

She jumped and glared at me. “What the hell?”

“You’re going to make it worse.”

“It itches!” As if to prove her point, she clawed at it some more. I winced.

I grabbed her hand and pulled it away. Could she feel that ghostly wet on her fingers? Could she smell it? Because it smelled pretty damn foul.

She pressed my fingers to the mess that was her cheek. Oh, gross. It was hot and slick, like sticking my fingers in bacon grease congealing in a pan. I pulled back, but she held firm. She was a strong girl.

“Ahh,” she sighed. “That’s better.”

I watched—and I promise I’m not making this shit up—as the wound lost some of its angriness. It was as though it sucked that awful black back into itself, tucked the raw edges of torn flesh back together a little. WTF? Could I heal wraith marks, or was I only making it stronger? And how was I doing it?

When she finally let me go I ran to the kitchen and scoured my hand with a metal-mesh scrubber—the kind Nan used on pots. I used it until my skin stung and then threw the scrubber in the garbage. I dried my hands and returned to the dining room.

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