Daniel still did not look well. After using more of his limited energy to shift back into badger, Riordan didn’t feel too hot himself. They walked in silence for a while, too tired from the adrenaline and the brush with more death magic to feel chatty. Riordan wished he knew what those statues were supposed to do, but still took grim satisfaction in their destruction.

Riordan wasn’t sure what to make of the whole thing. The presence of death magic at the house and the hunter’s comment about the boss owning the people who lived in this area made it almost guaranteed that house had been related to the same group doing the killing tree ritual. The resident, Kimberlee, had been talking some sort of gibberish about divine females and acknowledgment ceremonies, which sounded religious to Riordan. Or possibly cultish.

Damn, was this some sort of weird death cult operating out of quaint Michigan cabins? Or maybe not directly a death cult, but a cult that had leaders using death magic on its members and to forward its goals? Cults of any flavor sounded horrible, but would explain where a group willing to commit ritual murders may have come from.

He’d have to figure out where the cult itself came from, if that was the case, which didn’t really get him closer to answers.

What kept throwing Riordan off was the level of sophistication in the spells used by this mage. Most death mages were fumbling around in the dark, guessing at how to use the power they had while rapidly descending into self-destructive insanity. This one had training, enough to do extended rituals and to enchant objects. Self-taught mages did sometimes stumble on how to do those things, same as whomever first invented it, but streamlining a technique took repetition. It was possible that the death mage here had another natural-born affinity and turned to death magic later. Riordan would have expected to see at least trace mana from their other affinities in that case, since they would be more accustomed to using that energy for spells. Everything had been death with undercurrents of blood so far, no other affinity traces.

He had no idea how hard it would be for a new death mage to get access to a grimoire of death magic spells. Rare, he assumed. Such things were either restricted to the major Mage families for records and research or simply destroyed if found. Still, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that if one did come across such a grimoire, they might be tempted to use it for personal power and form a cult around it.

He set aside contemplation of the cult for the moment, having reached the edge of his information and not wanting to fall into a realm of pure wild speculation. Pausing at the top of another hill, he took a short break, stretching his whole body bit by bit to relieve some of the persistent aches.

Daniel floated near him, looking nearly asleep on his feet, which was an odd look for a ghost. He hadn’t gotten any more see-through and he wasn’t fuzzy at the edges, but Riordan couldn’t really say he was noticeably improving either.

How are you feeling? Riordan asked cautiously.

The question made Daniel jump way out of proportion. He’d clearly been zoned pretty far out. Riordan could practically see him replaying the last few seconds in his head over and over, trying to process what was said. And failing, given all he said was, “...What?”

Riordan snuffled in his direction, worried. You’re not okay.

Daniel blinked and then smiled ruefully. “Sorry. I’m just feeling really… vague, I guess. Like I’ve been awake for too long and everything is just starting to blur together.” His smile grew wider and he laughed. “At least we know that I follow you in my sleep now.”

Tilting his head and staring up at the floating ghost, Riordan asked, What do you mean?

“Well, moving as a ghost has been mostly about intention so far. I don’t have to think about it exactly, no more than I did when I was alive, but I’m also not drifting in the breeze or moving anywhere I look at,” Daniel tried to put words to it. He gestured broadly, the animation of the motions shaking off a bit of that clinging lethargy. “I have to want to go somewhere and I can walk or fly there. Which… Holy shit, I’m flying. That’s, like, the coolest thing and I’ve been too tired and distracted to appreciate it.”

The ghost looked genuinely disgruntled at this fact. Riordan got hints of the enthusiastic, optimistic young man Daniel should have been, peeking through the muck of loss and threat. He would have made a good doctor, caring and engaged, but also a good journalist, dogged and charismatic.

And now, he was just a ghost.

Riordan shoved away his own feelings of guilt about that. It’s entirely possible that Daniel would have been grabbed whether he was there or not. Without him, Daniel would have just been dead, hanging on the tree, haunting the foggy horror space of the spell alone.

Besides, his focus needed to be on what Daniel was trying to explain. Yes, you are flying, Riordan thought with amusement, but what’s that got to do with following me?

“Well, I basically went into zombie mode there,” Daniel held out his arms and made a few steps mid-air mimicking movie zombies. “Even then, I never got far from you. It’s like, in the absence of conscious effort to the contrary, my default is to be right next to you.”

That made a strange sort of sense to Riordan when he thought about it. Ghosts haunted things or people, right? Daniel seemed to be haunting him, therefore he would be where Riordan was. The biggest flaw in that was Riordan wasn’t really sure Daniel was haunting him, since neither of them had any idea why Daniel had ended up manifesting near Riordan after that dream, rather than being literally tied to that spell space.

In lieu of real answers, Riordan merely thought dryly at Daniel, Must be my magnetic personality.

Daniel stared for a moment and then began laughing, “Indeed. How could anyone resist that whole ‘I’d as soon tear your face off as look at you’ vibe going on? Oh, and sometimes you are an adorable furry bundle of rage and murder.”

Fuck you, Riordan growled, showing his sharp teeth as if he couldn’t wait to take a bite of delicious ghost, Not adorable.

“Dude, you are totally adorable, except when you go full aggro and become terrifying as fuck,” Daniel taunted, though he still floated a few feet higher off the ground.

Riordan grumbled, digging into the ground with his claws and looking away. He didn’t like the idea that anyone would consider him something as harmless as adorable. He didn’t need everyone to treat him like a threat anymore, but still, words like that encouraged people to get close and not get scared off from getting to actually know him. The situation with Daniel had forced him to be way more open with his feelings than Riordan was comfortable with and now the young man was acting like they almost might be friends.

I don’t do friends, Riordan grumbled without really meaning to, unsure whether he was trying to convince Daniel or himself. Letting people close meant that they could hurt you or, worse, that they could get dragged into his shit. Riordan ignored that deep seed of loneliness that had accompanied him since his exile.

As if sensing he was pushing Riordan’s limits, Daniel settled down closer again and switched the topic. “So, I don’t know if you checked yourself while you were wrecking stuff in that house, but I found some of her mail before I stupidly walked into a magical trap. The address listed the town as Thompsonville, though we’re obviously not anywhere near the town itself.”

Riordan hadn’t even thought to check for that. He was way out of practice, but Daniel’s journalistic nosiness seemed to be saving them. Still, he shook his head, Never heard of it and that’s a really generic name.

Daniel chuckled, “It really is. Still, I think I remember it being south of Interlochen. I spent a summer at one of their arts camps once. That would place us northwest of where we were grabbed, though still south of Traverse City.”

That was the first bit of good news Riordan had gotten. It put them closer to the Sleeping Bear shifters. If he was able to take a direct path, he might even be able to reach there today, especially since he only needed to get close enough to trip their territory markers. Since he wasn’t taking a direct path and was having to avoid any houses, roads, or trails, just in case, early tomorrow was more likely. He didn’t have the energy to walk through the night after everything he’d been through recently.

Though, it might be a good idea to push hard, put some more distance between him, the tree, and Kimberlee’s house and then settle down to rest early. He could travel at night without as many problems as his pursuers.

Loosely settled on a plan, Riordan turned back to Daniel. Find out anything else in your snooping?

“Yeah,” Daniel responded, “There are at least three names on the mail, all with different last names. Kimberlee Paige, Mary Southers, and Jennifer Mark. It all looked like typical bills and junk mail stuff in the quick look I got, except a flier for women’s education events in the area and a magazine about outdoors activities in Michigan. Not sure if any of that is important, but maybe they are all involved somehow, since those statues were out in the open.”

Kimberlee was the one who had been inside, Riordan answered, She called a Mary as she was leaving and they both seemed excited about one of the statues glowing. I’d say you are probably right.

Daniel shrugged, “It’s a starting point. For once we reach your shifter friends, right?”

That comment hit Riordan like a bucket of ice water. As important as it was to both warn the local magical community and to get a chance at someone trained to handle this, Riordan wasn’t exactly going to be welcomed with open arms or thanked. Hell, he would be happy if they didn’t pull out torches and pitchforks at his intrusion, no matter how important or what his intentions were.