Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan (24 page)

"It came out of nowhere," says Physicist Two. She doesn't sound as scared as
the others, possibly because she sounds like she's talking in her sleep. We all
have our own ways of coping. "It bit Tom. He's bleeding a lot. Can you make it
go away?"

Shit. Well, at least that explains the screaming. I'd be screaming too, if a
Maggy Dhu had just tried to take a chunk out of me. I don't remember whether
they're venomous. I don't think so. There's a level at which things like venom
cross into "overkill," and when you're a two-hundred-pound spectral hound,
you're basically there. "I don't know," I say, with absolute honesty. The Maggy
Dhu is still watching me. I think it's growling. That's just great. "I'm going
to try something, okay? Nobody move."

Nobody's moving. I'm taking this less as a sign of obedience and more as a
sign of blind terror. Whatever. The end result is the same. I take another step
back. The Maggy Dhu finishes its turn, growl becoming audible. It's been
summoned from the ghostroads to this dead little diner, and it's pissed. I
understand the feeling.

"Fuck me," I mutter, and take off running.

***

There is no possible way for me to outrun an angry Black Dog for more than a
few panic-fueled yards. That's fine, because a few panic-filled yards is all I
need. These kids may be amateurs and idiots, but they're amateurs and idiots
who've been turning this place into a giant ghost trap since the sun went down.
I have no idea what it takes to catch a Maggy Dhu—I don't deal much with the
totally non-human inhabitants of the twilight—but if there's a standard
mechanism, I'd bet my afterlife that it's somewhere here.

Actually, that's exactly what I'm doing. I should let go, drop down into the
twilight, and let the Maggy Dhu teach these kids the last lesson they're ever
going to learn. I should remind them that there's a reason the living don't
dance with the dead. And I can't do it. Maybe it's because Laura would expect it
of me; maybe it's just that everyone deserves to be dumb, at least once, and you
don't really learn from the things that kill you. So I keep my grip on the
borrowed life I'm wearing, and I run like hell.

The pelesit got snagged in one of the half-drawn Seals of Solomon, but there
are still five of them untriggered, scattered around the edges of the lot like a
weird version of the home base in a game of tag. The first one is just ahead
when I hear the Maggy Dhu's claws scraping against the gravel behind me. I put
on a final burst of speed, feet easily clearing the lines of the unfinished
circle. I feel like an Olympic sprinter. I feel like my lungs are going to
explode. I don't think I like either feeling.

The sound of pursuit stops, and the Maggy Dhu starts to growl again. Now it
sounds well and truly pissed. I stop running, bracing my hands on my knees and
fighting for air as I twist to look back at the Black Dog.

It's pressed against the circle's edge, eyes glowing hellfire red and legs
braced in the posture of a junkyard mutt getting ready to charge a trespasser.
I've never seen an animal that angry. At least it hasn't realized yet that the
circle's broken, or it would already be on my ass again. It'll figure it out
eventually. Hopefully, I'll be breathing again by then.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to go home," I wheeze.

The Maggy Dhu barks furiously, trying to bite the barrier that keeps it from
biting my ass instead.

"I'm going to take that as a 'no,'" I say, and let the Maggy Dhu bark while I
finish getting my breath back. I don't age, and that also means that no matter
how much shit I go through, I'll never be in better shape than I was in when I
died. Back then, girls didn't go in that much for extra-curricular running like
their asses were on fire. Sometimes I really wish I'd picked a better era to die
in. Like one where all high school students were capable of completing a
three-minute mile.

The Maggy Dhu backs up, clearly intending to charge the barrier. Then its
paws pass outside the open spot in the circle. The expression on its face is
almost comic as it realizes that it isn't captive anymore. And then it's chasing
me again, and laughter is the last thing on my mind.

***

I have to wonder what this looks like from inside the diner. If the
ghost-hunters are smart, they've surrounded themselves with salt and are staying
as far from the windows as possible. Judging by the shadows I keep seeing in the
glass as I run past, they're not being smart.

The Maggy Dhu, on the other hand, is remaining good and pissed. I would envy
its single-minded devotion to its purpose, but since that purpose is eating me,
I'm not in the mood to root for it just yet. It side-steps the second Seal of
Solomon—great, the demon dog has a learning curve—and keeps coming after me,
gaining speed all the time.

One of the patches of rapeseed is right up ahead. Nothing I've ever heard has
implied that Maggy Dhu are bothered by things like that, but hell, any port in a
storm, right? I charge into the middle of it, stepping as high as I can to keep
from scattering the seeds. If it doesn't work—

The Maggy Dhu stops at the edge of the field of rapeseed, nose dropping to
the pavement. I don't know how good dogs are at math, but if it follows the same
rules as every other ghost that's bothered by that sort of thing, it has to
count every seed before it can come after me again.

"Thank God for stupid folklore," I mutter, taking a deep breath before I
walk, much more slowly now that there isn't a Maggy Dhu on my ass, toward the
piled-up spirit jars.

Three of them haven't been triggered yet. "And thank God for over-prepared
college students," I say, picking up the largest of the jars and peering inside.
It's definitely empty. It should work. Maybe. Possibly.

Okay, probably not. But lacking any alternative that doesn't result in the
Maggy Dhu chowing down on Jamie and his little band of lunatics, it's the best
chance I've got.

The Maggy Dhu is still sniffing the ground as I walk back to the rapeseed
field. I whistle low, the way I used to whistle for the dog we had when I was
little. The Maggy Dhu's head comes up, a growl vibrating from the depths of its
chest. "Hi, puppy," I say. "Catch."

The spirit jar hits the Maggy Dhu in the middle of the chest. It yelps, a
surprised look spreading across its face.

And then it's gone.

***

Jamie and the others are scattered around the diner, doing a frankly
piss-poor job of hiding themselves under broken tables and behind the remains of
the counter. Only one of them, Angela, is huddling in an unbroken circle of
salt. The rest of them would be easy pickings for the Maggy Dhu if it were still
running loose.

Good thing for them the Maggy Dhu is currently having a nice nap in the
spirit jar under my arm. I stop in the doorway, watching them watch the windows.
Not one of them is bothering to watch the door. That's the sort of sloppy
short-sightedness that can get a person killed, especially on a night like this.
Placing two fingers in my mouth, I whistle.

The reaction in the diner is nothing short of electric. Physicist Two
scrambles to position herself in front of Physicist One. Angela crosses herself,
muttering in frantic, high-pitched Latin. Marla slams back against the wall,
raising her hand-held EMP device like the weapon it so clearly isn't. Jamie just
stares.

"Hi," I say, amiably. "Having a nice night? It's a little warm for me, but
hey, it takes all types, right? You're from Ohio, you must be used to it,
right?"

Angela squeaks out something else in Latin before catching her breath and
asking, "R-Rose? Are you...are you okay?"

"Winded and cranky, and I could really use a milkshake, but that weird dog
didn't bite me, if that's what you're asking. It chased me around the parking
lot a few times, and then it went running off down the road. Don't you people do
any scouting before you start hunting for dead stuff?"

Marla lowers her EMP device. "I thought I saw...it ran away?"

Given a choice between the believable—a big black dog tried to eat us all and
then ran away into the night—and the terrifying—a big black
ghost
dog
tried to eat us all, until I managed to suck it into a clay jar from Pottery
Barn—even the most enthusiastic ghost-hunter is going to go for the mundane
explanation. It's a matter of self-preservation where the sanity is concerned.
There are things the living just aren't meant to deal with knowing.

"Gosh, Rose—I mean, you could have been seriously hurt." Jamie takes a step
forward. He's starting to realize that he left me to face the Maggy Dhu alone,
and even if his conscious mind is rejecting the reality of the Black Dog, part
of him knows exactly what he did. "Are you all right? Did the dog hurt you?"

"Like I told Angela, I'm fine. How's Tom? Did you manage to stop the
bleeding?"

Deflection is one of the most useful tools in my particular toolbox. "No,"
says Physicist Two—Katherine, she's Katherine, she's the one who's terrified but
not currently in danger of dying. She steps aside, giving me my first clear look
at her pale, shivering companion. "I keep thinking I have, and then he starts
bleeding again. We need to get him to a hospital."

A hospital isn't going to help him; not at this point. I can see the shadows
around him, gathering like a burial shroud. If Laura were here, I'd kill her. I
don't care if she's Tommy's one true love, there's a reason the living don't
interfere with the dead.

This is where I should walk away. And I can't. "Hold this and stay here," I
say, thrusting the spirit jar into Jamie's hands. "Whatever you do, don't drop
it. Angela, I need you to clean up as much of the salt as you can. Make sure
there's nothing left that can be considered a circle."

"What are you going to do?" demands Marla.

I sigh. "I'm going to beg."

***

"I stand here open-handed and begging for your mercy, I stand here hopeful
and contrite. I stand here ready for your judgment." I hate begging. It always
feels so much like...well...like begging. I ball my hands into fists, plant them
on my hips, and demand, "Well? You owe me. I let you out of that damn jar. Now
get your spectral ass over here."

The air chills, fills with the scent of dried corn and harvest moons, and the
haunt appears. She gathers herself out of the night, wrapping her translucent
body in the semblance of a cotton nightgown. Her hair is long and glossy,
stirred by a wind that I can't feel. She's on a level of the twilight that I'm
not native to. For right now, that's fine by me. "Who
are
you?" she
asks. I can barely hear her. That's fine, too.

"I'm Rose Marshall, I'm the one who let you out of the jar, and I'm the one
you're about to do the favor for. We clear?"

Haunts aren't the smartest things on the ghostroads. Something about the
transition between the living and the dead seems to burn out about half their
brain cells. It makes them shitty company, but it also leaves them suggestible,
which is a bonus from where I'm standing. She frowns, perplexed, and asks, "What
favor?"

"There's a man inside the diner. He and his friends conjured a Maggy Dhu by
mistake, and he got bitten. He's not supposed to die yet. He doesn't have the
right smell. I need you to fix it."

I'm right about this haunt being new, because she just looks more confused.
"Fix it?" she asks. "How?"

"He's dying." I shrug, gesturing toward the diner. "Kiss him."

A kiss from a haunt can kill the living or heal the dying. It's one of those
nasty double-edged swords the twilight is so fond of. Kiss the haunt too soon
and it's goodbye, you silly mortal coil. Put it off too long, and all the kiss
will do is guarantee that you'll be coming back as a haunt yourself. I'm
gambling a little--Tom could be further gone now than he was when I left him—but
I don't think so. He was holding on pretty tightly when I came outside.

"No more jars?"

"No more jars," I promise, and just like that, the haunt's gone, soaring
toward the diner. She vanishes through the window, and the screaming inside
starts all over again.

This time, I don't bother hurrying as I walk toward the sound of screams. I'm
done with good deeds for the night.

***

"It was amazing," Angela says, grabbing my hands for what feels like the
seventy-third time. "This...this glowing figure came right through the wall, and
she kissed him, and his arm just healed! Like it was never hurt in the first
place! It's a miracle!"

"Uh-huh," I agree. Katherine and Tom have the spirit jar that contains the
Maggy Dhu. They've promised to seal it and drop it into the nearest lake without
telling the others, and that's good enough for me. If they decide to play
Pandora, well, they can't say I didn't warn them.

"And Jamie got the whole thing on film!"

No, he didn't. "Uh-huh."

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch before," says Marla, walking over to us. Jamie
is half a step behind her. They both look shaken. Shaken enough not to do this
sort of thing again? I guess only time will tell. By the time it does, I plan to
be as far away as possible. "I thought you were just looking for cheap thrills.
I didn't realize you knew more about this than we did."

"Uh-huh," I agree again. It's safer than any of the alternatives I can come
up with, most of which involve laughing in her face.

"I wanted to say thank you," says Jamie. "I really don't know what would have
happened if you hadn't been here to distract that dog. I'm just sorry you missed
seeing the ghost. That was...it was amazing. It was life-changing. It almost
made all this worth it."

"Only almost," adds Marla.

"No more ghost-chasing, right?" I ask, folding my arms. "This was a one-shot
deal, it didn't work out, and now you're going to remember that your mothers
taught you not to play with dead things?"