Underground

I don’t know why Brian likes me but I assume his tendency to throw himself bodily at me and shriek is supposed to demonstrate that. His parents say so, a least. I’m not a fan of children as a rule, but even with the head butting and howling, Brian was starting to grow on me a bit. Like mold.

“Hi, Harper. Come in and help us read a story,” Ben said. Ben’s curly black hair was standing up in static waves—a pretty good sign he’d had a long day of Brian-herding.

I came over to the side of the bed and waved at Brian. “Hi, rhino boy.”

Brian stuck out his tongue and made a raspberry noise. “No rhino.”

I twitched an interrogative eyebrow and looked at Ben. He sighed. “We’re done with animals for a while. At the moment, we are an intrepid prince of Russia—no thanks to baba Irina, my mother.”

Brian spouted something I didn’t understand and Ben translated. “His highness wants his wolfhounds. No wonder they call this age the terrible twos.”

“Does that make him Brian the Terrible?” I quipped.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Too true. Here I thought a break from the budding linguists last term was going to be a vacation. I’m supposed to be back in the classroom this quarter, but the cold is keeping the university closed.”

Brian made a demanding Russian noise and patted the book in his father’s hands.

“I’m to get back to reading Ivan Tsarevitch or suffer the consequences. Better tell me what you wanted before his highness has us thrown to the wolves.”

“Mara and I are going to do some work downstairs. Just wanted to warn you it won’t be Brian-safe until we’re done. You probably want to stay out, too.”

“Ah. OK. I’ll finish up here and go upstairs for a while, then. Mara can fill me in later.” Ben was too tired to argue, even if there was a speculative gleam in his eye about what his wife and I might be doing. Ben’s fascination with magic and ghosts was certain to get him in too deep someday.

“Thanks, Ben,” I said, heading back out the door as Ben’s voice, rolling Russian consonants like the sea coming to shore, continued with the story.

I could feel the cold presence of Albert at my back as I descended the stairs.

The ghost followed me into the living room. I was careful not to step on Mara’s hidden marks but to pass very close to them nonetheless. I stopped on one side of them and turned sharply.

“Hello, Albert,” I said.

It’s rare for me to startle a spirit, but he came to an abrupt halt and floated back a bit, stopping just over the afghan. Mara had once said she didn’t see him but rather had an idea of where he was and what he was doing. I hoped it was a pretty precise idea.

A hostile approach wasn’t my first choice, but if Albert fled, I’d lose my chance. I’d give him one opportunity to volunteer. “I need to talk to you about Friday night.”

I saw the flicker of his shape and knew he was ru

She flipped the corner of the afghan up and said some sharp word that plucked on the energy grid of the Grey like a harp. A gust of unfurling magic shot up from the floor and tangled over the invisible shape of Albert with the motion of a hurricane. Mara grabbed hold of the edge of it and nailed it to the floor with her chalk, marking one last sign in the revealed circle. The afghan drifted to the floor behind her as the net sang in the Grey, its almost-human sound raising goose bumps on my skin.

I sat down on the couch I’d occupied before and looked toward the shape beneath the net of magic. “Is this all right, Mara?”

She got up and sat next to me on the sofa. “Yes. It should hold him as long as I want to leave it there. I’m sorry, Albert, but you’ve got to stay and talk to Harper. I’d not have thrown the net if you hadn’t tried to scarper off.”

Albert’s form sifted back to visibility. I supposed he didn’t see the point in wasting energy to hide when he couldn’t move. He glared at me.

“Knock it off, Albert. I just need information,” I said. “Can you talk to me?”

He glowered.

“OK. I guess the mountain comes to Mohammed.” I reached out and riffled through the layers of time, feeling for one that would have Albert in it as strongly as possible. Wherever his presence was strongest, that was where I thought I’d be most likely to get him to talk. Though it was also where—or when—he’d have the most power and latitude to cause me trouble. I hoped the net was enough. I found a hard, cold plane of time and slipped into it… and fell back out.

“What—?”

Mara turned a curious frown on me. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t stay in the time plane Albert’s occupying.”

“But… you didn’t slip at all. You stayed right here.”

I puzzled on that a moment. “Then… this is the same place…?”

“It must be a loop or a bridge of some kind that co

I turned my eyes to Mara. “Then why isn’t he talking?” Something cold brushed across my knee.

“Maybe he needs—”

“A voice.” It was a reedy tenor and it came from Albert. I looked toward him and saw a thin line of the net touching my knee, co

“I’d rather not, but I guess I don’t have much choice.”

Mara stared at me. “I can hear you both! But Albert’s so quiet…”

I peered into the darkness of the grid, seeing Albert as a haze of light floating above the blazing energy lines. I thought I might be able to push a thin strand of that energy to him and boost his voice…

“Yes!” Albert’s thin voice urged in my head.

I yanked back to a more normal level where the Grey was ever-present, the neon lines of power and force dim glimmers that clung to the shapes of the world.

“No. I don’t think that would be a good idea—giving you power.”

The light silvered his glasses and hid his eyes. He moved restlessly in his mesh of magic.

“Mara, can you tighten that net up a little?”

“I can, but why?”

“Albert is playing games.”

Mara gave a twitch of her hand and the reticulated spell cinched down, binding Albert into stillness. The illusion of light on his glasses faded.

“Better,” I said, moving my foot so it touched the edge of the net to maintain my co

“I won’t help you,” Albert warned.

“You will if you want to get out of that net. Let’s start with something easy. What’s your full name?”

He was stubbornly silent. I didn’t know if a geas—a magical compulsion—would work on a ghost, and I wasn’t thrilled about trying it, but Albert wasn’t cooperating. I plucked at a bit of the Grey and stared at Albert, catching his gaze as I pulled the buzzing, energetic material in front of me, forming the power co

“Very well!” he snapped.

“What is your full name?” I asked again. I wanted to see what he did when the answers were nonthreatening. It would make it easier to know when he was lying—which I was sure he’d try. Unlike most of the people I saw, Albert had no aura to act as a tell of his emotions.