Underground - Greywalker 3 by Kat Richardson

Author:Kat Richardson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy - Paranormal
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2011-12-20T15:13:42+00:00

"Do I know you?" I asked. The woman on one side of me glanced my way then back to the tour guide when she realized I wasn't talking to her. Quinton touched his hand to mine but didn't make a bigger move - he knew I faced something he couldn't see or hurt.

"No," the whisper replied - I could hardly think of it as more - and the connection was made. It was a discarnate revenant. I'd met a manifest revenant before and not enjoyed the experience, but never a discarnate. Powerful in life and aware in death but entirely incorporeal, they were generally angry, frustrated, and malevolent. They're the things that whisper madness and suicide into the ears of the receptive and depressed. A shred of some powerful thing that had died or been exorcised incompletely, this one must have been the remains of something the native medicine man had tried to remove but could only weaken enough to bind it to this place. Nasty bits of psychic personality, all revenants were aware of everything around them, even if they couldn't affect it, and that made for a vicious and tricky ghost. Since this one knew who I was, it probably knew what I was looking for.

I edged away from my corporeal neighbors and muttered, "Tell you what, I'll leave you alone if you tell me where to find the Sistu."

I felt it laugh more than heard it. "Find death where there is no light, no comfort, between the tides, in a pool that is not a pool." It laughed again and faded away, letting the energy of the Indians magic slide back into its warding shape.

Well, I thought, it had been worth a try. And at least the nasty thing was gone, I added with a shudder. Whatever it had been in life, it was one unpleasant customer in the afterlife. The unsettling feeling of the room eased when the invisible creature left.

Quinton shot me a questioning glance and wrapped my hand in his but I shook my head and mouthed, "Later."

Our guide was asking for questions and almost ready to move on. I put my hand in the air.

"Yes. The lady in the back," he acknowledged, pointing at me from his height over the heads of the tourists.

I put my hand down. "You mentioned the ghost of the bank teller. Are there other ghosts associated with this corner?"

"Well, not anymore," he replied, "although there are reportedly other ghosts in the underground. A lot of tour guests used to report seeing or hearing the ghosts of Native Americans here.

It was so disturbing and frequent that a shaman was called in around 1997, if I remember correctly, to clear the place and send the ghosts away. It must have worked, because it's been pretty quiet since then."

The old man we'd talked to Saturday night had been right about the ghosts, but wrong about the dates. I wondered what the Indian ghosts had been doing down here, since Fish had said that the living and the dead didn't mix.

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