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Even when people don't know that there is a ghost present, they don't tend to stay intermingled with them for very long. Honey was no exception, and she took three quick steps back until she stood next to Asil, who put his hand on her head.
"Peter," I said.
Honey whined again and let out a little yip. Peter reached out, leaning until he touched her nose and looked at me. He started to say something, then jerkily grabbed his ears.
"I'm not going to him," he told me, wild-eyed. And suddenly there was a wolf where Peter had been - and that wolf was a submissive wolf. Peter the man might have been able to resist longer, but his wolf obeyed orders. Ears and tail drooping, he looked at Honey and turned to leave.
"Peter," I said harshly. I was getting better at stealing Adam's thunder. When I spoke, I pulled on the pack ties that, somehow, still held the dead werewolf. Something bothered me about that, but I was too concerned about keeping Peter from responding to whatever was calling him.
The pack bonds were gossamer-thin, but as I pushed my will through them, they grew more dense. He stopped, quivering - obedient still to the commands that had bound him in life.
"Peter." And this time I called him with the part of me that could see ghosts, the part that had sent the ghost at Tad's house away, that had forced obedience on the ghosts that had once belonged to James Blackwood, the Master of Spokane, who was now dead by my hand. I reached out to him, and said, "Come here."
Peter turned and sat next to my feet, his eyes on my face as though he were a herding dog and I his shepherd. Waiting for me to save him.
There were more ghosts here. They had been standing sentinel between the parking lot and the front of the house, and, although I'd noticed them, I hadn't paid attention because they weren't mine as Peter was. But when Peter had come to me, when I'd called him, they had all turned in my direction. Slowly, as if it were very difficult as well as imperative, they were coming toward us, too.
I bent down and took Peter's head between my hands. I breathed into his nose because it seemed like the right thing to do. Long-ago words spoken to me by Charles rang in my head.
Vision quest is opening yourself up to the world and waiting to perceive what it wants to show you, he'd told me. Then, almost absently, he'd said, Magic is like that. It wants to use you, and your only choice is yes or no.
So I followed my instincts, my magic.
"Peter," I told him, using Adam, using the pack bonds, using that other part of me - using everything I had. Stone-cold logic told me that what stood before me right now wasn't a ghost the way I knew them. I'd remembered why Peter shouldn't be bound by pack ties anymore.
Ghosts didn't look at me with intelligence and need, didn't respond to pack bonds. I looked, as I'd been learning how to do, I looked for the pack bonds and saw them, tinsel bright still, strengthened by my will. Pack bonds were soul binding soul - Adam had told me that. Though I could not perceive souls - pack bonds were another matter. Those bonds were firmly set in Peter's soul, and that soul was still here in his ghost, where it had no business being - here, where it was in danger from whoever it was who called him.
My senses were still expanded to their fullest, which is why I saw something else, too - a cloud of darkness that surrounded Peter and tried to slice through the pack bonds and take him from me. Asil touched my shoulder and abruptly lowered his head to stare at Peter. Honey leaned against my hip and froze, her body tightening until it felt like stone.
"Peter," I said, "you belong to us, to the pack. You are mine." The touch of pack, of Honey, helped. I brushed at the cloud of darkness, and as I touched it ... it dissolved under my hands, but not before I caught the tingle of magic. Vampire magic.
"Leave this place, Peter," I told him. I needed to do something about the way his soul lingered when it should have gone on after his death, but instinct - and I trusted what my coyote knew - my instinct said it was more important to get him out of here. Away from whatever had been trying to claim him.
He glanced at Honey, who was watching my face.
"She loves you, too," I said. "Peter, get out of here. Go somewhere safe."
And then he was gone, and some of the life died in Honey's eyes, too.
"It's all right," I told her. I felt down the pack bonds to be sure, and Peter was still there. He didn't feel alive, didn't feel like the others, but we still held him safely. I straightened and felt a buzz of relief that left me dizzy. "He's safe."
Hao watched me. "They are right," he said. "You speak to the dead."
"Who is binding the ghosts?" I asked Hao.
The dead were all around us, looking at me urgently. Their mouths were moving, but I couldn't hear them. The net of darkness surrounding them was thicker than the one that had tried to capture Peter. Maybe it prevented me from hearing them, or maybe it was just because I was tied to Peter by the pack bonds.
Hao looked around. "Are they bound? Perhaps he has anticipated us. Are you finished here?"
"Who is it?" asked Asil, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
Hao was not intimidated - but then he didn't know who Asil was. "That is not for me to say. If you are done, we should go."
I looked at the dead here, three women and fourteen men. One of the women wore a black cocktail dress, but the rest of them were in power clothes like real-estate agents or business people. Suits and ties for the men, skirts and jackets for the women. If they were here, caught like Peter had been caught, then they, too, were not merely ghosts. But I was not bound to them the way I was bound to Peter; I didn't know how to help them.
Then I recognized Jones, from when I'd seen him through Adam's eyes - Armstrong had called him Bennet, I remembered, Alexander Bennet. I don't know why it surprised me to realize I was staring at the ghosts of the other people who'd been killed here. I suppose it was because I was so used to seeing ghosts everywhere that I'd quit wondering who they'd been when they were alive.
Alexander Bennet had killed Peter.
"Yes," I said. "I'm done." I felt no need or obligation to save these people from whatever had caught them. They had killed Peter and would have killed our friends and their families - down to Maia Sandoval, age five, who had ridden a werewolf and tried to feed him cookies.
These people could hang in limbo for all eternity for all I cared.
"I'm done."
They watched us as we returned to our cars. They'd quit trying to speak. I closed the door to the car, pushed the button to start it, and followed Thomas Hao to the parking lot, driving through several ghosts to get there. But this time I wasn't weakened by fae magic as I had been when the ghost tried to possess me in the secret stairway in Tad's house. All I felt was a slight chill as I passed through them. And then they were behind me.
