Split at the Seams Read online

  I rushed down the stairs and into my office.

  “Oh, there you are, where have you been?” Ebony pushed off the armrest of her swivel chair as soon as I strolled into our colorful office.

  Once upon a time, everything had been drab and falling to pieces—mostly secondhand things I’d accumulated and stored in my garage. But after a big job that cost me a temporary ghostly possession stint and a whole lot of trouble, we’d gotten enough money to invest some back into the business. Ebony and I took several weekends to paint the walls a serene blue, and buy furniture from IKEA. We both loved the process and the results.

  Well, maybe not as much as having paid my outstanding debt to the Spook Catcher Council. I’d finally washed my hands of a debt that had been killing me since I left them over six years ago.

  “Sierra!”

  “Sorry, Eb, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No kidding. Listen, I’ve got someone here to see you. She wants to hire us for a case.”

  “And why couldn’t you deal with it?”

  Ebony grabbed a hold of my hand, flashed a smile over her shoulder and then dragged me back out into the darkened corridor. “It’s one of those ancient ghosts you like to chitchat with at the restaurant you and Jonathan go to.”

  I frowned. “The Wickers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re both here?”

  “No, just her.”

  “That’s strange.” I couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

  The Wickers were a married couple who also happened to be harmless, silent ghosts. They both died in a car accident after leaving their favorite place to eat—Luigi’s. They were always together, and I’d never seen them anywhere but at the restaurant. The owner actually had a table especially set up for them. I didn’t know where they went before or after, but I always chatted with them.

  “I know! It’s strange, right? That’s why I had to call you in. I can’t deal with this by myself,” Ebony whispered.

  “Why not? She’s just like every other ghost you’ve encountered lately.” Actually, if anything, Mrs. Wicker was probably an easier spook to deal with. She didn’t have any nastiness in mind or was running amok causing havoc.

  “You don’t understand,” Ebony hissed, leaning closer. “She’s acting all weird. One second I can hear and see her, the next she flickers off.”

  “She’s probably zoning out—”

  “No, this isn’t zoning out.” Ebony’s blue-gray eyes were wide. “I’m telling you, there’s something really weird going on with her. Almost like…she’s barely holding on.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ebony tightened her grip on my hand. “Instead of standing out here and whispering about it, why don’t you just come inside and see for yourself?”

  I nodded because she was absolutely right. I took a shallow breath and led her back inside. The only way to deal with this was to find out why Mrs. Wicker was actually in our office, alone.

  Ebony closed the office door, which not only gave us the privacy we required but also kept the cool air circulating within. Summers used to be a bitch, but after getting permission to install an air-conditioning unit, we were cool now and would hopefully be warm in the winter.

  I stumbled and heard a small groan. Turning quickly, I noticed Mrs. Wicker standing by the wall. I’d walked right through her. Not only had I not seen her, but I hadn’t even felt her. Ghosts give off a cool trace of otherworldly air. Nothing like artificial air, instead it’s the kind of chill that gets deep into your bones and fills your lungs.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wicker,” I said with a thin smile.

  “It’s okay, dear.” She patted my arm and I hardly felt the impression.

  “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” Mrs. Wicker was in her late fifties when she died and always wore the same outfit—a velvet, black dress and matching heels. It suited her thin frame. She clutched a small, shiny purse and her face was perfectly made up.

  She probably didn’t look this way after the accident that claimed her life, but ghosts projected themselves the way they wanted to. For most, it was either their favorite outfit in life, or what they were wearing when they died. A rare few actually appeared with the clothes they were buried in, and in some very awful and tragic cases, they can’t control their looks and appear the way they died. I hardly saw any of those anymore. Usually, it was the younger people who appeared this way.

  “Mrs. Wicker, what can I do for you? Ebony tells me that you need our help.”

  Ebony flashed the ghost a wide grin. She was still wearing the same kind of dark palette of colors she loved in clothes, but I’d noticed she wore even more makeup than before. Or maybe it was that her eye shadow and lipsticks seemed to be much darker shades. I personally thought it was because she was dating a vampire hunter I’d labeled Vamp Boy, and no doubt spent many nights out and about in the dark with him.

  “Yes, your apprentice is very helpful.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Ebony might be taking a lot of the workload herself, but she still loved the bloody apprentice title.

  “Ebony’s great.” I meant it too. There were times when she drove me nuts and I didn’t know how I put up with her antics, but she was trustworthy, very helpful, and kept the office organized. After finally letting go of her personal fear, she was proving herself to be very talented in this spook-catching gig. It helped take some pressure off me and lightened the caseload a lot faster.

  We were still mostly swamped, but I couldn’t complain. This was my—no, our—livelihood, and it paid the bills.

  “Well,” Mrs. Wicker said, closing her hands around her purse so tightly it twisted between her fingers. “Barty’s gone, and I can’t find him.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  She flickered, like a grainy television image being projected into the office.

  “He was with me one second, and then gone the next.” Her voice sounded tinny and faraway, but at least she’d stopped flickering. Although she still looked pale and drawn, as if her body was fading to black-and-white. I’d seen my grandfather do this too, when he was losing his grip on reality and was too weak to stay.

  Was the same thing that had happened to her husband happening to her right now?

  “Where were you when he faded?” I asked, because the quicker I could get the details, the better.

  Mrs. Wicker looked into my eyes for a moment. Her blue irises were now washed out to gray, and widened as if what I’d said triggered a memory. “That’s exactly what happened to him! He was right beside me one moment, and then faded away the next. I couldn’t get him back, couldn’t find him. The strangest thing is that I heard him for a while after he was no longer there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I could hear him calling my name. Telling me how dark it was, almost as if I’d turned out the lights on him. Which as you know is ridiculous, because lights make no difference to us. We rest in the ether and there’s no light. Of course, resting feels like seconds to us, mere blinks in time. We could be resting for hours, but it feels like we’re gone for seconds.” She sighed. “At first, that’s what I thought had happened. But he didn’t come back and hasn’t since. Now, I can’t even hear him.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My heart went out to her. Not just because I knew exactly what it was like to lose your ghostly companion, but because this couple had decided not to move on to the next patch so they could be together and watch over the ones they loved. Instead, they ended up losing each other. “We’ll do whatever we can to help you. We just need to find out a few more details.”

  I reached for my notebook.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sierra. I’ve been typing everything up.”

  I looked at Ebony and noticed her fingers poised over the keyboard of her laptop.

  “Mrs. Wicker, when did this happen?” I asked.

  She looked thoug
htful for a moment. “I think it was three days ago, maybe four. I’m not sure. It’s so hard to keep a sense of time when you’re a ghost. I’m just worried because I think something’s got him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged. “Well, before he faded, Barty was talking about how he felt a presence behind him…a constant shadow that wouldn’t leave his side. I didn’t believe him, I thought he was exaggerating. In our condition, it always feels like someone’s behind you. It’s how it is to be a ghost. We might be of this world, but we’re not occupying the same space.”

  “Have you felt the same presence he mentioned? Do you feel like something’s creeping up behind you?”

  Mrs. Wicker nodded, tears now dribbling down her cheeks. “Yes. Actually, I have. It’s why I had to come to you. I couldn’t put this off any longer. It was extremely hard to get here. Although I knew where your office was, Barty and I usually stay within the one track. So getting here took a lot of energy.” Just as she said that, she flickered off completely then reappeared as if someone had accidentally switched off the TV, and then flicked it back on right away. “…I just want to find him. I don’t want to stay here if I’m not with…”

  “Where the hell does she keep disappearing to?” Ebony squinted, as if it would help her catch a better glimpse of the spook.

  It wouldn’t. “I’m not sure.” I had a feeling that whatever had happened to her husband was now catching up with Mrs. Wicker as well. Whether it was some unknown entity causing this or some other factor, I’d have to investigate.

  “Ms. Fox!” Her voice sounded screechy, as if she also realized what was about to happen. “He was right. There’s someone here. Something is trying to draw me into its clutches, and I’m so scared.”

  “Mrs. Wicker, hold on, don’t let it take you.” The last time I’d seen a spook taken it had been a demented shadow monster. But that had happened because the brothers Troy and Travis Slevani—a witch and ghost who inhabited the same body—were able to manipulate and use shadows for their own devices.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late.” Mrs. Wicker’s eyes filled with fear, and although she seemed to be looking right at me, she was actually seeing something the rest of us couldn’t. “Please, don’t give up on us. Find us. I don’t want to be taken, I want to stay, I—” And just like that, she flickered off for the last time.

  Her spirit was gone, leaving nothing behind but thin air.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Ebony stood up, waving her right hand in front of the spot where the ghost had just stood.

  “I have no idea,” I said with a shake of my head. “But I intend to find out.”

  The last time something interfered with spooks and started taking or displacing them, a tear in the fibers between patches had made it easier for the two brothers to play their sick games. I didn’t know if there was anything like that going on now, but I’d be sure to find out in a few days when we met with Burr. He was actually a Tailor, part of the organization responsible for keeping the patches away from each other.

  Still, there was no way I was going to wait around until then. I needed to find out what the hell was going on, sooner than later.

  My mobile phone rang, vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans. Why did I keep forgetting I had one? Maybe because Ebony had insisted we buy matching phones so we could stay in touch all the time and even transfer files to each other. I didn’t like the idea much, still preferred paper, but she was doing a great job at creating a paperless office.

  I dug it out of my pocket and frowned at the name. I picked it up and said, “Yeah, Oren. I’ll be down there in a sec, okay?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond, instead hung up on him.

  “You know, I think you treat him like crap.”

  “I didn’t ask you what you think.”

  “He’s such a nice man. I don’t know why you hate him so much.” Ebony’s eyes met mine. I was glad she’d stopped wearing the freaky contacts she used to sport so often. An eye infection had put her off them.

  I stood up, shaking my head as I tucked the phone back into my pocket. I didn’t hate the old man. In fact, he was growing on me and he’d helped me a lot since we’d first met. He just happened to be a constant reminder about my grandmother’s extramarital affair. The one resulting in a pregnancy—my mother. I was having a hard time getting over it.

  “I don’t hate him,” I whispered.

  “You sure have a strange way of showing otherwise.”

  “Anyway, I need to go. He wants to show me something.”

  Ebony wiggled her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind him showing me something.”

  “Eb, he’s more than twice your age!” Not to mention my biological grandfather, which made her suggestive jokes that much more obscene.

  “So what? I’m sure he’d still be good in the—”

  I strode across the office, giving her the not-so-subtle hint that I was walking out on her dirty conversation. “Okay, I’m officially continuing the rest of my day off. Can you handle things here?”

  “Sure. Have fun!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Make sure you type everything Mrs. Wicker said to us, print it out and leave it on my desk. I need to find out what’s happening.”

  “You think this is bigger than just a missing spook husband, don’t you?”

  I stopped to look at her. “Do you?”

  It took her a few seconds of nibbling on her bottom lip, but she finally nodded. “Yeah, what happened with her was freaky. I’ve never seen a spook flicker on and off like that. It gave me the creeps.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ll call you later.”

  “Sure, like I said, have fun with Oren!”

  I didn’t bother with a response. All I wanted to do was get this thing over and done with, because I had a feeling that my life was going to head into some very dark territory. Again.

  Chapter Three

  “Ah, I was just about to go upstairs,” Oren said as I strolled out into the sticky heat of late afternoon.

  I looked him up and down, once again wondering how he could stand to wear black everything on a day like this. How did he seriously not feel the heat? Though, I couldn’t talk. Ebony always hassled me about how I could handle jeans and cargo pants in the middle of a hot Sydney summer. My well-worn and faded jeans or cargoes made me feel comfortable, no matter what the season.

  “Aren’t you a little overdressed?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at his tailored black pants, matching shirt and jacket.

  The old man looked down at himself and grinned. “You never know where you’re going to end up, Sierra. It pays to dress appropriately.”

  “It’s summer, what you’re wearing isn’t appropriate anywhere.”

  “The last week of summer—”

  “Okay, you win.” I wasn’t in the mood for another of our squabbles. I usually enjoyed getting on his nerves but couldn’t be bothered right now. Not when I was still antsy about Papan, what happened with Jonathan, and had just witnessed a ghost fade away right before my eyes. What the hell was that about?

  “Is something bothering you, Sierra?”

  I shrugged. “There are a lot of things bothering me at the moment, but I’d like to deal with one thing at a time.” I looked up to meet his clear, blue eyes. They were so light they sometimes looked spooky, but nowhere near as freaky as when they turned pink because he was using his power.

  Oren McKee was a witch hunter, who also happened to be a witch. He’d once told me the best way to catch something was by being that very same thing, but I don’t agree. I’m not a spook and I find ghosts. I’m not a witch, yet because of him, had some witchy blood. Besides, the other hunters weren’t the things they hunted either. Even though Lavie, a demon hunter, had a demonic seed attached to her.

  I winced at the thought. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what she went through every day, living with those things moving around inside her. I’d promised Carleen Hocking—she shared the unfortunate demoni
c seed problem with Lavie—that I would get in touch with her as soon as I found a cure. After the ordeal with her husband, she’d left Serene Hills in a hurry, and I couldn’t blame her.

  “Anything you’d like to chat about?” Oren asked, giving me a quick glance before turning around to face the street.

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  He might be able to help with the disappearing spook situation, but I was on my own with Papan and Jonathan.

  “Maybe another time,” I said with a shake of my head. “Now, how are we getting to wherever it is we’re going?”

  “I thought we could go in your car.”

  “Of course you did. What happened to yours?” The first time I agreed to meet him outside of the hunter group had been at the Bayview Cemetery, where I’d assumed a black 4WD parked near mine was his. Later, my assumption was confirmed when he drove us in that vehicle to the same location.

  “I don’t have it anymore.”

  “How do you get around then?” For all I knew, he walked everywhere. Or maybe he had a broomstick tucked away somewhere. The thought made me smile.

  “I’ve got my ways,” he said, winking.

  “Okay, my car’s across the street. Let’s go.” It didn’t take us long to cross the busy road in silence and get strapped into my whale of a car. My 1972 Ford ZF Fairlane is bulky and powder blue. It’s not the best car in the world, but I inherited it from my grandfather. Once he died and became a ghost, he didn’t need the car but wanted someone to appreciate the vehicle. It wasn’t the most reliable car in the world and it took me a few turns to get the engine to kick over, but I was attached to it. My grandfather had this car for over thirty years and he took good care of it. The Fairlane had been his pride and joy and I couldn’t bring myself to trade it in for a newer model, or even tuck it away in the garage to collect dust.