He shook his head. “Talking to them is the worst thing you can ever do.”
Would a person even know, she wondered, if they were under a spell? If Nick hadn’t asked her what she was, would she have used the keys she found to snoop in her father’s office? Probably not, she decided. But had he cast a spell on her that made her do it? How would she know? And could she still be under his power in some way?
She thought about telling her dad everything this very minute. But she couldn’t. Actually, she could tell him, and that was the difference. She knew with a certainty that she could tell her dad about Nick and they could go into the woods and try to banish him with the Spear. And since she could do it, she knew she wasn’t under some magical spell controlling her.
She didn’t want to betray Nick. She didn’t want to be the one to send him to hell, or banish him, or whatever. She had made a promise and she was going to keep that promise...and hope that it didn’t cost her.
Around four o'clock that afternoon they pulled up at Rocky Springs, a small park on the Natchez Trace Parkway. They had been here a few times before as a family, picnicking and riding bikes around on the roads and trails. There were all the things you would expect at a park: picnic tables, camping areas, restrooms, and markers showing places of interest.
Her dad grabbed a duffle bag from the backseat. Lizzie's mom had filled it with sandwiches and drinks. And he had added the ancient Spear.
“You remember this place?” her dad asked.
“Yes'r.”
He pointed in the direction they were walking. “You remember what's up this way?”
“Yes'r. An old church.”
“That's right. An old church...and an old church cemetery.”
“Why is there a church out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Well, there used to be a town here: Rocky Springs. There were springs here too...that is where the town got its water. But then the spring dried up and everybody moved away. All that's left now is the church, the cemetery, and the ghosts.”
The church was a rectangular shape and made of brick, except for the wooden, squarish belfry. It had two regular sized front doors and just three windows along the side of it.
Behind the church, and bordered by a rusty chain-link fence, was the old graveyard. The trees here were large, and their boughs stretched out toward each other and made a dense web that covered the entire area in shadow. Tombstones, covered with splotches of black, gray and green, rose out of overgrown grass. Spanish moss hung down like gray hair everywhere she looked. The place smelled of dampness and decay.
“Now look around,” Mr. Long said. “Get a good feel for where everything is. When we come back after dark you'll be glad you did.”
Even though it was ninety-five degrees outside, Lizzie shivered. “After dark?” The place was scary enough during the day.
“Yes. It's not as if we can run around gathering souls in broad daylight. We can't risk someone seeing us.” He looked back toward the direction they'd come. “Now let's go down to the town. There will likely be Lost Souls there as well.”
If there weren't little markers here and there, Lizzie would have never guessed there had ever been a town here. The Mississippi jungle had swallowed the town whole, and left nothing but some bricks and rusted metal. It wasn't as spooky as in the graveyard, but still she got the sense that they weren't alone.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If there are ghosts around, why haven't you already banished them?”
He looked down at her and smiled. “I was saving them for you, so you could learn the business.”
Chapter 11 — Initiation
They ate dinner at a picnic table and then waited for sunset. Her father read a stack of newspapers and Lizzie tried to do her homework, though there was no way she could concentrate. It seemed like forever before the woods became dark in twilight shadow and the first fireflies dotted the gloom with their yellow-green flashes.
“Time to go,” Mr. Long said. “Grab your flashlight.”
A bright half moon made the flashlight unnecessary for the walk up to the church, but the light from the moon didn't make it past the canopy of branches spanning over the cemetery. Lizzie shined her flashlight around; the tombstones seemed to crowd around them and she felt a tingle as her hair rose up on the back of her neck. But there were no ghosts that she could see.
She heard the zipper on the duffle bag. Mr. Long pulled out the Spear and looked around. “We're in luck.” He leaned over next to her and said, “Hold the Spear with me so you can see.”
As she took hold of it, she gasped. Although it was just as dark as before, now she could see everything as well as if it were midday. But that was not why she gasped.
Straight ahead a woman wearing a pink and white checkered housedress stood crying. If she hadn't been slightly transparent, Lizzie would have sworn she were a real person. Not only could she see the woman, she could hear her sobbing too. She watched as the woman blew her nose and then squeezed her handkerchief tight in a fist. “Oh my poor baby,” she cried, “my poor little baby. How could you die? How could this happen?”
“Is she talking to us?” Lizzie whispered.
“No, I'm sure she isn't. Most ghosts don't even seem to be aware that they are dead.”
“She says her baby died. Wasn't that a long time ago?”
“Let's not worry about that. We have a job to do, and trying to understand the dead is not part of that job. Now, I am going to gather this Lost Soul. Watch.
“Damnari inter manes,” he said with a commanding voice. Darkness opened from the end of the Spear, darkness not so much black as empty, a void in space. The woman's arms reached out frantically, like she was slipping down a hill and desperate for something to grab hold of. Then she disappeared into the darkness, and the darkness flowed back into the Spear.
“Why'd ya'all do that to Leah?” a voice said from beside them.
Lizzie's heart skipped a beat and she spun around. A little girl, about Lori's age, sat nearby on a short stone table. She wore a light blue dress and a blue bow in her curly golden hair.
Mr. Long guided Lizzie around so that they were pointing the Spear at the girl. “Damnari inter manes.” As the darkness came at her, the girl screamed and tried to grab onto the table, but it didn't help, and she disappeared into the void.
The scream hung on the air for a long time. Finally, Lizzie's dad quietly said, “I hate it when they do that.”
“She was just a little girl, Dad.”
“She was a Lost Soul. Gathering Lost Souls is what we do. It is not our job to decide who goes and who doesn't.”
“But dad, why did she scream like that?”
Mr. Long shook his head. “I don't know. Scared, I guess.”
“I thought you said they weren't even aware of us.”
He shook his head. “I said most the time. But sometimes...especially the younger ones...well, you saw. Come on. There are others.”
They turned, and a man in a brown suit paced in front of a diamond-shaped monolith tombstone. “Eighteen more dollars,” he said. “That's all I need, and I'll bring them down. Eighteen dollars...”
“Damnari inter manes.”
Blackness enveloped the ghost and he was gone.
“You try it, Lizzie,” he said. He pointed at one last ghost, a large black man, his hair dappled gray, digging a grave, his white sleeveless t-shirt dark with perspiration.
The ghost spoke in a deep voice, “Shore is hot today, and me here workin' like a mule.” He stopped and rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm.
Mr. Long took his hands off the Spear. “Point the Spear at him and say the words, 'Damnari inter manes.'“
Lizzie hesitated—she didn't want to do it. The ghosts didn't seem bad, and they seemed so scared when being pulled into the Spear.
The ghost went on talking to himself. “But I ain't no mule; I'm an ol' man. Heck, these folks treat their mules better'n this. I've
gots to get outta this place'n get up North, where a man's not treated like no animal. I just gots to.”
“Stop listening to him, Lizzie,” Mr. Long said. “It just makes it harder. Just point the Spear and say the words.”
Lizzie took a deep breath and said, “Damnari inter manes.”
“Lo' Jesus,” the man shouted as the darkness came toward him, and he threw his shovel. The shovel flew end over end through the air toward Lizzie. The edge of the blade glinted, sharp and deadly. She dove to the ground, dropping the Spear, and put her hands over her head.
She felt the hands of her dad picking her up. “What happened?”
“He threw his shovel at me.”
Mr. Long chuckled as he bent over to pick up the Spear. “Ghosts are mostly harmless. The shovel didn't have any more substance than he did.”
Lizzie was still shaking. “So, it wasn't real?”
“No. It was just an ethereal projection.”
“And they can't hurt me?”
“Well, there have been occasions mentioned in the journals where...” Her dad paused and started again, his voice a little more stern. “They can't hurt you if you don't give them a chance. When you see them, point the Spear and say the words.”
“Yes'r,” Lizzie answered.
“Here,” he said, “touch the Spear. It looks like you got him.”
Lizzie held the Spear with her father. Where the man had been there was nothing but another tombstone.
They looked around, but they saw no more ghosts. “It's clean,” Mr. Long said. “Now let's go down to where the town used to be. It's likely there'll be some more ghosts down that way.”
“Can we do it some other time?” Lizzie asked. She had had enough. Enough fear and excitement. Enough seeing the scared and sad faces of the ghosts.
Mr. Long rubbed his chin for a moment; she could see that he was disappointed. But still he nodded his head and patted her on the back. “Sure Lizzie. That's a good start. You done good.” He put the Spear back in the bag.
She felt so raw that the relief of knowing they were finished almost made her cry. Almost. It was a good thing it was dark or he might have noticed.
She turned on her flashlight and led the way out from the cemetery.
Chapter 12 — Landlord
Manuel and his mother had just begun to eat when the knock came.
Manuel’s mother had been feeling tired a lot lately, so he told her to wait and he would check. He looked through the peephole and saw the ruddy face, salt and pepper stubble, and slicked back silver hair of the landlord.
The man owned the duplex they lived in, and he lived in the other half of the house. He had never been friendly, but lately he seemed more threatening to Manuel than before. The man had lived with a sad and stooped woman who always seemed to be on the front porch smoking, but it had been months since Manuel had seen her. He wondered if this had something to do with why the man now seemed meaner.
“Rent’s due,” the man said, pushing his way into the house as soon as Manuel opened the door. He stunk of cigarettes and alcohol.
It was not a big duplex, and Manuel’s mother could hear and see the landlord from where she sat. “It’s due next Tuesday,” she answered.
“From now on,” the man said, “I want you to pay it seven days in advance.”
Manuel noticed a stain on the chest of the man’s sleeveless t-shirt, and Manuel thought it looked like a big brown nipple. It made the man appeared lopsided, and it would have seemed comical except on him it seemed scary instead. His landlord stood a head taller than Manuel and had broad shoulders and thick, hairy forearms.
“Mr. Lloyd,” Manuel’s mom said, her voice sounding thin as she stood, “we’re having dinner. Can you please—”
“Su casa, mi casa,” the landlord said and laughed. “I own this house and I can come in any time I like. But if you don’t like it, then maybe you can complain to the cops.”
She stopped and stared at him. Manuel could see he had said something that scared her.
“I figured you were illegal,” he said. “Just a quick phone call away from a one way ticket back to Mexico.”
His mother shook her head, but without conviction. Her lower lip trembled.
Mr. Lloyd sat down on their couch. A satisfied smile spread across his face. “And the rent’s going up,” he said. “A hundred...a hundred and fifty. Nine fifty a month.”
Manuel’s mom winced; she put her hand out and leaned against a chair. “I can’t afford that. I can’t.”
Mr. Lloyd smiled again. He seemed to expect and be happy with this answer. “Well,” he said, “you know. We’ve never been friends, you and me. But maybe if we were more...friendly...maybe I wouldn’t want to raise the rate.” The man squinted when he said the word ‘friendly’ and Manuel had seen his mother shake her head slowly in reply.
“You could invite me to sit with you for dinner,” Mr. Lloyd continued. “That would be neighborly. And then, well, we’ll see, if you get my meaning.”
Manuel intuitively knew that what the man wanted was something evil, though he only had a vague idea of the details.
“You...can...if you like,” she said, faltering, “Eat with us. We are having beans and tortillas...”
Mr. Lloyd smiled broadly, showing his yellowing teeth. “You’re pretty smart—”
“But you have to leave after we eat,” she said, interrupting the landlord.
Mr. Lloyd stood up. “We’ll see,” he said, walking to the little dining table. It was a fold up card table with a table cloth over it.
Manuel did not want to sit at the table with this man. He did not want the man in the house. But what could he do? Fighting the man seemed out of the question, not because he was afraid of the man—though he was a little—but because the man was their landlord. He lived next door. And besides, he understood the threats the man was making against his mother. He would call the Department of Homeland Security and maybe he would get her deported. Manuel had been born in Texas...he was a US citizen. But whereever his mom went, of course he would go too.
The three of them sat down at the table. Manuel didn’t feel hungry and just watched the man as he spooned a large helping of beans onto a freshly fried tortilla.
Manuel thought of Gordon and wondered if somehow he could call the magician and ask for help. Gordon would come if he called him, he knew. But what sort of magic would get them out of this situation? Maybe if he was more than an apprentice he’d know. The only thing he could do was move a flame. And hairs. He had practiced moving the hairs on his arm.
And he thought of an idea. And concentrated.
And the landlord scratched the back of his neck.
Manuel concentrated harder.
Mr. Lloyd turned suddenly to look behind himself, so quickly it made Manuel and his mother jump. “What the hell,” Mr. Lloyd mumbled. He turned his attention to his plate again, but almost immediately jumped to his feet, his chair toppling out behind him and crashing to the floor.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Do you have fleas?”
Manuel was ready with an answer. “I think we have a ghost.”
“A what?”
Manuel concentrated on the back of Mr. Lloyd’s neck, but managed an answer. “Never mind,” he answered, thinking that it was enough to plant the idea in the man’s head; there was nothing to be gained by elaborating. Then he attempted more than just moving the hair. One hair, he could see it in his mind’s eye, he concentrated on. One hair. And he pulled.
The landlord jumped and spun.
“This is nuts,” he said. “This is nuts.”
He went to the front door, but before he left he said, “Payment’s due, Ms. Garcia,” and he slammed the door behind him.
Manuel’s mom looked at him. She looked tired, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. “Did you...”
Manuel nodded.
“Cara del angel,” she said, touching his cheek with her hand. “Mi angel de la guarda.”
&
nbsp; Chapter 13 — Ghost Story
On Thursday, after Lizzie returned from Tai Kwon Do, Mr. Long called her into the office to brief her on their second mission.
“Tomorrow night we're going to the Garner Mansion. It is a bed-and-breakfast. We'll spend the night there, so pack a bag. The woman who runs the place was very convincing, but you never know—she may be making up stories to get people to spend the night there. We'll see.
“I told her that I am a scientist and my hobby is to travel the country debunking ghost stories. Our last name is Smith...don't forget. Smith. Luke Smith and his daughter Lizzie Smith. Got it?”
“Yes'r. But why can't we use our real names?”
“We'll do our best to keep her from seeing us use the Spear, but there's always that chance,” he answered. “Remember, there are men out there who will do anything to get the Spear. The best way to keep it safe is by keeping it secret. If they don't know who we are, they won't be able to find us.”
Lizzie nodded. It made sense.
“We'll leave right after your cross-country exercise tomorrow.”
“What about my soccer game Saturday? It's at noon.” She had already been worrying that her new job would interfere with her soccer games. She liked soccer. Besides, because she was home schooled she didn't get to spend a lot of time with her friends.
“Oh, sure,” he replied, “But you might be sleepy...we're going to be spending part of the night gathering Lost Souls.”
They arrived a couple hours before sunset. It was a big white house with tall and scraggly bushes in front. The huge front porch sat empty save a lonely white metal gliding bench; the wooden railing along the porch sagged here and there. The doorbell hummed with a buzzing that sounded like an electrocution in an electric chair.
A woman in an apron opened the door, her gray hair curled and stiff with hairspray. “Hello. You must be the Smiths,” she said. She looked at Lizzie with a frown. “You said you were bringing your daughter, but I assumed she'd be older. I don't believe this is a good idea.”
“It's okay, Mrs. Davis.” Mr. Long put his hand on Lizzie's shoulder. “She's been with me on my investigations before. She isn't any more afraid of ghosts than I am.”
Mrs. Davis studied Mr. Long for a moment. “I know I should tell you to go. But I really do need the business.”