Right outside of his hastily dug burrow, Daniel floated in the pre-dawn gloom, looking like he was made of that glowing fog from the dream. He looked distinct enough, but Riordan could see the trees through his body. He was more like he’d been in the brief moment before Riordan had woken up, rope knotted on the one leg and arms injured but not bleeding.

None of that explained how he was here at all or why Riordan could see and hear him.

“Whoa,” Daniel whispered, awe on his face, “You’re a honey badger. That’s totally badass!”

And that killed the suspense. Riordan hissed at the annoying ghost before trundling the rest of the way out of the burrow to stretch properly. Whatever else that dream had been, it did not make for restful sleep. He took stock of himself. The cuts on his arms seemed fully healed up and his cracked skull was just a lingering headache. His dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs were likewise feeling normal. Instead, he had a whole body ache, a combination of yesterday’s overexertion and the night’s poor sleep.

His personal well of power remained low, which wasn’t surprising since most of it had gone to healing in the night. Riordan didn’t think he could manage to translate the meditation breathing for his badger body at the moment, but he also didn’t really need to be human either, now that he’d found a safe enough place to stash Daniel’s corpse.

Speaking of which…

“Holy hell, is that my body?” Daniel yelped, pulling his torso back out of the hill where he’d been experimenting with floating through solid objects, checking out Riordan’s burrows. Riordan hoped he’d be a bit more cautious after that shock. He had no idea what the rules and pitfalls were for existence as a ghost.

I was hardly going to leave your body behind for them to have just because I couldn’t get you to help fast enough, Riordan thought at the ghost, Sorry that I couldn’t do better than that for keeping it safe.

Daniel stared at the hill, eyes focused on the shed shell of his former life. Riordan wasn’t sure if Daniel could actually see through the dirt to the corpse, but that didn’t change where the man’s attention was fixated. Riordan also wasn’t sure if Daniel could hear his mental voice, even if it had seemed like he’d responded to him before. He contemplated the practicalities spending most of his low pool of energy to shift into human form to console the ghost.

Not that I’m any good at consoling anyone, Riordan thought bitterly.

That got a response. Daniel’s eyes flicked over to Riordan and he frowned. “Stop that,” the ghost scowled, his tone brooking no argument, “I already told you it wasn’t your fault. It’s also not your job to make me feel better about this shit. I’ll… get used to it.”

Riordan rolled his eyes, which didn’t translate well to badger eyes so he swung his head to emphasize the gesture. He waddled over to where Daniel floated and headbutted the ghost. Unlike in the dream place, Riordan passed through Daniel’s body without any resistance, just a slight chill where he stuck his head into Daniel’s leg. He reared back, snuffling and buried his nose in the dirt to get rid of that feeling.

Nope, not doing that again. That was awkward.

After a half beat, Daniel burst out in hysterical laughter, body curling up and rolling in midair with the force of the emotions spilling out of him. Riordan huffed and plopped down, waiting for Daniel to be quite finished. That just set the young man off again into a new fit of giggles. Riordan wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he considered this much preferable to seeing the lighthearted man grieving, even if he knew it was necessary. He’d deal with it.

After a few minutes of loud laughter that only Riordan could hear, not breaking the peace of the sunrise in the swamp, Daniel finally settled down. He regarded Riordan levely, no longer wracked in mirth but without the weight from before.

“So,” he asked, drawing out the word, “what now?”

That truly was the question. Riordan felt desperately out of his depths. He was alive and had temporarily escaped pursuit, but he was still embroiled in a death spell whose consequences he did not understand in the least. He had gone from barely acknowledging magic outside of survival purposes to somehow pulling a ghost out of a cursed space to haunt him instead. He wasn’t even sure if it was something he’d done or just a thing that could happen with the spell. Heck, the people who wrote the spell might not know either, given survivors weren’t part of the plan.

His escape also changed nothing about the fact that there were a group of people kidnapping and killing people in the woods. Based on the number of bodies hanging from that tree, they knew what they were doing when it came to hiding the murders, whether that was covering their tracks, a wide network of helpers, or just bribery to look the other way. They needed to be stopped. Riordan couldn’t hope to do that alone, not even with a friendly ghost haunting him.

Which all brought him back to the split-second conclusion Riordan had made when forced to choose which direction to run the evening before.

There was a shifter community loosely centered around the place of power at the Sleeping Bear dunes. Riordan had become adept at reading the subtle spiritual and magical markers that the magical communities used to mark their territories, all so he could avoid them. He’d never even crossed their outer boundary, much less approached the community itself. If he got to Lake Michigan, he’d be able to orient himself and walk along the coast until he reached them. After he told them what was happening this close to their territory, well, Riordan wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like he could just run from this problem. Even if the rope wasn’t visible on his badger form, he could feel it wrapped tight around him on a spiritual level.

In answer to Daniel, Riordan offered as he used the sunrise to find west again, There are more magic types hopefully not far from here, in one of those communities I mentioned. Warning them seems the place to start.

“You said this thing was bad magic. What if they are involved?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow as he drifted closer.

That was a horrible thought. Riordan no longer considered himself worthy of being part of shifter culture and even then, he couldn’t imagine a whole community of shifters allowing something like this to happen or exist. On rare occasions, shifters fell to the temptation of death magic, same as any other desperate person, but the way this spell hinged on the unwilling corruption of a natural spirit was anathema to shifter spirituality. Riordan could imagine a single shifter deciding such perversion of the natural order was necessary under extreme circumstances, but a whole community? No, never.

And it would have to be the whole shifter community if they were involved at all. The rate of decay on the older corpses, holding together through the power of the curse and not much else, indicated this was an extended endeavor. A shifter in an active community couldn’t go that long without the pack guardian checking on them, especially once the corruption started resonating in the pack bond. The pack would be quick to cut out such a member to prevent its spread, likely by cutting their life short.

Still, the world changed quickly these days and Riordan had been away a long time. It wasn’t completely unimaginable, just horrific to consider. He clung to some hope that the shifters hadn’t fallen that far since he last interacted with them.

This kind of magic, that uses death to power it, corrupts the spirit that anchors it and the soul of the caster. Such corruption becomes visible to anyone with the ability to sense magic after a time. If a shifter was caught practicing such magic, they would be executed for their crimes, Riordan explained. They wouldn’t turn a blind eye to someone doing this so close to their territory if they were aware of it.

Riordan picked his way along the ridgeline of the hill he’d burrowed into. Under the cover of the trees, the light was dim and hazy soft, but he tried to pick out every landmark he could. He wanted to be able to find his way back here someday, or tell someone else how to get here if that was impossible. Daniel deserved a real grave, though he knew the ghost would hit him again if Riordan said as much. The man was far too kind and forgiving, which only intensified Riordan’s desire to do right by him.

The pair traveled in silence for a while, each sitting with their own thoughts. They both had some serious processing to do. Riordan wasn’t ready to delve too deep into the situation, afraid to come up against his ignorance at every turn, and even less ready to dwell on what it would be like to talk to another shifter again.

He wasn’t one of the gregarious animal shifters, but even he had felt more complete with a pack bond in place because however solitary honey badgers might be, humans were gregarious creatures. He wasn’t sure what the technical term for a herd of humans was, but it was definitely a thing. Every time he came up across a marker left by a shifter or even saw one at a distance in some public neutral place, an intense longing and loneliness washed over him. Shifters tended to cluster towards each other in response to that pull. His exile was designed to deny him that consolation as penance for his crimes. Lone shifters were occasionally known to fade away or go crazy if isolated too long, either of which could lead to death if not treated. It wouldn’t have surprised him if that was how his exile was expected to go, but Riordan was tougher than most people knew, which meant he suffered longer mostly.

He huffed and shook himself, hating the crawling loneliness under his skin. That feeling pushed him to break the silence, even though he still took care to watch the landmarks. Hey, Daniel. Tell me about yourself?

The ghost startled as Riordan’s mental voice reached him. Daniel seemed to be able to hear Riordan whenever he thought the words clearly as if speaking, either to tell himself something or directed towards another. It was an effect that could happen with advanced pack bonds between shifters. Riordan had no idea why it worked with Daniel, but there was almost nothing he understood about Daniel’s situation at this point.

“Um, what do you want to know?” Daniel asked. He’d been faking walking but switched back to floating alongside Riordan to give the conversation his full attention.

Anything, Riordan said, shrugging. The gesture looked funny on a badger, but translated better than rolling eyes. My head is being loud. How about… Why were you traveling to your aunt?

“Ouch, going right to the deep stuff,” Daniel winced.

Riordan rushed to reassure him, You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.

“No, I don’t mind. But, if I answer your question, you have to answer one of mine. Okay?” Daniel swooped in front of Riordan to make sure he saw the serious expression on the ghost’s face.

The idea of opening up to anyone felt about as appealing as cutting open his guts to show them off. Possibly more painful even. Riordan snarled before he could stop himself, sending Daniel dashing away with wide eyes even if the badger couldn’t touch the ghost to follow through on the implied threat.

It was Daniel’s turn to offer a quick, “Or not. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

In an effort of will, Riordan strangled down his temper and the defensive urge he had to attack Daniel, leaving deep gouges in the ground as he did so. He didn’t look too closely at why he wanted to hurt Daniel just because he asked for access to Riordan’s truths.

I guess the first thing you should know about me is that I’m bad with people, Riordan thought carefully, I don’t do emotional attachments and I’m a shit person to rely on. However, since you seem to be stuck with me, I’m… trying. We can trade questions. And if either of us can’t answer one right now, just veto it.