Ghostland (2 page)

The priest closed his eyes, perhaps in prayer. Or perhaps he looked elsewhere for guidance, though the Church was prone to view such talents in the same way they viewed vampires and shapeshifters, as devil-born or devil-touched.

Aisling’s hand closed into a fist. She willed herself to show no emotion. Even so, she felt herself tremble slightly as the small bud of hope was mercilessly crushed when he opened his eyes and said, “If you’re ready, then, we’ll leave. I want to be back at the diocese before nightfall.”

Movement beyond the priest caught her attention. When she saw the black ferret with the golden eyes, a small ray of happiness penetrated the darkness of her fear at being taken away. Aziel meant to go with her or he wouldn’t have come out in the presence of these strangers.

“You’ll need to take your pet,” Geneva said, her expression stoic. “I won’t have him here unattended and going after the chickens.”

“Come, Aziel,” Aisling said, though it was unnecessary. The ferret was already scampering toward her. He made quick work of climbing up her clothing and draping himself around her neck in a living stole.

“You’re sure you have everything you need?” the priest asked, his eyes drifting to the ferret briefly before returning to Aisling’s face.

She nodded, afraid if she tried to speak the sudden lump in her throat would prevent it.

The walk to the front door and beyond, to the heavy truck favored by police and guardsmen when traveling into the countryside, was a blur. Aisling focused inward. She tried to isolate herself from what was happening.

Unconsciously she sought comfort. Her hand curled around Aziel’s luxurious tail and the ferret chirped softly.

Only two guardsmen and the priest had gone into the house, but lounging around the truck were three men carrying machine guns. A fourth stood in the bed, leaning against a machine gun mounted there.

The captain opened the back door and stepped aside; the priest waved Aisling forward. She resisted the urge to look back as she climbed in.

She could feel the eyes of her family members watching her. She could imagine the fear that would cling to them even after the rumble of the truck faded.

The truck doors slammed and the engine roared to life. The guardsmen took up positions on the bed.

“Ready?” yelled the driver.

One of the men in back pounded on the roof in a signal to go.

The priest said nothing and soon they were on the highway. Signs marked the distance to Oakland, to San Francisco and beyond—to worlds both foreign and familiar to Aisling, places she’d never seen except in her imagination and in the books Geneva loved to collect and share.

Fear faded and curiosity grew with each mile they traveled. Aziel repositioned himself to look out the window. Every now and then he chirruped as though he were a tour guide pointing out the various landmarks.

“The ferret is unusual,” the priest said, breaking the long silence. “Do you consider him your familiar?”

Aisling turned from the window to look at the man who’d taken her away from her home. He was older than she, with crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and a mouth that seemed ready to smile.

“He’s a pet. I thought familiars were for witches and warlocks to claim. Do shamans have them, too?”

The priest shook his head. “No, not that I’ve ever encountered.” He tentatively reached a hand toward the ferret, but Aziel turned quickly and hissed a warning.

“He’s not friendly with strangers,” Aisling said. She didn’t want to make an enemy of someone who might prove to be an ally. “Why am I being taken to Oakland?”

The priest tilted his head slightly to indicate the two men in the front seat of the truck. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter.” His gaze drifted to the ferret that once again had his paws on the window and was looking out. “Where did you get Aziel?”

His continued interest troubled Aisling. She suspected he wouldn’t admit to possessing supernatural gifts, at least not to her, but she worried that he’d guessed Aziel was something more, even if she herself wasn’t sure exactly what her companion was.

She didn’t think of Aziel as her familiar. If she were to label his role it would be spirit guardian. Perhaps a witch’s familiar acted in a similar manner. Unfortunately the few witches she knew about were secretive and coven-bound. They were not women to share a confidence with or to ask one of.

When the priest didn’t turn away from her, she said, “I found him. I think he was hitching a ride with a trader’s caravan. Probably the chickens on the farm tempted him out of one of the vehicles. A day or so after they moved on, I discovered him.”

The priest chuckled and let the topic drop. Aisling returned her attention to the rapidly approaching cityscape. “I don’t know much about Oakland and who rules it.”

“At the moment it has a mayor and a board of supervisors. The Church is represented, as are various human groups. It’s safe enough during the day but the night belongs to the predators.”

Goose bumps rose on Aisling’s arm and spread when they reached the city and were greeted by the burned-out buildings. After the plague had run its course and the supernaturals revealed their presence, anarchy had reigned for a while.

The streets, especially in the big cities, filled with violence and fear, and with the raw need to survive in a place where shelter was plentiful but food and fuel scarce. Eventually the armed services and guardsmen brought order, but the cities were still scarred by their pasts. And though the United States still existed as a nation, it was not the same glorious nation it had once been—if the history books and stories were to be believed.

It all happened well before she was born, and had seemed irrelevant to everyday life until now. She never expected to see any of the big cities. There was no reason to go there and no money to do so. Unless a person was rich or well connected or joined a merchant caravan, travel was expensive and dangerous.

Aisling startled as the men in the back of the truck fired a quick burst from their machine guns. The priest said, “Nothing to worry about. Those are just warning shots.”

She studied the scene in front of her: fallen buildings and shattered glass, abandoned automobiles and faded trash. Whether real or imagined, she suddenly felt watched. “Who lives here?” she whispered despite the impossibility of anyone outside the truck hearing her.

“Malcontents. The insane. The unfit and outcast.”

“Humans?”

“For the most part, though I imagine it’s a hunting ground for the predators.”

The blackened, destroyed section slowly gave way to areas where buildings were being reclaimed. Heavily guarded warehouses stood next to abandoned ones. Run-down, darkened tenement houses stood next to buildings with iron bars silhouetted in soft yellow light.

Landscaped medians and planted trees marked the point where poverty and struggle gave way to comfort, though the bars on the windows and doors remained. Armed police and guardsmen patrolled the streets. Men, women and children dressed in bright clothing hurried to get their business accomplished before the daylight faded.

Aisling looked down at her own worn and work-stained clothes. She thought about the priest’s hesitation when she’d asked if she would be able to return home.

Fear lodged in her chest and throat again as she wondered if she’d survive this city, this task that had brought armed men and a servant of the Church to the San Joaquin in order to retrieve her.

Aziel turned from the window. His wet nose found her ear in a rooting, affectionate gesture conveying his belief everything would be okay.

She smiled despite the turmoil of her emotions and the sight of the Church that loomed ahead when the truck turned onto a narrow street. They passed through a heavily guarded gate, then slowed to a stop.

“Here we are,” the priest said. He smoothed the black material of his cassock as he glanced at the streaks of red marking the impending sunset.

Opulence, wealth, pictures painted by masters who’d been dead hundreds of years before The Last War. Those were the impressions Aisling was left with as she was led through the hallways by a woman in a nun’s habit. “Now that I know your size, I’ll arrange for fresh clothing,” the nun said as she ushered Aisling into a small, comfortably furnished room. “Take a shower. There will be food waiting when you’re finished.” She glanced at the ferret with curiosity. “Do you need anything for your pet?”

“A litter box.”

The nun nodded and shut the door. A lock slid into place with a nearly silent click, trapping Aisling in a room with handwoven rugs and polished wooden floors, furniture that was pleasing to the eye as well as functional. It didn’t look like a prison, but even without the locked door, the unfamiliar city and lack of money or allies made it one.

She glanced out into the nearly dark sky and let her thoughts flow to the hot shower and the promised meal. They were all prisoners of the night and the predators waiting in it.

Aisling pulled Aziel from her shoulder and set him on the back edge of a chair before going into the bathroom. She stripped out of her clothing, and shivered with pleasure when she stepped under the hot water. She stayed until a shadow announced the nun’s return.

Dismay filled her when she left the shower to find her clothes missing, replaced by a long black dress with a wide skirt. It was a modest garment, meant to conceal the female form.

Aisling didn’t want to wear it, but the dress was her only choice other than wrapping herself in a towel or bedsheet. Her eyes widened when she saw a hair dryer next to the sink. It was a luxurious use of electricity she wasn’t accustomed to.

In her enjoyment of the hot water, she’d gotten her hair thoroughly soaked. The thick, honey-blond strands curled around her buttocks when unbound and could take hours to dry.

Using the hair dryer was almost as blissful as the shower. She lingered several minutes beyond the point where her hair could be braided and coiled at the back of her head.

Aziel was helping himself to a piece of chicken by the time Aisling emerged from the bathroom. She laughed at his naughtiness. He wouldn’t have dared to get on the kitchen table at home, Geneva would have . . .

A lump formed in Aisling’s throat. She blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by homesickness and worry.

The ferret looked up from the meat clasped between his paws. He chirped excitedly.

Aisling forced away all thought but appreciation for the food in front of her. She joined Aziel at the table and ate. When it was done she checked the door and found it locked. With no books to read and no one to talk to, she lay down on the bed with Aziel curled on her pillow.

It was getting late when the sound of the door opening woke her. “Come, they’re waiting for you,” the nun who’d escorted her to the room said.

Aisling slipped from the bed. “I’d like my clothes back.”

“They’re being washed. When they’re clean, they’ll be returned.”

It was such a small thing, considering everything that had happened and might yet happen, but the knowledge she’d soon be wearing her own clothing lifted Aisling’s spirits. “Thank you,” she whispered as Aziel reclaimed his perch on her shoulder.

The nun’s expression gentled. “Come,” she said, her voice warmer. “They’re waiting for you. I believe it must be important given the mayor’s presence.”

Aisling was led to a room. It was cold, as if it wasn’t used much and therefore wasn’t heated often. Though the nun had said the mayor waited, there were only two men in the room—one was the priest who’d come for her, the other a much older man wearing bloodred robes.

“You’ve met Father Ursu,” the unknown priest said. “I’m Bishop Routledge. Your services are needed. In exchange for a successful performance of them, you’ll be granted a license to practice your skills in Oakland. You’ll be provided with a residence in the area of town where others with controversial abilities have settled. You’ll also receive vouchers for food and transportation as well as a small fee in order to ease your transition.”

He started to turn away. Aisling said, “Father Ursu told me I’d be allowed to return home.”

The bishop halted. He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Returning home with a financial reward is a possibility. But first let’s see if you succeed tonight.”

Aisling tried to appear confident, unafraid. His voice and wording confirmed what she already knew. There was no choice about whether or not she would help them. “What service have I been brought here to perform?”

She asked, and yet she knew there could be only one thing they wanted of her, to enter the spiritlands where the dead waited for judgment or rebirth, where they found heaven or hell, depending on belief. It was a shaman’s gift to go into the ghostlands, to walk in the afterlife and bargain for answers and help from the beings found there.

“An important constituent is in need of aid. He asked me to act as a go-between. A woman acquaintance of his has disappeared. The police haven’t been able to find out what happened to her. Our constituent wants closure, even if the news is bad. It’s not something the Church would typically condone or take part in, but there are extenuating circumstances. We’re hoping a shaman or shamaness might be able to locate her, especially if her soul has already departed.”

Bishop Routledge retrieved a photograph from a table Aisling hadn’t noticed. He handed the picture to her. “The woman’s name is Elena Rousseau. I fear time is of the essence. Father Ursu will remain with you. I have other matters to attend to.”

The bishop left the room without another word. Father Ursu indicated a chair next to the table. “I’ve witnessed this kind of thing before. I won’t interfere.” He picked up a chalice and handed it to her.

Aisling managed to contain her expression and her thoughts when she glanced down to find grains of salt in the silver cup. Aziel chattered happily as he buried his hands in the white granules and threw some of the salt to the floor.