I caught sight of the old, wrought-iron crypt door, then immediately started scanning for the spirit stones. Locking a hand on my chest, pressing my palm in hard, I felt an undercurrent of power. I’d assumed the stones would be growing around the crypt. No. They were within.

  I reached my hand out.

  I went to open the lock. And that’s when I saw fingernail marks just to the side.

  These were not the gouge marks of the dead. Nor was this some demon haunting the graveyard. They were small, they weren’t deep, and they suggested a hand much daintier than mine.

  “Some witch doing a séance, then? I shall make enquiries with the Academy when I’m back.”

  You could easily accuse me of having a confusing relationship with the Magical Academy. As one of its strongest practitioners, it gave me the prestige I so desperately required to keep my head above water. And yet, if they ever found out who I was, they would hunt me mercilessly. But they were still a tool to keep magic in check. If some foolish witch had come into Wintersmith’s crypt to do a séance, then such a witch ought to be taught the law.

  Would I rush back to the Magical Academy and reveal where I’d been? No. I would simply make it a point in the next meeting to emphasize the need to check our assets more often.

  I slid one stiff finger down the brass lock, and it withered under my touch. It looked like a root one had applied too much heat to. The metal didn’t drip, but it did shiver. It fell off into my grip with a thunk. I slipped it into my pocket.

  I closed my eyes tightly, the skin around them squeezing with a scrunch. There. As I breathed in deeply, I detected the spirit stones.

  I strode down the steps. Hollow, they gave my footfall a rather haunting quality. I kept my fingers pressed up at all times. It wouldn’t be impossible to encounter another ghost. I should’ve cared more about encountering something else.

  I had assumed that if some foolish witch had come here for a séance with the dead, she would’ve done it on a full moon. Tonight was the dark moon. That did not change the fact that when I got a step down into the crypt, I heard one low muttered hiss.

  Nothing more than a whisper, it piqued my attention, because it did not come from the lips of the dead.

  “There we go,” a light voice filtered out. “I’ve done it.”

  I tugged my hood down over my head.

  This crypt had many rooms. Winchester, before he had died, had demanded it. For the soul, when wandering after death, requires novelty, or it will become bored. Especially the soul of such a powerful wizard.

  I crept to the edge of the doorway in front of me, and I peered around it, neck elongated, breath controlled. I slipped my hand into my pocket.

  I grasped up my stun spell. Then I saw the witch I was dealing with. Fortunately she wasn’t naked. Well-clothed, she was down on her knees. In front of her, a soul crystal garden had bloomed.

  An eerily beautiful sight. The dark old crypt, cast in tones of gray, dirt brown, and black, made it all the starker. For the soul crystal garden glowed. Glimmering emerald leaves led up to palm-sized pulsing sapphire blue crystals. Soul stones could be seen – and used – by any practitioner. But it was only those who could truly see the dead that appreciated just how beautiful they were. And beyond that, the beauty of concentrated power. And this grubby witch had her equally grubby paws all over my crystals.

  “Beautiful little things, aren’t you? Now, I’ve found you, so I suppose you’re mine.”

  My lips plucked up into a sneer. Then I switched my grip. Rather than use my ordinary stun potion, I grabbed out my flask instead. My body dictated that action for me, almost as if it had a personal vendetta against this woman.

  I was silent, but she must’ve heard something. She twisted her head around. Her eyes widened. Perhaps she caught sight of me, but the only thing she would’ve seen was my billowing black woolen cloak and the potion slicing through the air toward her as I threw it.

  She shoved a hand up. She tried to practice magic. A little came. It was not fast enough. The liquid splashed over her chest, immediately hurling her backward. She fell spread-eagled in the crystal garden.

  Her head flopped to the side, and her hair scattered over her very plain face.

  Her consciousness fell from her like somebody stupidly dropping a bag full of gold.

  I strode out of hiding.

  I grabbed my cloak and pulled it down. I prodded her with the toe of my boot. “Foolish woman. You came here to do a séance and found the crystals, did you? You shall wake up sometime tomorrow with a very sore head indeed.”

  As I promised her that, my lips pulled into a smile of their own accord, deep and enduring, powerful and real.

  I’d once been accused by my mother of never smiling unless I had something to gain. Which wasn’t the point of smiling, she’d promised. You smiled when you had something to share. Your joy.

  I had nothing to share. I never had and never would.

  Leaning down, I pushed the comatose woman out of the way. Her head went to thump against a jutting section of rock.

  Acting quickly, I cradled her skull. Then I immediately chided myself. Who cared? I should let her get a headache. It would teach her a lesson.

  Nothing, however, could ever teach me a lesson. I greedily grasped up every single one of the soul crystals.

  There weren’t 50. There were only 30. My information must’ve been incorrect.

  Oh well. They were large, they were powerful, and this was the greatest number I had seen in some time.

  I let them carry me away from my problems as I threw them into a magical sack, the large crystals fitting easily as the sack cast a space-expanding spell for them.

  With these crystals, I could hold onto my secret for longer. With these crystals, I could hide from my brother for another week or two, maybe a month. Maybe even a year.

  Beyond that… I suppose the game would continue. It had since birth, and it would until death.

  When I was done, I slung my sack over my shoulder and stared at the woman. “You should be careful what magic you practice. Never do a séance in a wizard’s tomb again. You’ll attract the wrong attention.”

  I turned around hard on my boot and walked away. If I’d paid attention, if I’d done anything other than sling the sack further over my shoulder and praise myself for my haul, I would’ve heard something. This… I suppose you could call it cracking. At the edge of hearing, I’d never detected anything so fine. Nor ominous.

  But I walked away, soul crystals in hand, hope in the other.

  For now.

  Chapter Three

  Lisbeth McQuarrie

  I woke to something slapping my cheek lightly. “Miss. Miss, you should probably wake up now, Miss.”

  “I don’t want to get out of bed. Let me sleep until the morning.”

  “Miss, it’s not a good idea to sleep in a crypt, Miss. Especially when you can see ghosts. You will wake with a laundry list of things to do in the morning. Speaking of which, Miss, I was wondering if you could do something for me.”

  One of my eyes opened with a quick spasm. Then the other.

  I lay next to a large stone sarcophagus. One look at it, and I recognized Wintersmith, the old wizard ghost, sitting on top.

  I’d been here before. Crystals often grew in this particular crypt. And ghosts often brought me here on missions. Usually to fix their gravestones or place more flowers around to cheer them up.

  I was always prepared and protected when I came into a graveyard, however. Walking through one of them was like an advertisement to ghosts. Every single one would rush toward me, and by the next thing I knew, I really would have a laundry list of missions to achieve for them.

  As I stared past this woman, I saw a ghost curiously walking down the stairs.

  I had to look past Wintersmith.

  He was the oldest ghost in all of the city. A man who had chosen to become a ghost, too. He didn’t always live in his crypt. You could often see him wafting around the city if you were observant.

  Now he crunched his old knees up to his chest and laughed. “Not smart for one of you to fall unconscious in a cemetery, is it? You witches never have good brains about you.” He tapped his temple dismissively, and it made his prodigious old white beard tumble around, further making his point.

  I grasped my head. “I feel terrible. What happened?” I asked slowly.

  “Oh, a wizard—” the young ghost began to explain.

  Opening one eye, I saw Wintersmith lift a hand to silence the young ghost who’d woken me. “Let her figure it out on her own. She’s got senses. Might’ve been struck by a very powerful potion meant to remove her memories, but I have a feeling if anyone can move past it, it’s Lisbeth McQuarrie.”

  I hadn’t had much to do with Wintersmith, but he was observant. He’d never asked me for a mission, quite possibly because he knew in doing so, if I achieved it, he’d have to leave this earthly plane.

  He still knew of my exploits. He kept his hand lifted until, miraculously, I did remember what had happened.

  “A wizard did this to me. Then he stole all of the soul crystals.”

  “Not all of them. There are 20 more growing beyond that wall,” Wintersmith said as he gestured to the wall behind me.

  “Oh… thank you.”

  He smiled.

  The ghost who’d curiously wafted down the stairs, turned and shot away.

  “Oh, dear,” I stammered. “He’s off to tell his friends about me. I must leave. I’ll come back and do your mission, Miss Ghost,” I promised. I had no intention of returning.

  But Wintersmith stood.

  It was just as a whole bevy of ghosts rushed down the stairs, clamoring my name.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been out for, but I really would prefer to go home and sleep in my bed than spend the entire night running around fulfilling missions for ghosts.

  Before the ghosts could flock toward me, and critically, before they could touch me and make contact, Wintersmith lifted one hand. He said, “Stop,” in his booming voice.

  Every single ghost did as he said. Even the lass right by my side stood to attention.

  I winced. Wintersmith wouldn’t want some favor from me, would he?

  “Don’t look like that, Miss McQuarrie. You look like you will begrudge us our last favors. And a witch like you can’t do that. For a witch like you exists to make things right.” As Wintersmith said that, the word right reverberated out.

  It made me stand to attention. I didn’t want to, but my darn body did it for me. My spine elongated, my chin jutted out, and I sucked in a breath, but it got trapped.

  He smiled once. He slid off his sarcophagus. He clamped his hands behind his back and looked into my eyes. “We’ve got a mission for you.”

  “We?” I winced all of the way back, curling my hands into fists even though I knew there was no way to defend myself.

  “That’s right, we.”

  He didn’t bother to move his face back. He kept it right there, right in front of me. Wintersmith’s eyes weren’t like the other ghosts’. Quite possibly because, being the powerful wizard he’d been in life, he’d known how to hold onto more of himself. His eyes very much looked alive, and it was unsettling indeed to be locked in their intense stare now. It was far more effective than chains. “Will you accept our request?” Wintersmith demanded.

  I winced back again. There was unfortunately nowhere to go. My back shook up against the old moldy wall behind me, and with every rattling breath, it only reinforced how stuck I was. “What’s the request?”

  “Do you accept it?” Wintersmith repeated.

  A man of tradition, obviously he couldn’t make a demand until I acquiesced to receive it. Did that mean… technically I had the ability to run?

  I looked at the stairs.

  He turned over his shoulder and stared up at them too. “If that’s what you want, if you want to run, if you don’t want to help us,” he emphasized, “then go. We won’t stop you.”

  Some of the ghosts looked as if they wanted to try, but when Wintersmith growled, they stepped to the side.

  I stared at him. I stared at the ghost who’d woken me up.

  “Would you really let me go?”

  “Would your conscience really let you go?” Wintersmith kept his hands clamped behind his back as he shoved his face forward and stared right into my eyes. He wasn’t as close as before, but that was quite irrelevant. With eyes that intelligent and sharp, you’d never escape. They’d track you through the darkness, through the dirt, and unfortunately, through death too.

  I took a step. I went to escape. Why couldn’t I be more like that wizard who’d stolen the soul crystals off me? Because… I wasn’t.

  Because, even in death, these people deserved a last chance.

  I took one more step, closed my eyes, and turned. It was only when Winchester let out a laugh that I opened one eye.

  “What’s your request?” I asked in a quiet voice.

  “We request that you save this city.”

  My nose rumpled. I’d assumed that I would receive a request from every single ghost in this cemetery. I would run around after them for the rest of my life. But this…?

  “Miss, say you’ll do it. Say you will help us. Nothing else can.” The young lass who’d woken me up grabbed my elbow and looked pleadingly into my eyes.

  Wintersmith didn’t move a muscle. I’d accepted to hear the request. I’d been touched by a ghost. The rest was now history. Or rather, the rest would be my future. But I’d never once received a mission anything like this.

  “Do you… want me to fix the trees in the cemetery? Are there gravestones that have fallen over?” I asked stupidly.

  Winchester arched an impressive old eyebrow. He shook his head. “We want you to save the city.”

  “Are there living people you wish for me to save? Perhaps old fortunes you want found and given to the right person?” I tried again, even more stupidly. The more I repeated this, the more of a precious idiot I seemed, but I couldn’t stop.

  “No, Miss McQuarrie,” Winchester repeated, voice lowering now, “we want you to save the city.”

  I opened my mouth again to pose an even stupider question, but I stopped. For there’s only so long we can deny the truth. “From what?” I stammered quietly.

  “An ancient force has been called by the magical fools of this city. It currently rises. It is taking the power of we ghosts, feeding off it, and using our souls for dark purposes. If this threat is allowed to build, it will tear down every house and every life in the kingdom. You will stop it,” Winchester said.

  I trembled, my knees suddenly twitching out from underneath me. I fell with a great thwack onto my bottom.

  “I… I can’t do that. I’m only one witch. I don’t… who’s doing this?” I kept speaking over the top of myself until finally the most important question slipped out of my trembling lips.

  Wintersmith, still with his hands clamped behind his back as if he’d died in that position, smiled widely. “Perhaps you are not as stupid as you seem, Witch. You have come around to the right question eventually.”

  “And will you answer it?”

  “We cannot. We can only give you the facts as we know them. Our kind are dying. Someone in the Royal family is calling on a forbidden force. And this city has a month at best.”

  I shook my head. I squeezed my eyes closed. But none of this went away.

  So, as incredibly impossible as it sounded, I pushed to my quaking feet. I was probably shaking more than a tree in a gale, but that didn’t matter. I still stood.

  “How do I even begin to do this?”

  “Gather spirit stones. Your enemies need them. But you have a better chance of getting them first. Exorcise as many of us ghosts as you can. Especially the recently deceased. For they are the most vulnerable.”

  I blinked, taking this all in. Then I promptly fell back down to my side. I’m sorry, but my weak knees were simply not strong enough. “You said somebody from the palace is doing this? If they were ever to find out who I am—”

  “You will be taken into the dungeons of the Academy, locked there for good, and be used by the fools who now called themselves real wizards. I know the stakes, just as you do. That does not change what you must do, however,” Winchester drawled in a strong tone capable of droning even through the loudest thunderstorm.

  “You said… I must gather spirit stones. For what end? It can’t simply be to keep them from our enemies.”

  I said our enemies. A bad sign. It suggested that not only had I accepted this mission, but I was almost ready to enact it.

  It brought a wide smile to Winchester’s lips. “When you have enough, you will learn how to actively protect ghosts. You will even be able to bring them here and ensure the cemetery cannot be overtaken.”

  It was too much to take in. Then I shook my head. “They are so vanishingly rare. You say there are 20 beyond this wall. How many would I need for this task?”

  “Around a thousand.”

  I gasped. I only personally had 100.

  “This is impossible.”

  Winchester lifted a hand. “On the contrary. It will be very easy. For we already know where a thousand spirit stones are, ready to be taken.”

  I stiffened. Then one by one, my shoulders started to cave. “Where?”

  “In the house of the man who knocked you out. One Winchester Stone.”

  I paled. All I required was the last name. There were two Stone brothers. Equally as bad as one another, if you asked me, though I knew less about Winchester. A powerful man of the Academy, if it really was him who’d knocked me out, then my best chance was to run and never appear in front of him again.

  But when you are a witch, you must understand probability differently. There is no such thing as your own chance. The chances that matter the most are those that can be spread to other people. For anyone who concentrates wealth, power, and force for themselves ultimately loses in the end.

  I winced again. “Do you really expect me to face Winchester Stone?”