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  Ghost Memory

  A Modern Magics Story

  Maer Wilson

  SmashWords Edition

  www.ellysianpress.com

  Ghost Memory

  A Modern Magics Story

  Maer Wilson

  © Copyright Maer Wilson 2013. All rights reserved.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-941637-05-0

  Second Edition

  Editor: Jen Ryan, Imagine That Editing

  Cover Art: M Joseph Murphy

  Formatted by: Rik Hall

  Ebooks/Books are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away, as this is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Other Works by the Author

  The Modern Magics Series

  by

  Maer Wilson

  Novels

  Relics, Book 1

  Portals, Book 2

  Novelettes

  “Ghost Memory”

  “Unwanted Ghost”

  “Ghost Dancer”

  Future Titles

  Magics, Book 3

  “Wedding Ghost”

  Dedication

  For Kim Farrell and Sharda Garrett

  Thanks for believing in me.

  Ghost Memory

  My misery wasn’t in the mood for company, especially the company of some old, dead guy. All I wanted was to get into my apartment, take a hot shower, curl up in a ball on the sofa and maybe cry for a while.

  “This is a bad time, I know,” said the old man. “And I know you won’t believe me right now, but there will come a time when you’ll laugh about what happened earlier.”

  I only glanced at him as I unlocked the door to our small apartment and slipped inside, directly into our living room. The furniture was solidly built in soft browns and tans. We didn’t have anything fancy, but it was a comfortable, uncluttered room. The late morning winter sun lit the room with a muted glow.

  I set my backpack by the coat closet door. I wanted to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do next, alone with my humiliation and guilt. I did not want to deal with the dead right then.

  I don’t have pity parties very often, but I not only needed one, I wanted to wallow in one. I felt I was due. I’d just done one of the most stupid things in my whole life. I’d not only made a fool of myself, I had embarrassed Thulu, my fiancé, in front of his entire dojo. That hurt worse than anything. Although I admit I was feeling pretty bad about the guy with the broken nose, too.

  I pulled my bloody karate outfit out of my backpack. I stared at the white top and bottom with disgust and carried them into the kitchen where I wrapped them in a plastic bag and tossed them in the trash. I definitely wouldn’t need those anymore.

  For years, Thulu had tried to get me to take Karate with him. I tended to prefer the more casual street-fighting style that was taught in self-defense classes. But I finally gave in during a weak moment and agreed to take a beginners’ class.

  Thulu had been sitting on the sidelines, chatting with a friend, while our instructor slowly took us through the basics. They paired us up to do a couple of the simpler moves. I stood on the mat in my bare feet, determined to look good and a bit anxious with so many strangers around me. I’d followed the instructions easily and thought I was ready to go through a couple forms.

  I never got that far. My partner was a tall, skinny guy with thinning brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. The moment he bowed, my instincts kicked in, and up came my knee with a sharp crack against his nose. Blood began to spray everywhere - all over me, all over him - as he held his nose. I backed away as the instructor rushed over with a towel. It wasn’t my proudest moment.

  But the worst thing was the look on Thulu’s face. He’d never looked at me with such shock, embarrassment and disappointment before, and it simply broke my heart.

  The heat rushed to my face, which I was sure was beet red, as I managed to stammer my apologies to the man, to our instructor, Thulu and the class. I assured the man that I would cover his medical expenses. In a fit of either inspiration or guilt, I also offered to pay for his classes for six months. I topped that by offering a scholarship to the dojo. I left for the changing room before guilt prompted me to give them everything in my trust fund. My poor dead parents would pitch a fit from beyond if I did that. Especially after all the arrangements they’d made to make sure I never needed to worry about money.

  Thulu came in as I stood in front of the locker I’d been assigned, tears in my eyes. I watched him from the corner of my eye, not quite daring to look at him, yet. Thulu was one of the happiest, calmest people I knew, and the thought of causing him any kind of pain was distressing.

  He gave me a long, searching look, his expression softening. He came over, pulled me close and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.

  “It’ll be okay, love. I’m taking him to the clinic,” he said. He tucked a strand of my hair behind one ear before giving me the grin I love so much.

  I managed a weak smile in return, but my heart wasn’t in it and the tears trickled down my face. I still remembered his expression from a few moments before. He grabbed tissues from a nearby counter and wiped away my tears. Looking into my eyes, he gently cupped my face in his hands and kissed me softly on my lips and once on my forehead before leaving.

  I watched him leave rather forlornly, trying to not feel abandoned. I pulled my jeans and T shirt out of the locker and stripped out of the Gi. I wadded it up and shoved it into my backpack, wishing I had a fireplace in the apartment, so I could burn it. I wouldn’t mind burning the memory out of my brain, either.

  I finished getting into my street clothes, unhappier than I’d been in a very long time. I wanted out of there as quickly as possible, but I didn’t want to walk to the front door through the class. I looked for a back door, but if there was one, it didn’t have access from the changing room.

  Taking a deep breath, I went back out to the large studio. Of course, Thulu and the man with the broken nose were gone, which I’d expected. The others were quick to tell me that Thulu had taken him to the nearby emergency clinic. I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, afraid of the accusations I’d see there. I only nodded in the general direction of the class as I made my way out the door.

  The shock at what I’d done faded into the misery that stayed with me all the way home.

  The sound of a throat clearing just outside the apartment door caught my attention. At least the old guy hadn’t followed me inside. What was it he had said? Laugh about it? Had he been at the dojo? I gave a heavy sigh and opened the door. The old man stood patiently outside.

  “Come in,” I said grudgingly. Not that a door would keep out the dead, but it seemed the right thing to do. And he had been polite and waited for me, so it was the least I could do. I shut the door behind him.

  He was dressed casually, in tan slacks and a bright blue polo shirt. He had thinning white hair, a tanned face that had seen the outdoors, and looked to be somewhere in his seventies. He stood up straight, but that seemed more like good posture than military training. His expression was sympathetic and friendly, and he carried the scent of sun-warmed grass with him as he moved into our living room.

  “Ms. Fiona Bartlett?” he enquired pleasantly.

  I nodded. “Yes, how can I help you?”

 
I gestured to the easy chair next to the sofa, where he sat down. Well, he floated on it actually. I pulled a tan pillow from one end of the sofa and cradled it as I sat down, one leg tucked under me. I looked at my guest expectantly.

  “Well, I wrote a will a few years ago, making sure I left everything to my husband. I’ve also been saving cash over the years and stashing it in our house. It was to be a surprise for him. Something to see us through our old age.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him and he gave a rueful smile in return.

  “Now, don’t chastise me for not putting it in the bank,” he said with a smile. “I know I was foolish, but when I started keeping it, I did so to make it easier for my husband to get the money, in case anything happened to me. I left him a letter telling him there was a will and cash, but I didn’t tell him where the letter was.

  “In the beginning, I kept adding new hiding places. And as the amount grew, I pictured his pleasantly surprised look when he realized he’d never have to worry about money. So, I kept putting off telling him it existed at all. I’d like to hire you and your fiancé to find the will, the letter and the money and make sure that he gets all of it.”

  “That sounds easy enough,” I said, as I went over to retrieve my backpack. I pulled out my electronic tablet and turned it on.

  “I’ll need your name and address and your husband’s name.”

  “Certainly, I’m Peter Swanson.” He then gave me the address, which was across the city from our apartment. I opened a document and noted his info.

  “My husband’s name is Donovan Quinn.” He paused and gave me a slightly embarrassed smile. “There’s only one problem.”

  I didn’t bother to brace myself. There was always “only one problem.” It pretty much went with the territory when dealing with the dead or supernatural.

  “I don’t remember where the will, the letter or the money is. Before I died, I had Alzheimer’s and it was getting pretty bad. I stashed the money in various places throughout the house. I think I also moved the will and the letter because they aren’t where I thought they were. I remember some of the locations, but instead of leaving it all in one place, I moved it around for safekeeping. I’ve looked throughout the house and could only find a portion of the money. Not nearly as much as I had hidden originally.” He shook his head, obviously irritated with himself.

  That was strange. Usually whatever ailed the person in life didn’t carry over once they were dead. I was surprised he couldn’t remember, but since I didn’t know everything about being dead, I shrugged and accepted it. I was also surprised that he wasn’t able to find all of the money on his own. He should have been able to get to places in the house that we never would.

  I asked him about that.

  “Yes, you’re right, of course. I haven’t tried very hard, I suppose. Especially since there’s no way I can get Don the money. I need you and your fiancé for that part. I do hope you don’t mind.” His smile was charming.

  “Besides, I keep getting sidetracked when I’m in the house. I start to look, but then just sit in the room with Don. We were together for fifty years and just being in his company is soothing to me.”

  I nodded in understanding.

  “Anyway, we’ve recently been doing a lot of work on the house. It’s an old Victorian and we’ve lived there for forty years. I’m concerned that some of the workmen might have found the money and stolen it. Who knows exactly how much is missing at this point. We replaced the plumbing and electrical and had some minor foundation work done. So there were a lot of people in and out of the house.”

  It sounded like he had given a lot of thought to his problem, and I was willing to bet he was on the right track.

  “Thulu should be able to trace the missing money, as well as find what’s in the house.”

  “Oh really?” Mr. Swanson’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. “If we can find the rest of the money, Don should be able to live there comfortably for the rest of his life. But he’s older than I am and not in the best of health. He will need care before long. I was the healthy one. Who would have thought I’d be the first one to die?” he said ironically. He quirked a smile as he looked at me intently. “So, do you think you can help?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure we can. Thulu excels at finding things.”

  “Yes, I know.” He gave me a warm smile. “The two of you have quite the reputation among the dead. You’ve helped a good many people and word has traveled about you. I’m sure you know there’s a lot of excitement about you officially opening an agency.”

  “Thank you. It seemed the right choice.” The compliment made me feel a little better. Thulu and I worked with the supernatural. I saw and heard the dead and could translate for just about anyone. Thulu could find anyone or anything. He could also see the dead, but couldn’t hear them and relied on lip-reading and my notes during our interviews.

  It seemed we dealt mostly with the dead, but now and then we’d get a request from a supernatural being, although that was rare. Sometimes the supernatural weren’t my favorites to deal with, but at least they paid in cash. That was something that ghosts couldn’t always do.

  We were in our last semester of college, putting the final touches on the skills we’d need as private detectives. Only we were going to deal strictly with the supernatural and the dead. No living human clients for us. Nuh-uh; no way, no how. Besides, it was a natural choice, what with mine and Thulu’s abilities. We’d been getting jobs since we were kids. More and more of them as we got older and clients realized we could interact with them.

  “I’ll let Thulu know about your case when he gets home.” I looked down at my tablet. “Is there anything else you can think of that we need to know? Will Mr. Quinn be easy to approach? Or will we need to convince him to let us in?”

  Mr. Swanson pulled on his right ear lobe thoughtfully. It was a habit I was sure he’d had in life as well.

  “To be honest, I was the one who never believed in life after death. Don was always the one who was more open-minded to any possibility. He really is a remarkable man. I’ll be there when you go to the house and, if necessary, give you enough information to convince him that you’re in contact with me.”

  I smiled appreciation. “Excellent! That always makes things much easier.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get on with it. Please, just call out when you’re ready to go to the house.” Mr. Swanson stood, gave me a short bow and disappeared.

  He’d already figured out that simply calling his name would effectively call him back to me. That was good. It always made things easier when the dead knew what they could and could not do. Especially since they were time challenged. At least, time passed differently for them.

  I’d been told by one ghost that she thought a few minutes had gone by and it had been two years. Hers was a rather extreme case, though, and I hadn’t run into very many who’d had that happen often. Still, they did tend to lose track of time, and it was not uncommon for what seemed to them to be a few hours to actually be days or weeks on the live side.

  The new case sounded pretty standard, and I was happy another one had come along. We had plans to open the agency soon after graduation, and had spent more than a few weekends scouting likely locations. If the dead were really that supportive, maybe it might be worth our while to ask them about good, obscure locations that would be easy for ghosts and other supes to find, but that would not attract the attention of the living.

  Talking with Mr. Swanson had pushed my earlier misery to the back of my mind. With the disappearance of our latest client, I was left alone to contemplate the morning’s events.

  Trying to wash away the guilt, I finally took my shower, letting the hot water beat on the back of my head and neck. I dried my hair and ran a comb through the blond strands. In the mirror, red-rimmed, green eyes stared back at me hollowly and my face seemed pale. The light freckles across my nose were almost obscured by the redness. Crying did nothing for my looks, that’s for sure.

&nbs
p; I sighed heavily as I moisturized and changed into some comfortable sweats. I briefly considered logging into our online game, but wasn’t really up for even that, even though gaming was usually one of my go-to places when I wanted to get away from the real world.

  Instead, I curled up on the sofa and quickly dozed off, in spite of the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  The February sun slanting in the window told me it was late afternoon when I woke up. Thulu sat in the easy chair, watching me calmly, a slight smile on his face. When he realized I was awake, his smile broadened, showing his dimples.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yeah,” I answered sheepishly. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, he’s going to be fine.”

  “Good. Does he hate me?”

  “No, of course not. I explained that you’d taken some street-fighting classes and instincts took over before your brain thought it through. He understood.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  The look of utter surprise was answer enough. He quickly moved over to the sofa and pulled me into his arms.

  “I could never hate you! How can you ask such a thing?”

  “Well, you looked pretty upset, you know.” I tucked my head under his chin, listening to his steady heartbeat.

  “Fi, there is nothing on this earth you can do that would make me hate you.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good.” Okay, so it was a lame answer, but it was the best I could muster up under the circumstances. I looked up to see a twinkle in his eye.

  “But what is it with us and broken noses?” he asked, dimples showing.