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.

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”

For Kim Farrell and Sharda
Garrett

Thanks for believing in me.

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.”