“Jay?”
He waved Marin away as he plunged into the dim of the hall, following the faintest sense of silver-gray as it disappeared through a doorway further down.
Phelan’s room. Dammit. He picked up the pace, trying not to let his increasing weariness, dizziness, or the pain in his back from his still-healing wound distract him from his quarry.
“Jay, what are you—”
He held up a hand again and she stopped talking, then ducked into Phelan’s cot. Jacqueline startled at his entrance, twisting to look at him.
The ghost standing at Phelan’s bedside, a slender, ethereal figure in a woolen dress with silver trinkets woven into flaxen hair, didn’t turn. Her ghostly fingertips brushed against Phelan’s forehead and his hair.
J.T. swore it moved at her touch.
Hell.
“What’s wrong?” Jacqueline asked.
“Jac,” he said quietly, “I’ll sit with him for a while. Go and get something to eat and stretch your legs.”
She blinked at him, glancing back at Phelan and then to J.T. again. For a moment, she hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”
“Shut the door behind you,” J.T. murmured as she drifted past him. Jacqueline caught his hand and squeezed, nodding.
“I’ll come check on you in a little while,” she said.
He just nodded and waited until the door clicked closed behind her. The ghost remained where she was, silver-blonde curls cascading forward to veil her face.
“He should not have been harmed this day,” she said at last. Her voice was soft and musical, carrying a lilt familiar from dreams of long ago, from a life he’d lived a hundred lifetimes ago. Her fingers brushed over Phelan’s hair again and he stirred with a soft moan. She murmured a few words in a musical tongue that J.T. couldn’t understand and Phelan quieted, seeming to drift back toward sleep.
“Who are you?” J.T. asked.
“His goddaughter,” the spirit whispered. “Such as I am, such as he was.” She looked away from Phelan and met J.T.’s gaze. “I knew you.”
“I’m not—” The words died on his tongue. I’m not the person you remember.
“It was long ago,” she agreed, turning away again. He could hear the chiming of the silver charms woven into her hair, the rustle of her clothing. He’d never heard a ghost so clearly before. “So many souls in the world again. So many of the lost awakening. It is…sad and frightening.”
A shiver shot down J.T.’s spine. “Why are you here?” he asked, mouth dry.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “All of your ghosts come with warnings, don’t they?”
“Is that what you’re here for, then?” J.T. dropped heavily into the chair that Jacqueline had abandoned. His back twinged uncomfortably and he exhaled quietly. “To warn me so I can warn the rest?”
“It will only get harder before it eases,” she said. “That’s the way of things. The way it’s always been. But this ground…this place…it’s like home. Like every home I’ve known. It’s easy to see why so many have come here, come together again. Why the blood is here.” Her spectral fingers brushed against his cheek and she smiled sadly. “Your eyes see the most of what has been. Others see what will be. While they will see that…most of the warnings may come from you, Spiritweaver. You see souls of those who are here and those who have been. Your touch can heal them the same way the Blessed could.”
His throat grew tight, an uncomfortable feeling blooming in his guts. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he was fairly certain he didn’t like it, either. “I don’t understand.”
“None who have gone before you did, either.” She sighed and turned away again. “I wish I could explain.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“It must be learned, not told.” She gave him a sad smile. “But I can tell you to safeguard this place and its people. He can’t do it alone. None of you can do it alone.” She looked away again, her fingers against Phelan’s face. Some of the red faded from along the edges of the stitched-up claw marks on his face, the edges firming before his eyes. J.T. sucked in a breath, eyes widening as he watched.
“Heal the spirit and soul and you’ll often heal the body,” she whispered. She leaned down and kissed Phelan’s forehead.
Then she faded away to nothing.
