Flight from Mayhem (4 page)

“Dung-heap! Dung-heap!”

“You might as well shovel shit, seeing that you're in a pile of it!”

As the chanting continued, Stumble dropped to the floor, weeping loudly. I pushed my way through the milling orphans until I was facing the loudest bully. He was another white, of course.
That figured
. Whites had nasty tempers and were usually quick to cruelty.

“Leave her alone.”

“What did you say to me?” He turned, looming over me. He was tall for his age and was going to be a bruiser.

“I said, leave her alone. She's already facing enough hell, without
you
picking on her.” I folded my arms across my chest, staring him down.

“You going to make me back off, Blue-baby?” He snorted. “Shimmer, don't mess with me. Don't even try.”

I pushed him then, shoving him back against the others who had joined in teasing Stumble.

“Never try to tell me what to do, Dom. I don't take orders very well.” And then we were at it, rolling around on the floor in a scuffle. I whipped him across the face with my hair and he yelled as the strands left long welts on his skin. As he tried to punch me in the stomach, the door opened and Ser-Rigel returned, this time without the Benefactor.

He took one look at our scuffle and motioned for two of
the older dragonettes to separate us. As they dragged us apart, the Ser took in the situation. He walked over to Dom and smacked him upside the head a good one.

“Quit causing trouble. No egos here, not for your likes. Remember: you are a
foundling
. You are an
orphan
, which means you are nothing. Until you grow to an age where you can give back to society, all you are is a leech on resources. You have no heritage, therefore you do not exist. You are here by the grace of the Benefactors who fund this organization. Your only existence is physical. You have no name. You have no standing. Never let me catch you acting as though you even
think
you have a right to be here.” He paused, then added, “Twenty days' work detail in the Grand Hall. You can scrub the floors. Perhaps it will teach you a little of the humility that should be second nature to you by now. Quarters—and speak not lest I decide you should be sold to the stockyards along with the girl.”

Dom's eyes flashed, but he bowed curtly, then turned and stormed out of the room. Ser-Rigel watched him go, then—without even glancing at me—said, “You know fighting is forbidden. Even in defense of others. But . . . it's late and I have no more interest in this matter. To your quarters without dinner, girl.”

As I bowed, then silently headed toward the door, I heard him speaking softly to Stumble. I wasn't sure what he said to her, but her tears stopped and—as I gave a tiny glance over my shoulder—I saw her being led away. That was the last we ever saw of Stumble. The next day she was gone, to the stockyards to a lifetime of shoveling out stalls in the vast cattle reserve where so much of our food was raised.

Over the next few days, I thought about her, and thought about how with a single word, our lives—the lives of all the orphans—could be snuffed out. We were nothing. We didn't exist. We had no lineage, no heritage. And if we weren't strong and flexible, we wouldn't make it to graduation. I remembered
this, right through the day I walked through the gates of the Lost and Foundling for the last time. I never looked back.

*   *   *

A
sudden gust brought
me back to the present. I glanced at the sky. We were due for rain, but it seemed to be holding off for the moment. Wondering what had drawn me to the house, I jumped off the swing and headed up to the house itself. As I clattered up the stairs, the porch bowed dangerously under my weight and a board cracked. I lightly jumped to a safer spot as the rotten wood splintered, leaving a hole where I had been standing. With a shrug, I reached out for the doorknob and was surprised to find it was unlocked. I pushed open the door and cautiously peeked inside.

The house was old, that much was clear—it had to have been built in the 1930s or so. I slipped into the hallway and tried the switch. No electricity. I wasn't sure why I had expected there to be. The foyer was narrow, with a room leading off to either side, and the hallway continued, widening to include a staircase going up.

I peeked inside the room to the right. There was almost no furniture—a chair or two had been left behind. The bay window overlooked the porch and the front yard. Must have been a parlor, I thought as I walked into the room, my boots echoing on the hardwood. Or a sitting room. A fireplace with a stone mantel was all boarded up, but from what I could tell, it had been lovely in its time. Otherwise the room was empty, and I quietly closed the door behind me.

The room to the left of the front door led into what appeared to be an office. The desk was still there—old wood, dull from years of dust. The chair behind it had once been leather but was full of holes where mice had chewed through it. Again, the windows in this room faced the front of the house. The hardwood continued. I knelt, examining the boards. Solid, beneath the wear and tear. If someone were to refinish them, they might actually be pretty.

Feeling bolder, and still pressured to explore, I returned to the hallway and passed by the staircase. A door to the left opened beneath the stairs. In the dim light, I could see a staircase leading down. Probably the entryway to the basement. Feeling disturbed—something didn't feel right down there—I quickly closed the door and headed down the hall. Another door to the right proved to be a second living area, and another door beneath the stairs led to a two-piece powder room.

The end of the hall opened up into the kitchen. It was a large kitchen. Huge, in fact, with enough space for a giant farm table that sat to one side. I looked around, suddenly aware of another presence in the room with me. I could hear the clatter of forks against china, a slip of laughter here and there, and the smell of cinnamon filled the air. Shaking my head, I sat down at the table, wondering what was going on.

A hand brushed my shoulder and I jumped.

“Hello? Is anybody here?” I glanced around nervously but could see no one. But the sound of laughter grew—it was lazy laughter, happy sit-around-the-fire-and-talk laughter that stopped abruptly as a sudden breeze gusted past me and I shivered. As I turned, I saw a silhouette by the kitchen sink, and as I watched, the form grew solid, shimmering into sight.

She was in her late sixties, I thought—maybe a little older—wearing a pale blue housedress with a floral apron over it. The apron was full, with a bib. The woman had pale silver hair and a smile on her face, and she was wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was also staring straight at me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up on alert. She could see me, and she knew I could see her.

I cleared my throat. The ghosts on our last big case had been mostly terrifying, but there had also been one ghost—a sad young woman—who I had felt sorry for, more than anything.

“Well, if you aren't going to say hello, I will.” The ghost gave me a cheery smile. “Even though you are sitting in my kitchen, unasked.”

Startled, I jumped to my feet. “I'm sorry. I didn't think anybody lived here.” And then I realized how ridiculous that sounded. Nobody did live here. At least, nobody who was alive.

She laughed. “Nobody does, not anybody from your side of the veil. And yes, before you ask, I know very well that I'm dead. What's your name? I'm Mary.”

I stammered. I'd never met a talkative spirit before. Especially one who realized she was a ghost. “My name's Shimmer. I'm your neighbor from across the street. I moved in a few months ago.” I paused, then added, “I just noticed this house today . . . really . . . and it . . . for some reason I wanted to come see it.”

Mary brushed a hand across her forehead, pushing a curl of silver hair out of the way. “Oh, I know why. I was feeling lonely today and wishing I had someone to talk to. And . . . I wanted to meet you. You must have picked up on it.” Her eyes were twinkling. “I never would have thought there were dragons in the world. Not when I was alive. Everything seemed so small . . .” She paused, blinking. “I can't quite remember it, to be honest. My life, that is.”

A feeling of wonder and loneliness swept over me. I slowly edged my way back into the chair, still keeping on edge but breathing more slowly after the initial panic. “Why do you stay, then? Why not move on?”

Once again, the duck of the head and a faint look of confusion. “I don't rightly . . . I protect this house. It was my house, and there are evil creatures in the world. Evil spirits. I protect this place from the shadows that seek to claim it.”

I had never thought that ghosts might battle against their own. I nodded slowly. “Not long ago, my friends and I fought against a creature who was holding a number of spirits trapped. It wasn't a spirit or ghost, but it could control those of your world.”

“There are those creatures around. They're dangerous, and they lurk in dark shadows. They haunt abandoned houses and long-forgotten forts. Sometimes, they see beacons that
attract them.” She raised her head, giving me a questioning look. “You . . . you and your fiery friend over there . . . you shine like a beacon in the night. I know you're a sensitive. An empath. So I projected the need for you to come here, and you sensed it.”

She sat down at the table on the opposite side. “This was my home, you know. I love this house, and I lived here from the time I was a bride . . . My husband, Leroy, passed away. He had . . . he was unwell. We had a passel of children. They were my joy. Especially my baby boy . . .” Again, her voice drifted. “But they didn't want this house. I don't know where they are now. I keep hoping they'll come back so I can say good-bye one last time.”

I wanted to make her feel better, to give her something to hold on to. “What do you want from me? Is there anything I can do?”

She set the translucent tea towel to one side, then gently folded her hands on the table. “Yes, there is. Buy this house. Keep it safe. Make it a home again. It may not look like it right now, but this house has a heart. It has my heart in it. I cannot think of seeing it fall to a developer. Or crumble away.”

I started to protest—I already owned a house and wasn't really in the market for a new one—but then I stopped. Obviously, she was concerned about the energy in the area. “Why haven't you nudged anybody else who has looked at this house to buy it? Haven't you found anybody else you could contact?”

She let out a long sigh that sounded like wind through dried corn husks. “No, every time someone came in the house who I thought might be able to hear me, something drove them off. Something outside in the backyard—or maybe it's the neighbor's yard. I don't know. I can't leave the house. When I returned, after . . . I don't know where I was. But I woke up and found myself here, and I can't leave. Not even if I wanted to. Some force keeps me here.”

That didn't sound right. I frowned and leaned back, folding
my arms across my chest. “I'll see what I can find out. Maybe there's something my friends and I can do to help you. I can't make any promises, but I'll look into it. Meanwhile, I have a house, but what about if I can find somebody who would love and take care of the place? Maybe someone who can help to hold the negative spirits at bay?” I had no idea who the hell I was talking about, but it seemed like a possibility that either Bette or Ralph or Alex would know someone who might be in the market for a haunted house.

Mary regarded me quietly for a moment, then nodded. “It's worth a try. Follow me.” She stood and led me out of the kitchen. She didn't seem to be walking so much as floating, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was palling around with a ghost in an abandoned house. Yeah, my life wasn't exactly turning out to be how I'd expected it to be.

She led me along the hallway, to the door under the stairs leading into what appeared to be the basement. As she motioned for me to open it, I hesitated.

“Are you sure you want to go down there?” I stared at the gaping darkness. Once again, the energy unsettled me and I wasn't sure exactly why.

“I hid money down there when I was alive.” Mary was right next to me now, urging me on. She was standing to my left, and even though she was insubstantial, I was beginning to feel a little hedged in. I glanced at her. Now that she was up close and personal, something seemed off. Maybe it was the glint in her eyes, maybe it was some sensation that was just beginning to creep through me, but the friendly old grandmother suddenly reminded me of the wolf out of “Little Red Riding Hood.”

I jerked back, but not before she reached out. Her hand slammed me into the stairwell, though I didn't feel her actual fingers, just the force behind the shove. I lurched forward and would have fallen down the stairs had I not caught myself on the railing. I whirled around in time to see Mary cringing as a dark shadow loomed up and over her. She
looked terrified, trying to shake it off like she might shake off a cloak that had wrapped around her.

I took that moment to leap back, away from the steps, and though I couldn't do much, I gathered what water molecules there were in the air around us and solidified them into a thin spate of rain that pelted down into the hallway. While there was no way the water would hurt the creature who was attacking Mary, I did manage to startle it and the shadow let go, vanishing as I stared at it. A very ghostly Mary leaned against the wall, wincing as she rubbed her head.

“What the hell was that?” I pointed to the basement, yelling.

She let out a soft moan. “He doesn't want anybody to buy this house and land. He hounds me, and I run from him. And then I fight back, and he comes back stronger.”

And right there, I decided enough was enough. I might not be able to clear an entire district, but I wanted my section of the neighborhood back. And if it took working with a brigade of friendly ghosts, so be it—that was what I'd do.