by ‘Em?’ I choked, for seldom have I beheld so unsettling a sight. All seven or eight feet of her was wobbly around the edges and… and dripping. Like slime.
She was smiling, though. I suppose that was something.
‘Uhm,’ said Jay. ‘Zareen? Any ideas?’
‘Oh, because I’m the local authority on troll-slime,’ she muttered.
‘You’re the local authority on weird,’ Jay hissed.
Em still hadn’t said anything. Once she’d finished sliming her way through the wall, she solidified again. Sort of.
I walked over to her, admittedly with some caution. When I prodded her arm, my finger sank in up to the knuckle.
‘Feels like jelly,’ I reported.
‘Methinks this isn’t Em,’ said Jay.
Zareen, her attention caught, began circling the semblance of Emellana Rogan with narrowed eyes. There was something wolf-like about her gait, predatory, as though she were a carnivore in sight of a rabbit.
‘Lady and gentleman,’ she said, presumably to me and Jay. ‘I would strongly advise you not to show any fear.’
That’s like being told, on pain of death, to relax. Zareen’s words filled me with a terror I’d barely been aware of before, and I couldn’t speak through my efforts to swallow it down again.
A glance at Jay revealed a similar struggle etched upon his face.
‘Super helpful, thanks,’ he said weakly.
The slime that wasn’t Em appeared to have tired of us, for it/she began fading back through the wall again. I averted mine eyes. It really wasn’t a pretty sight.
Neither was the vision of Indira that followed, bubbling up from the floor not far from where Jay stood. She solidified just long enough to manifest an expression of indescribable evil before dribbling away again, and vanished without trace.
Jay was definitely looking unnerved now. ‘I hope this doesn’t mean they’re—’ he began, and stopped.
‘They’re fine,’ I said briskly. ‘They’re very capable people and they certainly aren’t dead. Though I have to wonder how you four came to split up.’ Jay had once lectured me on the adage of “never split the party”, and he had a point.
‘Didn’t mean to,’ said Jay, never taking his eyes from the spot in which Indira had appeared.
Zareen was prowling the room, staring daggers at the walls. ‘Tricks,’ she said. ‘Whoever these jokers are, they’re good.’
My reply was forestalled by a new sound, and a most unexpected one at that.
Nothing horrific, as you might imagine. Screams in the night? Terrified gibbering? The bloodthirsty howls of rabid beasts bent on our destruction? At that point, nothing along those lines would have surprised me.
What I heard instead was the delicate strains of a violin, playing a single, haunting note.
Jay’s head came up.
Zareen chuckled. ‘You’re up, Jay,’ she said.
‘Hey, just because I’m a musician doesn’t mean I have any idea what’s going on here.’
‘Now you know how I feel.’
‘Fair.’ Jay folded his arms, and stared up at the balcony.
He was right: the music was coming from up there. As we listened, the melody expanded: two violins, then three, playing together in what ought to have been delightful harmony. There was a slight wrongness to it, though, a subtle discordancy that sent me into shivers.
Three ethereal violins were, apparently, playing themselves.
The tune was a dreamy waltz, lilting and compelling; my feet began to move. So did Jay’s.
‘Ves,’ came Zareen’s voice, low and urgent, but I barely heard her. Jay swept me up in his arms and we were gone, swirling around the room in a haze of melody and magick. It seemed that the ballroom changed around me: gone were the cobwebs and the mould and the shattered glass, away went the gloom and the decrepitude. The floor firmed beneath my feet, the walls rippled into gilded colour, and golden light blazed.
My jeans vanished in favour of an airy ballgown of purple silk, and a slight weight atop my head alerted me to the presence of a tiara.
Jay looked damned fine in a dark blue tuxedo. I beamed at him, delirious with music and romance—
‘VES!’
Something crashed, and something hurt, and the dream ended.
Zareen had thrown something at me. There being a dearth of suitable missiles to hand in this draughty chamber, she’d employed one of her own shoes for the purpose: a boot, in fact, and hefty. My shoulder twinged with pain where it had connected with my flesh.
That wasn’t what had caused the crash, though. The balcony had split into two pieces, only one of which remained aloft. The other lay in shattered fragments all over the parquet floor.
I noticed, sadly, that my swirly dress had turned back into jeans. Even more sadly, Jay’s suit was gone, too.
‘Did you do that?’ I asked Zareen, pointing at the wreck of the balcony.
‘No,’ she said tightly. ‘What the hell were you two doing?’
Jay and I exchanged an uneasy glance. What had we been doing?
‘Dancing?’ I offered.
‘Waltzing, actually,’ put in Jay.
‘Lovely,’ said Zareen, her voice dripping scorn. ‘How about a nice foxtrot next?’
I looked up. The three violins were still up there, playing on, oblivious to the damage.
‘They’re compelling,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t resist.’
Zareen rolled her eyes. ‘All right, let me introduce you to Haunted Houses 101. Which is entry-level stuff at the School of Weird, but apparently they don’t teach that at regular school.’
‘Can’t think why,’ muttered Jay.
‘First rule of Haunted Houses: do not show fear.’ She bawled the words at us, sharp as the crack of a whip, and I jumped.
‘Fail,’ she barked, pointing at me.
‘Sorry.’
‘Second rule of Haunted Houses: Irresistible Compulsions must at all costs be resisted.’
‘So… no dancing,’ I concluded.
‘No dancing. Why? Because the next Irresistible Compulsion might consist of choking your best friend to death or putting a sharp blade through your partner’s entrails and we wouldn’t want to do nasty things like that, now would we?’
I revise my previous ideas as to Zareen’s probable destiny. She’ll be Headmistress of the School of Weird inside of a decade, and then Giddy Gods help the students.
‘No, Miss,’ I said hastily. ‘Sorry, Miss.’
The waltz ended, and instead of violins we were apparently getting fiddles next, for the tune they struck up was — well, irresistible. I bopped a bit, and hurriedly stopped under the force of Zareen’s glare.
‘What’s rule three?’ Jay asked.
‘Get the hell out.’
‘Fail,’ I said.
‘Fail,’ she agreed. ‘More fool we.’ She smiled, slightly, which proved a chilling expression considering that the whites of her eyes were filling in with black again.
‘Zar, what are you doing?’
‘Trying something. By the way, Merlin, you’re not being much help in here, I’ll say that.’
Ouch.
She wasn’t wrong. As the wielder of ancient and fathomlessly powerful magicks, I ought to be less pervious to ghostly suggestion, oughtn’t I?
‘We haven’t covered the chapter on hauntings yet,’ I protested.
‘Doesn’t matter. Make it up.’
A door opened with a creak, and in floated Indira.
The three of us stared at her in silence.
She stared back.
When I say “floated” I do mean that literally. She hovered several inches off the ground, and considering her youthfully lithe frame, she was looking somewhat ghostly.
That and she’d had a costume change, too. Her practical trousers-and-parka combo had gone, perhaps forever. Instead, she wore a trailing gown of ragged lace, dyed an ethereal blue.
‘Nice dress,’ I approved.
‘It isn’t mine.’
I looked at Jay. If anybody could tell if this was the real Indira or not, it ought to be her brother.
‘Were you here earlier?’ he asked.
Being Indira, she thought about the question before she answered it, examining the contours of the ballroom with a keen attention. That more than anything else convinced me she was, indeed, she. ‘I don’t think so,’ she decided. ‘Did you see me?’
‘Sort of. You, um, came up out of the floor.’ Jay made an expressive, bubbling-up gesture with his hands.
Indira’s eyebrows climbed. ‘No. I certainly didn’t do… that.’
Jay perceptibly relaxed. ‘Far too messy,’ he agreed, grinning at her. ‘Where were you?’
‘The kitchen.’
‘With the candlestick? Or the revolver.’
‘The rope, Colonel Mustard.’
‘I don’t know, I’m in more of a Professor Plum mood.’
I lost track of what happened next. Zareen’s comment rankled, particularly since she was right. I should be using those Merlin skills I’d so cleverly persuaded out of Ophelia, or what were they even for?
I didn’t know what to do, but so what. Make it up.
I was good at that.
What would Ophelia tell me to do?
Go deep.
All right, then. Look past the surface and what do I find beneath?
For one: remarkably lively house. I’m used to unusually animated architecture, so doors opening and closing by themselves, or transporting people to unexpected places, doesn’t register with me as strange. But it is strange. There’s nothing in mere bricks and mortar that can account for that, even with magick.
That’s because this level of animation requires some semblance of sentience. You don’t get that with a brick.
So there was a mind in there. Possibly several.
Now, it might be that the glaistigs Zareen mentioned were operating the house, too.
Or it might be that some other entity entirely was involved.
Either way, I was growing tired of waiting for them to show themselves.
I sat down, and laid one palm against the floor, the other against the wall. I closed my eyes, tuning out the sounds of Zareen, Indira and Jay debating a suitable next move, and listened.
It’s not easy to listen deeply to a house. They don’t talk in the ways we’re used to. Theirs is a language of creaking doors and swaying drapes; the slow mesmerism of settling dust; the whispers of passage, a thunderous step, a window slamming closed in a gust of wind. The chill of rainwater on cold glass; the parched glow of summer heat on brick and stone. The dreams of ancient beams cut from long-vanished forests…
My breathing eased, and I relaxed. Really, it’s quite peaceful being a house. Except for the sharp babble of voices, lancing through the silence like splinters of wood; shouting, even screaming; the shuddering crash as wood rots away and falls…
Oh. It had occurred to me that we’d broken in upon the glaistigs, if such they were, and without invitation. It hadn’t occurred to me that we’d irritated the house, too.
I’m sorry.
I formed the thought in feelings, not in words, for the house comprehended nothing of our babbling tongues.
My soft bubble of regret and penitence was not rejected.
I etched a vision of our packing up and going away, emphasising soon.
Then I asked a question.
The answer came swiftly.
‘Aha.’ I stood up, opening my eyes, and turned. My concentration shattered; my tenuous link with the house vanished.
But I had what I needed.
‘Zar,’ I said.
She was standing near the opposite wall, her eyes entirely black, with both hands spread against the mould-ridden plaster. As I neared, I saw that the tips of her fingers had sunk into the wall.
‘Not now, Ves,’ she muttered. ‘I’m trying to—’
She stopped, because I’d thrust out an arm and sunk my hand into the wall, right up to the wrist.
When I drew it out, I had a glaistig by the hair.
‘Oops,’ I said hurriedly, and let go. ‘Sorry. That was ruder than I intended.’
The glaistig regarded me balefully. She was no pretty sight: thin as a wisp of wind and white as ice, her eyes dark holes gaping in her drawn face. She wore a dress almost identical to Indira’s, tattered lace and ghostly blue.
‘Indira, where’d you get the dress?’ I called.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, coming over. She stopped at my shoulder, and stared at our glaistig friend in some horror.
‘I think you’ve been volunteered to join the team,’ I said.
‘Over my dead body.’ Jay came up on my other side, arms folded.
‘Over hers, more likely,’ I remarked. ‘Let’s not do that.’
‘Pity,’ sighed Zareen. ‘It looks damn good.’
‘Top marks for style,’ I agreed. ‘Serious demerits for attitude.’
The glaistig fluttered, as though tossed in a strong breeze. The shattering winds of her own rage and resentment, probably. She glared.
‘Leave,’ she hissed.
Suddenly, she flew at me, hands outstretched, reaching for my face. Her nails were talons, cracked and bleeding.
I hadn’t expected it, hadn’t had time to react; I jumped back, but too slow, half fell over my own feet—
Jay caught me.
And then Zareen was there, bone-white and gaunt, jet-black and horrifying. She hissed a word, low and guttural, and the glaistig stopped dead. The apparition hung there, as though Zareen had reached out a hand and grabbed the back of her dress.
Zareen hadn’t moved.
‘I can’t hold her forever,’ she said, and the strain in her voice told me enough. ‘I certainly can’t hold all of them.’
‘All of them?’ Jay echoed, turning wildly about. A second glaistig seeped through the wall on the other side of the room, spitting fury, and a third materialised behind Indira.
The far door flew open with a crash, and in stalked Emellana, towing a fourth apparition in a white-knuckled grip.
‘I don’t like these people,’ she informed us.
I wondered what visions of horror the glaistigs had used to torment Emellana. Then I took a closer look at her face, white-lipped with fury, and decided I didn’t want to know.
Zareen moved. She reached out an arm towards the glaistig stalking Indira, and the apparition halted, progress arrested. But she fought, and Zareen was overtaxed.
Indira retrieved her Wand, and raised it. ‘Jay,’ she called.
The Patel siblings were a daunting force individually. Together, they were truly formidable.
Especially with an enraged Emellana and an angry, desperate Zareen to back them up.
We were heading for carnage.
It would be a conflict we’d probably win, but at what cost?
To us — and to the glaistigs?
After all, sometimes the enraged, homicidal ghost has legitimate grievances.
‘Okay, stop,’ I shouted. ‘Stop. Everybody stop.’
They stopped. All of them.
Not because I’d asked. Because I’d compelled.
I’d reached out to each mind around me and pushed. Hard.
Jay froze, wide-eyed, staring at me. Indira’s stare was appalled.
Emellana and Zareen were angry.
I didn’t look too long at the glaistigs.
‘Right,’ I said hastily. ‘Sorry, that was a bit more forceful than I intended. Or even, um, knew that I could pull off, and I’ll try not to keep doing it, I promise. Brownie’s Honour. But if we could all just calm down for a second, maybe we could talk.’
‘Talk?’ hissed Zareen. ‘We tried that. Remember?’
‘Yes, but attempting to hold a conversation with empty air is an exercise in futility. At least our friendly neighbourhood tormentors are here now.’ I smiled brightly at the nearest glaistig. ‘Hello. My name is Ves. These are my colleagues: Zareen, Jay, Indira and Emellana. We’re here on assignment from the Society for the Preservation of Magickal Heritage and it’s very important. I understand you’re angry about something. Perhaps we can help?’
The glaistig merely snarled. ‘Leave,’ she hissed again.
‘We will. Soon. But first we’d really appreciate permission to carry out a project in town—’
This perfectly reasonable request was answered with a furious roar, and a violent attempt to break free of my arrest.
It almost worked. They were strong. I couldn’t hold them forever, any more than Zareen could.
‘Diplomacy isn’t working,’ Emellana observed, in a voice of dangerous calm. ‘We’re wasting time.’
I thought fast. All right, I couldn’t get what we needed by asking nicely, and I didn’t want to beat it out of the glaistigs. Supposing we even could. That went rather against the grain.
Time to try something else.
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘let’s play a game.’
