Page 3 of Phantom’s Mate

Abruptly, his vision doubled. Ahead of him in the real world, he saw bare trees on a sunny December day, blue sky and wispy clouds above. At the same time, in the spirit world, he saw the same trees, the same road, on a windy, rainy night. Tree branches waved in the storm, swirls of autumn leaves flying through the sky.

Nick knew the spirit world could be manipulated by any creature in it—weather, geography, physical objects. If your will was strong enough and you had enough practice, you could make the spirit world into anything you wanted.

It seemed that somebody had created a dark and stormy night—and judging by the boundary he’d hit, they wanted it all to themselves.

Intrigued, he walked along the edge of the phenomenon. It seemed to mirror the real world, and it cut right across his path.

He could go around it, probably, if he walked far enough.

But he was suddenly seized with a desire—a need—to find out what was inside. Or rather, who was inside, and why they’d done this.

That right there gave him pause. There were things in the spirit world that could basically kill your soul—make you wink out of existence. Some of them seduced you in with emotion—lust, desire, need.

Whoever had made this could be one of them.

But still…

He knew his way around the spirit world, and he was on his guard. He’d be fine.

Right?

He refocused on the real world, feeling the boundary lessening as he left the spirit world further behind. He stepped forward, pressing himself through it. As he did, he saw something at the bottom of the hill, by the bend in the road.

As he got nearer, he realized what was at the heart of the storm.

Just off the road to his left was a large tree with a deep horizontal gouge in its trunk, a little above the level of Nick’s knees. The damage wasn’t new—maybe a few years old? Nailed to the tree above the scar was a cross and a faded photograph of a woman, and on the ground around it were partially burned candles, dried flowers, and weathered mementoes.

A shrine, he realized, crouching in front of it. A memorial. Someone in a car had come out of the curve too fast, overshot the bend, smashed into the tree and died.

On a dark and stormy autumn night.

Fuck.

Slowly, Nick allowed himself to slip back into the spirit world. This time there was barely any resistance. A gusty wind hit him, and leaves swirled around him. A spatter of rain slapped his face.

Despite the dark, as a ghost he could see clearly. About fifteen or twenty feet away from him, sitting on the side of the road, was a…

Nick stopped, staring. It was a lumpy creature with a large rounded head, one huge eye, and knobby green tentacles spreading around it.

An octopus? What the hell?

Then he realized it was made of cloth, and one of the tentacles held a model ship, broken in half with tiny dolls dangling off it, like drowning sailors. Another held a doll dressed in an ancient Greek costume, with a halo.

He’d seen that movie. Not an octopus. A Kraken.

Or rather, a woman in a Kraken costume. She had dropped her head into her hands, every line of her body speaking of despair. Red hair trailed out from under the headpiece of her costume, dark with rain and plastered to the cloth.

This must be the woman who died in the car wreck. She was a ghost.

And she was still here.

He hesitated a moment, looking down the road towards the place where he knew Jax was hiding. That connection still pulled at him.

But… he couldn’t just walk off and leave a dead woman by the side of the road in a fucking Kraken suit. Especially if she’d been here ever since her accident.

Why hadn’t she moved on? Did she not understand she was dead?

He walked over to her, the sound of his footsteps disappearing in the noise of the wind and rain. “Hey,” he said, raising his voice so she could hear him through the storm—and the Kraken head. “Are you okay?”