Familiar Spirit

Sarah walked more quickly, stumbled, and cried out, bruising her hip against a doorframe. Her own breath was coming so quickly that she couldn’t hear anything else above the sound of it rasping in her ears. Her hand trembled as she stretched it out, and she had to grit her teeth, but her fingers found the edge of the kitchen doorway and she oriented herself again.

Behind her—but she wouldn’t think about that. There was nothing behind her. There was no one else in the house—only Jade. And Jade could not hurt her. Jade was not a person, not a thing, not a demon, but only the leftover echo of someone who had once lived. He had powers, still, but they were not physical powers. He could only use her own mind, her fears, against herself. All he had was trickery, and she would not let herself be tricked by him again. Feeling a little more secure in her own strength, Sarah stepped through the doorway, and into the solid, immovable body of a man. Powerful arms crushed her in an embrace.

She should have been frightened, but, for a moment, all Sarah wanted to do was to relax, to give herself up to sensation, to be stroked by knowing hands. She had turned her face up to be kissed, straining forward, when her own response, the betrayal by her own body, suddenly frightened her far more than any invisible stranger. She jerked away, flailing out with her arms and shouting incoherently. Her blows did not connect. There was no one there.

Panting, her shoulders slumped. “No,” Sarah said, in case her point had not been taken. “I won’t—I don’t want you. Stay away from me.”

Jade’s voice came out of the darkness, cold and distinct. “You have not learned yet, have you, Sarah? A woman has the right to play coy, but there are limits. There comes a time to say yes instead of no. And if you will not . . . if you still reject me . . . then I shall have to show you what I do to those who reject me, to those who try to escape me.”

“You can’t,” said Sarah. “You’re not so powerful. I know what you are. I’m not afraid of you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You’re not a demon, at all. You’re just a man—just what’s left of a man—a man who somehow didn’t die when his body did.”

“Ah,” said the voice, mocking. Laughter bubbled just below the surface. “Is that all that I am? And is that so little? To be a man who did not die—who will not die?”

“You will die,” Sarah said stubbornly. It was a feeble challenge, and she knew her voice must betray her own uncertainty and fear. “There’s a way you can be destroyed . . . there must be.”

“But you will never find it,” said the voice, still so close to her ear that she had to restrain herself from flinching away. “Nancy Owens thought she understood. She thought she could trick me. And do you know what happened to Nancy Owens? She could not save herself in the end.”

Sarah saw a light. It was a thin, wavering line of yellow seeping beneath the bedroom door. She was puzzled by it—she didn’t remember turning on any light in the bedroom. And there was something about the quality of the light—it made her think of candles. Candles burning in the bedroom?

“Go and see,” said Jade softly. “Go and see for yourself what happened . . . what will happen to you, if you continue to fight me.”

Sarah walked slowly across the floor, took hold of the doorknob, and opened the door.

Half a dozen candle-ends flickered and guttered on the floor, filling the room with a watery light that made the blood glisten like black ink. There were two bodies on the floor, a man and a woman, their throats gashed open. In the far corner crouched a small, black beast, the only living thing in the room. Its eyes reflected the candle flames and, as it saw Sarah in the doorway, its tail began to thump the floor.

Sarah shuddered and gripped the edge of the door hard, trying to anchor herself to reality. No, it’s not real, she told herself, and strained to see beyond the illusion—beyond the candles, the bodies, the animal—to the empty bedroom that she knew was there.

But even as she told herself that she was seeing only a scene from the vanished past, even as she tried to disperse the horror with the strength of her own will, the dead began to stir. There was a horrible, heavy, sliding sound, and tangled limbs and bloody clothing moved. The woman, her head flopping and lolling as if it would fall off, pushed herself up off the floor. Now she was on her hands and knees; now, horribly, rising. The blood on her face and dress and arms looked like dark paint. Her eyes stared glassily through a gore-streaked face, and she turned slowly towards Sarah.

Sarah’s chest hurt with fear. She stepped back quickly and pulled the door shut. Her heart was pushing up into her throat, and she saw stars of light circling in the blackness before her eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sarah,” said a man’s voice, Jade’s voice, mocking and easy and low. “It would be such a waste. You and I should be together. I can teach you so much.”