Holidays are Hell

"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 a 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."

I felt the beginnings of a smile come over my face. Honestly, Pierce was a ghost and too old for me even if he was alive. At least twenty-four, I'd guess from the look at him. All of him.

I flushed as I recalled his short stature, firmly muscled and lean, like a small horse used to hard labor. Glancing up, I was embarrassed to see Pierce as red as I felt, carefully holding his coat closed.

"If the year is nineteen ninety-nine, I've made a die of it for nearly a hundred and forty-seven years," he said to the floor.

Poor man, I thought in pity. Everyone he knew was probably gone or so old they wouldn't remember him. "How did you die?" I asked, curious.

Pierce's gaze met mine, and I shivered at the intensity. "I'm a witch, as much as you," he whispered, though Robbie and I had been shouting about spells for the last five minutes. But before the Turn, being labeled a witch could get you killed.

"You were caught?" I said, scooting to the edge of the bus seat as we swung onto a slick, steep road, captivated by his air of secrecy. "Before the Turn? What did they do to you?"

Pierce tilted his head to give himself a dangerous air. "A murder most powerful. I'd have no mind to tell you if you're of a frail constitution, but I was bricked into the ground while breath still moved in my lungs. Buried alive with an angelic guard ready to smite me down should I dare to emerge."

"You were murdered!" I said, feeling a quiver of fear.

Robbie chuckled, and I thwacked his knee. "Shut up," I said, then winced at Pierce's aghast look. If he'd been dead for a hundred and forty years, I'd probably just cursed like a sailor.