As I made my way towards the library, sitting on a lumpy bus seat, I considered my next steps. Ben had gone ahead of me, which I didn't mind as it gave me time to think. Not that I needed much time to think. I was following a pattern that had long since become routine.

Meet ghost, communicate with ghost. Figure out their problem. If it was linked to a building, go to that building. Gain more information about the building, either by scouting it out or by another old-fashioned method. Read about it.

I had done it dozens of times, if not hundreds.

Many of the buildings in silver spruce were old, and most of them were or had been haunted at some point. When a situation was too dangerous for me to go in blind, I went to the library.

I was going to be reading just about every text I could find on the aquarium's history. I doubted any of them would mention giant crabs, but I knew how to read between the lines. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the window.

Maybe I could catch a few minutes of sleep before the bus arrived. What felt like a second later, but could have been minutes, the sound of hissing hydraulics woke me.

 I looked around in confusion. It was almost totally dark out. Where was I? What was I doing? A second later, my rain finished rebooting, and I remembered where I was. Right, I needed to find out more about the aquarium.

I rose from my seat and met the bus driver's dark brown eyes in the mirror. They were filled with suspicion. I felt that was a little unfair. I hadn't acted that strange earlier.

But then again, this was silver spruce. Even the vanilla humans here had very good instincts when it came to supernatural danger, even if they didn't like to talk about it or even acknowledge it.

And one of the first things you learned when surviving in the supernatural world was to be cautious when alone.

Most of the monsters that would come after you prayed on the isolated. She could also be some kind of spook herself and was able to sense that I had some magic in me. I was veiled, and my veils weren't sloppy either, so I should only seem like someone with a touch of talent. But that could still make someone nervous.

Those were possibilities, but I was pretty sure she was just a grumpy bus driver. I made my best attempt at a friendly smile and climbed off the bus.

Immediately gusts of wind started to slap into me with enough force to whip my clothes and hair about me. It carried with it the scent of grass and pine. Not unpleasant smells, but I didn't appreciate them thrown at my face.

The bus stop was a few hundred feet from the library, plenty of time to get nice and wind burned. As I speed-walked towards it, I looked over the library. It was always an... Interesting site.

It was one of the tallest buildings in town, standing at five stories high. And it looked, well, to be honest, it looked like it had been constructed by five different architects-- each one of them fighting for control while possessing a bitter hatred for the others.

The top floor stuck out past the fourth floor in dozens of places, each outcropping just wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. Each of the other levels was odd in its own unique way, from the third floor being shaped almost like a stop sign to the mismatched windows of the fourth floor.

The reason for all of the different styles and seeming conflicts was that they were different styles and conflicts.

The silver spruce town library was old, as old as the town itself. Over the course of nearly 100 years, the building had almost burned down, been flooded, partially collapsed in an earthquake, and had been invaded by a family of strangely book-learned bears.

However, that last one was only talked about in the safety of one's own home when one was less likely to be overheard.

As I reached the door to the building, a gust of wind strong enough to make me stumble caught me in the side. Holy crap. I looked up at the storm. With what little light remained, I could tell the clouds were almost black.

"All right, time to get inside." more gales of wind slammed into me, causing me to shiver and almost trip. A few seconds later, I reached the front door-- A glass and metal contraption that they had obviously been trying to make some kind of artistic statement with but just looked like a lump of metal in the middle of a glass window to me.

I pulled it open and stepped inside. Once I got the door closed – which wasn't as easy as it should've been with how hard the wind was blowing – I cupped my hands together and blew into them a few times. That wind was cold.

After a few seconds, my hand started to feel less like ice cubes and more like my mitts. I straightened up and glanced around the room.

Directly across from me was a large curved desk made from some kind of dark wood. The thing had been there as long as I could remember, and it was so big it looked more like a wooden wall than a desk.

To my left were a few chairs and a couple of beaten up shelves holding equally worn magazines. In one corner sat two carts for people to return books and audiobooks. I wasn't originally a big fan of the latter, but they were a great way to pass the time with ghosts. Since they were one of the few ways ghosts could read without expending any magic, so I had grown to like them.

To my right was a glass push door that led to a newer but trendy café.

My eyes traced back over to the desk. Or to be more specific, to the two ghosts arguing around it.

"What the hell do you mean I'm scary!" Ben yelled as he slammed his hand down on the desk. The effect was dampened slightly by the fact his fist didn't make any noise as it struck. "They could put your face on posters and use them to teach children to be afraid of witches!"

Agatha leaned back from her post on the other side of the desk, holding one bony hand to her chest as if she'd been stabbed.

"Witch?! I'm a refined lady, not that I'd expect a slobbering brute like you to understand!" They kept going. I sighed and rubbed my eyes.

Agatha Moran was a tall reedy woman in her mid-sixties. And she looked like a perfect mix of a young grandmother and the wicked witch of the West, and her voice sounded like it as well.

Her loose blouse hung off her bony frame, which looked like she'd had her skin stretched over it without waiting for things like fat or muscle, and her tendons and veins stood out in the way a lot of the elderlies did. She had hollow cheekbones and icy blue eyes that didn't miss much, and her iron-gray hair hung about her head in a rippling wave, as if she were swimming underwater.

Most of the things the two were yelling at each other were incredibly racist or just generally nasty. A few years ago, I would've been worried they were about to leap over the desk and start clawing for each other's eyes. Now, however, I wasn't worried. Just mildly annoyed.

Agatha, like many older ghosts, had been incredibly racist when I met her, which had been the norm at her time. But that didn't make it any less uncomfortable for me.

 Unlike many other old ghosts, though, she had changed her way of thinking. She was an academic woman who loved books, and strangely, children.

I say strangely because she seems like the kind of grandmother who wouldn't let her grandchildren touch sugar and made them go to bed by 8:00 PM. But her love of learning had helped her change her views, at least that's what I thought.

When Ben and other ghosts I knew were proof that her views didn't match reality, she sat down. Studied. Then changed her mind. It had taken a year and change. But it was still a pretty impressive feat when shoved into a world that was almost unrecognizable from the one you had lived in.

During that time, she had formed an... interesting relationship with Ben. Part of her research and study had been into racist jokes and stereotypes.

I had never seen her use them on anyone except for Ben. And I suspected she saved them up for when the two of them met.

I also noticed as both of them screamed that they were smiling--freaking weirdos.

Though, while they were obviously having fun, they were still getting emotional enough that the ambient magic was beginning to fluctuate and shift around them. Causing the ceiling lights to flicker and dance.

"Oi! You guys have had a solid twenty minutes, that's enough!" Both of them stopped and turned to me. I snorted. They looked like children caught raiding the cookie jar. Agatha made a recovery first, brushing off her dress and straightening her posture. Though, being a ghost and all, she didn't have any dust or crumbs on her gown.

"Alder! How has your day been?" Agatha asked in a voice that was at once sweet and crown-like.

I smiled. "My day has been –" The pain in my back stopping my legs from moving--the exhaustion weighing down my limbs. Zacharias tear-stained face before he closed his visor. 

"Long. It's been long." I finished.

A look of cool sympathy flashed up across her features for a moment before they returned to normal. "Ben has told me what you need. Follow me." She walked straight through her desk and gave my arm a squeeze, her bony fingers cool, yet comforting.

Then she turned and walked into the first floor. The two of us quickly followed.

The second I stepped through the door, I was hit with the smell of aged parchment, old leather, and the unmistakable scent of coffee drifting in from the café.

Evidently, Agatha smelled it too. Because her gaze turned towards the café, it was the kind of look that made someone stop dead in their tracks and wonder if somebody was about to try and mug them.

Someone who frequented the place had once returned a book with coffee stains on it.

Agatha had followed them around for the rest of the day, intermittently making things mildly inconvenient for them or flying straight through them. Giving them vicious cold shivers.

Now she was staring at the café as if there weren't several bookshelves, and walls, in between her and the little restaurant. It was funny, if unnerving.

She led us past rows of neatly organized bookshelves. Past them were small sofa seats, tables, and other things people use to study. She led us to the middle of the room, where we could see a truly ancient looking elevator.

It was the kind that you still had to pull a metal cage out to operate, and the abundance of brown rust covering the workings didn't give me any confidence that it could hold my weight.

Agatha, it would appear, didn't share my concerns. As she quickly floated over and pressed the button. I could feel the ambient magic shift slightly, but it was so subtle that I might've missed it if I wasn't used to ghosts.

This was Agatha's haunt, the place she spent the majority of her time, and the place that her last request was tethered to. She had grown familiar with the magic of this building and could manipulate it with more ease, and with less personal cost than anywhere else.

It was why so many of the ghosts that haunted homes had enough energy to hurl dishes or pushover bookshelves. More often than not, they had lived in the place, or at least, died in it.

I could see wheels attempting to spin at the top of the cage, likely a mechanism to open it automatically. I reached over and helped along. I had a feeling platform shoes had still been in fashion last time the elevator worked properly.

It creaked under my weight, and I found myself wondering if the library had a basement. And if I was about to find out at high speeds.

Agatha and Ben crowded around me, vying for space in the relatively tiny elevator. I was grateful, not for the first time, for my light weight. If I was heavier and if Ben and Agatha, well, if they weighed anything, I doubted the elevator could've taken the weight.

I reached over and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The faded button flickered on and off a few times before admitting a weak orange light. With a shutter, the elevator began to creep upwards.

I looked around and noticed the dust. Now that I thought about it, I'd never seen anyone besides myself use this elevator. "Agatha." She glanced down at me and raised a brow. "Why are we taking the elevator?" She shrugged. "Because it's faster." I looked out at the slowly disappearing first floor, then back to the old ghost. "Agatha. I could move faster than this thing taking the stairs. With one foot. Blindfolded. And drunk."

Her thin lips spread into a smile. "All right, you got me. I just like seeing people squirm."

The old hag didn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

I closed my eyes and tried not to focus on the way the elevator shuddered and shook as it crept upward at the speed of a dying turtle.

Ben and Agatha pressed in on me from either side, something that would have been uncomfortable for me if it weren't for the fact that they had it worse.

They were ghosts, and they were used to merely passing through people like it was nothing. As such, when a ghost has been around for any decent length of time, they grew accustomed to never feeling truly cramped.

Ben had been wandering around since the fifties, and well Agatha had died in the twenties, she had only been active as a ghost for around five years. But that was still more than enough time to get used to having elbow room.

A moment later both of them cheated and just stepped partially into the wall. Well, it freed up my elbows as well, so I wasn't going to complain.

Ben had also closed his eyes, and I could smell the unmistakable scent of popcorn and stale drinks. Maybe he was reminiscing about a bar?

From Agatha, I could smell old paper and dust. I wasn't sure how I could distinguish that smell from the library, which already smelled like old paper, albeit with a lot less dust. But I could all the same.

We passed to the second floor, still moving at an agonizingly slow pace.

Old paper and dust. It wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was certainly better than being stuck in a lift with two sweaty people.

Unlike Ben, Agatha almost always smelled like one thing. She had been focused on two things when alive, books, and children. It was impressive the amount of time she devoted to what she cared about.

She had formed such a deep connection with her books and the children she had taught, that she had stayed in a trancelike state for nearly 85 years--only awakening when her library was shipped off to a small little town in Oregon.

The elevator passed the third floor. I saw one of the librarians stacking books onto a cart. The site made me chuckle.

There had been some... friction between Agatha and the ordinary librarians when she first arrived. She was endlessly frustrated with how they organized the shelves.

And they were constantly frustrated by the way books would float around and reorganize themselves in patterns that only made sense to Agatha.

You'd think that would freak people out more than annoy them, but that was silver spruce for you.

The threshold the average citizen had for weird was anything but average.

Eventually, they had reached a compromise. Agatha got the fifth floor, and they got the rest of the building. The fifth floor was for town records and other relatively dry material. Which meant the floor received relatively few visitors.

Agatha had accepted the arrangement and stopped terrorizing librarians. Though I was sure she still judged them on their reading choices on a regular basis.

I was equally sure that more than one reader had suddenly found another book sitting next to them that they had no memory of picking. A silent message that they needed to be making better reading choices than they currently were. Agatha did love to judge.

With a creek and a worryingly long groan, the elevator stopped on the fifth floor. "Ha, we made it," Agatha said, surprise coloring her voice.

I scrambled out of the elevator then glared at the woman. "What do you mean 'we made it,' was there a chance we wouldn't!?"

Agatha didn't turn, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "Now, now, Alder, didn't you want to come here to get information? Hurry up. You haven't got all night." She started floating away before I could say anything.

I glared at her back for a second. Then I took a deep breath and counted to three before following.

The fifth floor of the library was what a polite man would call an odd duck.

I was not a polite man.

"Why does this floor look like it was dropped into a blender then rearranged by kindergartners?" I asked as Agatha led us through a confusing maze of bookshelves and benches.

"I wanna know the same thing!" Ben cut in before Agatha could answer. "It clearly has your touch all over it."

Agatha, very calmly and very primly, flipped Ben off as she led us towards one wall of the fifth floor. "It is designed," she began, her voice stiff with an edge of haughty pride. "To be elegant and comforting. I can make my way around it with ease, and I know where every book is."

While she wasn't looking, Ben took one book off the shelf and put it on a different shelf.

Well, now she knew where every book was but one. We walked by a row of bookshelves that curved slightly to one side--each of the bookshelves alternated in which direction you were facing. So, if you wanted to browse the bookshelf next to the one you were currently looking through, you would need to walk around the entire row and to the other side to get to it.

Ben narrowed his eyes when he saw that one. He floated up towards the ceiling and let out a guffaw. "Half of these are shaped like flowers! Are you –," he cut off when Agatha turned and looked at him, that was all. Normally Ben would've dove headfirst into a fight with her, but he glanced down at me before opening his mouth.

It had been a long, long day. I needed to do some research and get to bed. Ben sighed, like a child who had gotten their toy taken away, then floated back down to walk beside me.

He and Agatha began to bicker, but it was the quiet and friendly variety.

The architect who had gotten his hands on the fifth floor must've been particularly embittered --or drunk-- and designed the fifth floor to stick out over the other floors. As well as having large windows on one side of the room and a loft area filled with more books.

Oddly enough, he had demanded in his contract that those books had to be fantasy or sci-fi about climbing things.

As odd as he was, silver spruce was never opposed to saving money, even if it meant facilitating his odd requests.

Though, I was almost certain that having the fire escape be in the loft broke safety laws.

Agatha brought us to a corner of the room where the bookshelves were lined in the shape of an L. There was a table and chairs nearby. Perfect.

I thanked Agatha for her help, then sat down at the table. I could ask them to help me research, or at least Agatha. It wouldn't take her much effort to move books around in here.

But I always found that researching gave me time to gather my thoughts and refocus.

What was I trying to do? Help John. Why was I trying to do – I crushed that question before it could finish forming and moved on.

My current problem was that I didn't know what his last request was. I knew with relative certainty that it was tied to the aquarium. But I couldn't go to the aquarium just yet because something in there wanted to kill me.

So, I was going to look up the history of the aquarium and if I could find anything relating to John.

If that failed... If that failed, I would try and ask ghosts that I had less frequent contact with. That or I could try and talk to some of the older residents of silver spruce. There are a few hedge mages that have lived here for a long time. And plenty of other... More aggressive townsfolk.

Hell, the werewolf pack that lived in the next town over – briar lock – might know something about it. Assuming that there was some sort of supernatural mischief in its past, and it wasn't just a recent occurrence.

That was a possibility, but I felt pretty safe in my assumption, considering that John had no tongue and had cried when he saw the aquarium. Those reactions didn't come from a normal situation.

My jaw clenched involuntarily at the memory, and I stood up, my bruised back and stomach giving a twinge of pain as I pushed away my chair.

All right, time to work.

~<>~

Two hours later, I stood up, groaning. And stretched, my whole body protested, and stiff muscles tried to revolt. I informed them that this was not a monarchy that could be overthrown and finished my stretching.

I had a pile of books around me, most of them with relatively dry labels like "silver spruce financial history, and the aquarium and its significance." After all that I had found... Not much. It turned out the aquarium had been something else before Eliza had gotten a hold of it. Problem

was that almost none of the books I had initially found had been clear on what exactly it had been.

I had to go find the dustiest tome on town finance that I could, one that listed the businesses and factories in town. All of that searching had turned up... That it was a seafood processing factory in the fifties, which was kind of ironic.

It only had a few particularly big stains on its record. A few deaths early on where workers had gotten injured by some faulty equipment, but that was a lot more common back then. What was I supposed to do with this?

I sighed. I was going to have to look around, talk to people. Well, I'd probably only have to talk to ghosts. I rubbed my eyes and gathered up the impressive stack of books I had built up.

I could hear Ben and Agatha arguing somewhere, but I wasn't sure where. Whatever they were arguing about, it was getting them riled up. The yellow ceiling lights were flickering and shaking in an invisible breeze. And

I could hear very real gales of wind slamming into the building. The storm had picked up, though it didn't sound like the brunt of it had arrived yet.

Maybe Agatha could find something that I had missed. Ben, well, this whole thing wasn't exactly Ben's area of expertise. But he still might have some insights.

I started walking through the twisted stacks, following the sounds of their voices. The table I had been sitting at was nestled at the edge of the room, with just enough light from overhead to read by. I checked my watch, a somewhat awkward maneuver since my hands were full of books--9 o'clock. The library was closing in half an hour.

My mind toiled over what I had read, trying to find anything useful in it.

The aquarium itself didn't have any black marks against it; all the deaths that occurred there had happened before it had been an aquarium. That didn't mean a ghost couldn't still be linked to the building. The dead didn't often care if the living world had moved on from something.

If I knew specifically what John's last request was, then this whole process would be a lot easier. All I knew about it, though, was that it was linked to the aquarium, which wasn't exactly a lot to go on.

Maybe he had worked at that original company? I tended to get lost in my thoughts and lose track of my surroundings. I didn't know if it was a habit born from being isolated when I was young or if I used up my focus on stressful situations. Hell, chances were it was just a quirk of my personality, one that hadn't gotten me killed thanks to having undead friends. I'd had a long day and just spent the last two hours in intensive focus.

I was drained physically, mentally, and emotionally. So, it wasn't a surprise that I was far too deep in thought to hear the quiet footsteps approaching from behind.

The sound of a gun's chamber being caulked, that got my attention.

Man, today was really not my day.

"Turn around," said a voice from behind me, gruff and deep. So deep in fact that it was obvious that the speaker was intentionally changing their voice, making it less recognizable.

That was a good sign if they're going to the trouble of doing that. It meant the owner of that voice likely wasn't going to use the freshly cocked gun to redecorate the library with my head. Slowly, making sure not to make any movements that might cause a finger to twitch and my insides to become outsides, I turned around.

I probably should've been scared, terrified even. Technically speaking, I had never been held at gunpoint before. Then again, technically speaking, I had been held at gunpoint at least six times. And I'd been the one at the other end of the gun more than once as well.

 At least, I could remember those events. Even if they hadn't technically happened to me. Or maybe I was drained enough not to care anymore.

I finished my slow turn and took in my assailant.

The gunman was tall, with a bulky build and a face covered in the shadows cast by a ballcap. He was wearing relatively nondescript clothing, a pair of stained workers overalls, and a heavy brown jacket.

All of his clothing choices told the tale of somebody trying to make themselves unmemorable. Unmemorable, save for the shiny gray gun with a silencer he held in his right hand.

I was quite a fan of guns. They were fun to shoot, cool to look at, and, best of all, excellent detergent for things that intended to do you harm. I wasn't a huge fan of guns when they were pointed at me.

I felt like a bit of an idiot, standing there, arms full of books, completely unable to draw the gun at my side. Not that it would've done me any good.

The man had a gun pointed at me before I was even aware of his presence; he could have blown my brains out my forehead before I could've finished drawing.

Neither of us said anything for a few tense moments. Despite my relatively calm thoughts, my heart began to pound my chest, and I could feel beads of sweat dripping down my back.

After what felt like ages, I broke the silence, "I don't suppose you're about to say that this is a prank?" The gunman laughed, his shoulders shaking slightly, but the gun stayed trained firmly on my chest.

"I'm afraid not, but I appreciate your attitude." The man's voice lightened slightly, sounding more natural as he continued. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, and by ask, I mean," he waggled the gun while still keeping the barrel pointed at me.

This wasn't good. I had very few options here. If I tried to run, I would get shot, if I tried to jump at the man, I would get shot. If I went with him... Actually, I had no idea, no one had ever tried to kidnap me before, and I didn't have the faintest clue why someone was doing it now. But I figured it would be a bad idea on general principle.

I could try to cover him with my aura, but that also wouldn't do anything. The man wasn't a ghost. All my magic would do was calm his emotions and give me a slightly better feel for his emotional state.

Of course, if he was a mage, he would react to something like being enveloped by someone else's aura by opening fire on me.

Then again, mages didn't often use guns. A lot of the old school types thought of the weapons as beneath them.

Besides, the man didn't feel like a mage in my senses, though without releasing my veil, I wouldn't be able to tell with 100% certainty. "Would you be willing to tell me why you want me to come with you?" To my surprise, the man didn't immediately say no.

He seemed to genuinely consider the question before responding.

"Well, the boss didn't actually say I couldn't tell you. But, then again, didn't technically tell me either."

The man shrugged as he seemed to settle on a decision. "Bait." The word drove a cold spike into my stomach. People with any sort of magic, particularly the kind of people like me who's magic wasn't suited to defending themselves, had always been used as a fuel for certain types of dark rituals.

The word bait made me think of horrible monsters crawling out of the dark, called by the sweet scent of magic.

Unsure of what to do, I blurted out, "What if I just say no? If you want me as bait, you can't shoot me in the head and carry me out of here. Besides, I don't think the library staff would just sit there and not call the police."

The man nodded. "Fairpoint." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an unopened can of beer. "If you don't come willingly, I'll shoot you in the leg, choke you out. Then cover you in beer. I'll carry you out and tell the staff you're my drunk friend who's cramming for a test and got a little overeager on liquid courage."

Huh. I was not expecting such a well thought out response. Or such a surprisingly sophisticated plan.

Who The hell was this guy? And who was his boss? His voice had held a slight sneer in it when he spoke of the man, but it had also held fear in equal measure to the contempt.

"That is a surprisingly thorough plan," I commented as I desperately tried to think of a way out.

The man nodded. "Thank you. You seem like a decent kid. Normally I would tell the boss no for jobs like this. But I already have two marks. So, this is our lot." He looked genuinely apologetic as he spoke, but then the look vanished, and his voice hardened. "Now, are you going to come with me willingly, or am I going to have to shoot you and carry out Plan B."

As I opened my mouth to respond, still desperately trying to think of something, I noticed that I couldn't hear Ben or Agatha anymore. But as the significance of that fact settled in, the bookshelf next to the gunman started to fall towards him.

Then things got very loud, very fast.

The bookshelf began to tauter towards the gunman. It was one of the shelves that was facing away from us, so no books spilled from it as it fell.

I must've had a shocked look on my face because the gunman immediately threw himself back in an impressive show of reflexes. He wasn't fast enough to avoid it entirely, and the force was enough to send crashing to the ground in a heap.

At that moment, I could've dropped the books, pulled out my gun, and ended him. I wouldn't have time to get to him and knock him out. He was already gathering himself. I would have to put a bullet in him. Something he was perfectly prepared to do to me.

But... I couldn't do it. When you spend so much time around the dead. When you have memory after memory of killing and of being killed. It makes life seem a bit more valuable to you.

I turned and ran. I tossed the books in my arms onto the table with a loud thud and kept sprinting. I could hear the man swearing as he got to his feet. I'd give him points for creativity, even if most of the things he was saying were anatomically impossible. I bobbed and weaved between the shelves, running until I was near the center of the room, with a shelf on each side of me. Then I crouched down as low as I could.

I had to fight my instincts to run for the exit, knowing that's exactly where the gunman would go. Sure enough, not ten seconds later, I heard his footsteps pounded past my hiding spot, heading for the stairs. Agatha and Ben flew through the bookshelves next to me, panicked expressions on their faces. "Did we get them?" Ben asked, a hint of uncharacteristic panic in his voice. Agatha seems slightly more composed, but her eyes were wild, and her hair was dancing about her head like a nest of snakes. I stared at the two of them for a second, uncomprehending. Didn't they see the bookshelf hit him?

Couldn't they also just float up and see where he was?

A terrible thought occurred to me, and I whispered, "can you not see him?" My voice was so quiet that it barely carried past my lips, but Ben and Agatha were close enough to hear it regardless. Both of them nodded grimly, worry etching lines on their faces.

Ben didn't bother with whispering. The man wouldn't be able to hear Ben's voice unless he wanted him to.

"We couldn't see squat! The only reason we knew you were in danger was because we caught your half of the conversation." My mind started spinning through possibilities, trying to figure

out why the gunman would be shielded from their site. Was he a mage with some kind of ward against spirits? Or maybe he was a Telss like me, and his aura hid him from supernatural beings' vision. No! Those couldn't be it; even if I hadn't gotten a full scan of him, no mage would've let that bookshelf fall on them. He would've blasted it away with wind or forced the wood to fuse with the other bookshelves, stopping its fall. He wouldn't have just... Jumped.

And the chances of encountering another errant Telss were so astronomically low as to be almost impossible. There was no way he could be a guild aligned Telss either. They would never send such a valuable resource out for a kidnapping job. Then how was he hidden? If he wasn't a mage or a Telss...

I made a snap decision, knowing that I couldn't allow my thoughts to run in circles. With a mental effort, I unveiled my aura, and for a brief, wonderful moment. I stopped holding back.

It exploded out from me, rushing across the room in every direction. After only a few seconds, I reinserted control and slowed my aura spread, stopping it from going to the lower floors or from spreading out past the walls.

I felt it the second I came in contact with the man. Having your aura cover another living thing was a somewhat strange experience. You became aware of them, but you couldn't quite see them. It was a bit more abstract than that.

I couldn't tell you whether or not the gunman was clenching his fists or stomping his feet. But I was aware of his location in relation to mine. It was almost like how you're aware of something that you're holding in your hand, but you're holding it with your mind. It was hard to explain.

As I became aware of the gunman, and his likely frayed nerves calmed, I became very much aware of what he had on his person.

The wards glowed like hot coals in my aura, pressing against my senses in a way that was impossible to miss.

One of them burned with a cool power and an intent I could feel rolling off of it. It was meant to shield, to hide, and protect. I couldn't read and objects past. The reason I could read what I could from the ward was because of how the things were created.

A mage would have to spend anywhere from days to weeks, funneling their magic into something to create a ward. That entire time they would have to stay in an incredibly specific mental and emotional state if they didn't want the ward to become useless or have it blow up in their face. Due to how intensive making a ward was, the mages who are capable of crafting them were incredibly valued. They also tended to be incredibly insane. It was dangerous for mages to use one kind of magic for too long. If they weren't careful, then they might wake up one day and be unable to feel anything except the emotions required to use their favored brand of magic. The other ward the man was carrying made my aura grow still. In the same way that your hand would grow still when you realized it was hovering over a rattlesnake. Malice rolled off of the second Ward so strongly that I could taste it. I could tell that more sensations were coming off the ward, but I couldn't decipher any of them over the sheer overwhelming amount of animosity pouring out from it. This was not good. Whoever the gunman's boss was, the man had to be either ridiculously wealthy or a mage who could create wards. Or both. I sincerely hoped it was the first one. If he was a mage and he knew what I was, then this kidnapping attempt took on a whole new light.

But he had said I was bait? None of this made sense! So., I decided to stop trying to think about it and focus on escape. I turned to Ben and Agatha, who were crouching down with hunched shoulders as if a weight was pushing down on them. I winced, my aura wasn't focused on them, and I didn't want to form a mental link. Well, I might not be able actually to alter the nature of my aura. I could still control and maneuver it, and in this respect, it responded to my intent and left the two of them mostly alone. But I couldn't stop its effects entirely. "I need to get out of here. The guy is warded and armed," I said, my voice still a hushed whisper. Both of them nodded.

Agatha spoke, her voice full of concern. "We can't help much if we can't see him!" "I know, I know!" I quietly snapped. Slowly, I started rubbing my chin. The stairs weren't an option. He was guarding them like a hawk. I could probably shoot him before he saw me, using my aura to keep track of him. But I had already decided that I didn't want to shoot him unless it was literally my last option. The elevator? I discarded that idea out of hand. The thing moved so slow that he could run outside and do laps around the building and still make it back in time to shoot me before the elevator reached the third floor. My train of thought screeched to a halt. If I took the elevator, he wouldn't just have enough time to run down and wait for me. He would run down and wait for me. I could use that. The elevator was in the center of the room while the staircase was in one corner. He would have to cross half the room to get to the elevator. Even then, it might still be too slow to disappear from sight before he got to it. But maybe... "I have a plan." The skeptical looks the two ghosts shot me made me roll my eyes in exasperation. "Just listen. This is what we're going to do."

~<>~

A few minutes later, I was lying with my cheek pressed flat to the ground. I was only two rows of bookshelves away from the staircase and doing everything I could to stay hidden.

Floating in between the stairs and the elevator was Ben. Agatha stood next to me, obviously not bothering to crouch. I counted to five on my fingers, not risking any noise when this close to the gunman. It was clear that he knew the situation as well as I did. If he covered the stairs, then I didn't have any way to get out without him hearing me. So, all he had to do was wait. I finished counting to five, and Agatha raised her hand. From the center of the room, the elevator let out a long screech as it began to crawl downwards. I heard a startled curse from nearby, followed by pounding footsteps. At the same time that I heard him, I could also feel him moving through my aura. I waited until he was about 15 feet past me. Then I spiked my aura in the area he was about to be. Ben zipped down to that area and pushed a bookshelf down. I saw Agatha wince above me, and I patted her foot. I heard more swearing mixed in with yells of surprise. I kept track of him then spiked my aura again. Another bookshelf fell, slowing his progress even more. Ben couldn't see the man; it seemed he couldn't even hear him. But, like all ghosts, he could see ambient magic like a mage or Telss.

The inside of an aura, not the shroud but the actual body of it, was nothing more than ambient magic that had been keyed to a person. In my case, I converted it into whatever you wanted to call my magic. I could control the concentration of the magic in my aura. If I wanted the majority of it condensed into one half of it, I could do that. If I wanted to spike its concentration in a specific area, I could do that. A third spike and a third bookshelf. After that, Ben flew up and gave a thumbs up. The elevator was out of sight. We stopped slowing Mr. Ward's progress, and he made it to the elevator.

I felt him turn in my aura and start sprinting back towards the stairs. The whole while, my ears could pick up a continuous stream of swearing that would've caused a sleep-deprived construction worker to blush. He dashed to the stairs and raced down them. I extended my aura into the stairwell, wincing as I did. I had unveiled my aura far too many times today. I didn't want to survive this only to have some slavering monstrosity pull my brain out my nose and suck my magic dry. I was able to feel it when he reached the fourth floor, then the third. Then the second. "It's working!"

Once he reached the first floor, I would rush down to the fourth or third floor and hide. There are bound to be more people on those floors, and there would be more places for me to hide. Assuming that there weren't already library staff coming up here to investigate the crashes. I didn't mind if anyone saw my face, but I didn't think ballcap wanted to be seen. I stood up, ready to rush when the time came. Then things started to go wrong. I just started to run forward when I felt him freeze in my aura. Then he rushed back up to the third floor and went inside. A cold knot formed in my gut. He was going to the elevator, checking to see if I was inside of it. Agatha saw my face pale and asked, "what's wrong!" I stared at her; my eyes wide. "Change of plans! He's coming back up!" Even as I spoke, I could feel him turning to run back to the stairwell. "Any ideas!?" We all shouted a few stupid ones before Ben yelled, "the fire escape!" I grimaced, because the second I heard him say it, I knew it was my only real option. "Dammit!" I swore as I ran towards the loft. Praying to God that the storm I could hear outside sounded worse than it was.

The stairs to the loft were so steep that they were almost a ladder. I took them at a half sprint, half-speed climb.

Sailing up them like I was trying out for the Olympics.

Behind me, Ben and Agatha were getting in place to cause a ruckus on the other side of the room, hopefully distracting Mr. Wards long enough for me to get outside. I slipped past the bookshelves stuffed full of fantasy novels to a window marked with a red "fire escape" sticker. I fiddled with it, panicking for a second until my fingers found a latch. With a heave, I opened the window. Immediately wind punched me in the face as rain stung my eyes. It seemed the storm wasn't as bad as it sounded. It was worse. I could feel Mr. wards was almost to

the fourth floor. I needed to move! I climbed through the window. The second my feet touched down on the other side, I almost fell. It was slick with rain, and with the added chaos from gusts of wind saying the footing was treacherous would've been an enormous understatement. If I hadn't kept my hand on the windowsill, I would've fallen. Probably not to my death since the ledge stretched out a couple of feet. Not much point in having a fire escape that no one could get to after all.

With slightly shaking hands, I closed the window.

Once it was shut, it was like I had stepped into a different world. Rain poured like a waterfall in a hurricane. Blinding amounts of water coming at me from every angle. And after only seconds, my skin felt icy. "Holy shit!" I couldn't even hear the words as they left my mouth, the sounds torn away by gales of wind. Mr. Wards reached the fifth floor, and I spiked my aura, warning Ben Agatha. Then I pulled it in close, just shy of wrapping myself in a veil. I couldn't afford to let anything distract me. Slowly, one shuffling footstep at a time, I crept along the edge of the fire escape--a blank wall to one side and empty blackness to the other.

I wasn't sure when, but at some point, my heart had packed its things and moved up to crash on the couch with my throat. And like the crappy roommate that it was, it started playing the drums. Thump, thump, thump. Nice and slow. You've walked around the building before. The fire escape is only like ten feet from the window. Out in the dark and wind, those ten feet suddenly seemed like a vast amount of space. After only a few steps, I was in total darkness. The light from the window blocked out by sheets of rain. Another step, five stories really was high up, wasn't it? For what felt like hours, I crept forward, one cautious footstep after another. In reality, I doubt it even took me two minutes to reach the latter. When I did finally reach it, I almost missed it altogether. I have resorted to sliding my feet without really picking them up. If it hadn't been for a strong gust of wind, forcing me to widen my stance, I might have scooted past it altogether. But, thanks to the wind, my foot brushed against the metal, and I froze. The black metal fire escape was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the night. In a judgment lapse, I leaned over slightly to try and see if I could make out more of the latter below. I found out two things, one. That I could see the fire escape, though only sections of it where Windows on lower floors illuminated it.

And second, that I was an idiot.

A wave of vertigo swept over me, and I felt my vision twist. It took a concentrated effort of will to make myself straighten up and take a step back. I had memories of falling to death, and it wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat. A surge of paranoid caution made me shake the ladder. It rattled in a distressingly loose way, and I faintly heard the distinct pinging of metal falling against metal somewhere below. Part of me wanted to go back, but that wasn't an option. Going on this latter might kill me. Getting kidnapped by Mr. wards would kill me... Or worse.

With a deep breath, I turned and started climbing down the ladder. Or at least I started to. The second I settled my weight onto it, the entire structure shook and groaned. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It seemed the library had skimped out on keeping their fire escape up to code. "..." This was Agatha's floor. She and the rest of the library staff had a silent understanding that she would take care of any issues that cropped up on this floor. "Agatha, I swear to God. If I die because you didn't keep a fire escape up to code, I'm going to find out if a ghost can haunt another ghost." Angry grumbling and joking took my mind away from the situation, sheltered it somewhat from the fear. The fire escape ladder was bolted into the wall and had one of those cages meant to halt your fall wrapped around it. Assuming the whole thing didn't just break away once I started going down it.

Faintly I could hear crashes over the storm. They were still distracting Mr. wards. My hands were freezing, and the slick black metal of the latter wasn't making them any warmer. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The Storm raged around me, doing its best to rip me from the latter and send me hurtling into the abyss. Without opening my eyes, I lowered my foot. It was a careful testing motion. And when it landed on the next rung down, I paused, applying my weight slowly. When the wrong didn't snap, and I was certain I had a firm foothold, I lowered my other foot. Then I repeated the process: slow step, test, step, lower hands, repeat. In almost no time at all, I fell into a trance. Step, lower step. It only took ten rung's or so before my hands went numb. It felt like the rest of my body joined them not long after. And then my mind followed. The next step, the next handhold. And the freezing wet wind. That was all there was. My anger at the situation, at myself for walking into danger for the hundredth time. My questions. My fears. All of it faded away until it was just me, the storm, and the next step.

Then I messed up. In my mental fugue, I stepped down without properly testing the foothold. The metal rung, rusty from years of disservice, snapped. My other foot slipped at the sudden change in balance. Then I was hanging entirely from my numb hands. Hands that betrayed me a moment later as they slipped from the wet rung. I flailed and yelled as I fell, then my back crashed into the metal cage, and numb agony spread through me. Hitting the cage slowed me some. Maybe I would've had time to grab the rungs and stop my fall. I didn't get the chance. A second later, I hit the ground. Like I've said, I know how to fall. Even exhausted and freezing, my body still reacted immediately. I began to roll, trying to burn off some of the momentum. It worked for a second. Then I rolled my head into something hard, and everything went dark.

~<>~

I looked down at the old cracked skin of my knuckles. That hadn't gone away when I died, neither had the ache in my joints or the deeper pain in my bones. I was never sure why it hadn't gone away; most other lucid ghosts didn't still feel the physical pains from their life. Not unless it had been the pain that killed them. The kid had told me that it had something to do with how I saw myself. that if I envisioned that pain as part of who I was, and my mind was replicating it even into death. It was a bunch of bull! Thirty years I floated around, unable to interact with the masses and forced to suffer. I had no idea what my "last request" was. The kid had asked me over and over, and I always told him the same thing. "I don't know." I was a liar. I knew what it was. I had always just been too ashamed to admit it. Or maybe... Maybe I didn't want to see the look on his face when I told him. Hell, it disgusted me so much I hadn't been willing to admit it to myself for the better part of three decades. I rose from my seated position and turned to the kid. He was young, around thirteen, and small for his age. He had black hair that didn't look like it had ever been cut by a good barber and had been left to become a shaggy mess. He wore simple blue jeans and a baggy sweater that looked like it belonged to someone else. Whoever was clothing, the kid wasn't doing a great job at it. Aside from his hair, which offended my professional instincts, his eyes were the most attention grabbing. They were emerald green and an odd mix of youthful energy and the world-weary look of the extremely old and beaten down. I had heard his foster parents speak about how his gaunt features and strange eyes unnerved them. I felt a bit of contempt rise up in me as I thought of the two, but... Was I any better? I met those strange eyes, and the boy smiled, though I could see the pain behind his expression.

"Are you ready?" He asked, his voice subdued. Was I? I thought about it. If I wanted to move on... The only other way I knew of was to break the ties that were holding me down. At that moment, I knew I had three options. I could tell the boy my last request. He wouldn't fulfill it. But I could get it off my chest or try and fulfill it myself. That request... "Make her life as miserable as she made mine in the end." Though I didn't speak the words aloud, they still made me flinch. Such a selfish, poisonous request. To harm someone, I had once loved. I had been so angry for so long. I knew though, knew it with certainty, that if I forgave her, then I could move on. Or... Option three. I could have the boy lay me to rest. He had tried to hide it from me in the months I had known him, the toll it took on him. But I had found out. I knew how selfish it was to ask him to do this. I closed my eyes. "I'm ready."

~<>~

I woke with a start. My eyes snapping open. The dark sky loomed overhead, and my freshly opened eyes stung as wind and rain raked at them. My throat tickled with the need to cough, but I held it in. My back hurt with such a fierce pain that I knew coughing right now might make me blackout. I thought about getting up. I knew I technically wasn't out of danger yet. But I just... Couldn't bring myself to care. What the hell was I doing? Why was I doing any of this? I didn't stop the questions this time. I didn't change my line of thinking or ignore it. Jonathan's memories pulsed in my mind for a moment, and I felt the guilt and self-loathing he had at the end. Why was I here? Helping someone, I didn't know. Taking on the burdens of others, the pain and loss, and madness from their memories. And for what? There would always be more. They would just keep coming, keep seeking me out. How many more would I be able to take before my mind finally cracked under the pressure?

Why!?

I couldn't think of an answer as I lied there in the storm. The wet ground hard against my bruised and battered back. Ben appeared over me, the rain passing straight through him to land on me. "You need to get up! Agatha is still distracting him, but it's hard to do when someone's invisible to you." I chuckled darkly as I turned my mind away from my unanswered question and back to the issue at hand. It hurt to laugh, but it was better than the questions.

"That's pretty ironic coming from a ghost, I said, still chuckling. Ben scowled. "Yeah, yeah, irony's a bitch and all. We can laugh about that later. You need to get up." I stared at him, blankly for a second. "I really don't want to." He stared right back. "Too bad." I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. This was not going to feel good. I tensed slightly, then did my best to roll to my hands and knees in one motion. "Whore, son!" I swore at Ben as he helped me up.

"That's the spirit! Now we need to move."

Swearing and cursing all the way, I half stumbled half-ran towards the bus stop. I had to go around the whole building, and by the time I got there, I could just barely make out the bus and knew it was about to pull away. I closed in on it and could tell it was the same bus driver from earlier. Evidently, she recognized me as well because she went from squinting at me through the rain and wind to eying the door button. "Don't you do it!" I yelled over the wind. I could see the struggle on her face, but in the end, her better nature won out, and she didn't slam the door on me. I was offended that she would even consider leaving me out in the storm, but I was too relieved to be away from the wind to really care. I was soaked to the bone and left a trail of water on the bus floor as I walked to a seat.

I felt Ben brush by me as he went to sit, and I closed my eyes. The day had gone extraordinary, very fast. Someone had tried to kidnap me. I knew I should be more shocked and outraged than I was, but I was so tired. I forced myself to think, not allowing myself to slip into unconsciousness. Someone had tried to kidnap me, someone with wards, which meant that whoever he was working for was either very wealthy, a mage, or both. With my luck, it was probably both. He had said they wanted me as bait. Bait for what? I went through everything that I had done today, trying to think about what could've caused this. I had fought with the Crusader. Then I followed

John to the aquarium. Got attacked by something, left.

Then I went to the library.

The aquarium. It was the only thing that I could think of that could have led to this. From John to the giant crab corpse in whatever had thrown it, there was clearly something sinister going on in the aquarium. And now, attempted kidnappers can be added to the list. Did they want me as bait for whatever had tried to squash me? Why? Who were these people in the first place? And whatever was stocking the aquarium hadn't waited long to attack me, so why would they need me specifically as bait. I felt like I might know the answer, but my exhausted brain refused to give me anymore, and I felt bad trying to pressure it. It was tapped out. Ben and I rode in silence until we reached the last bus stop. At which point, the driver surprised us. The woman turned in her seat and stared at us, well stared at me. She couldn't see Ben. "Look," she said.

"I'm sorry for thinking about closing the door on you." I glared slightly. "To make it up to you, I'll drop you off closer to home. Nobody should have to walk out in the storm. I smiled, taken off guard by the unexpected kindness. "Thank you," I said. And I meant it. She dropped us off at the road to the graveyard. I smiled and exchanged nods with her as I got off. I made haste to my house in a sort of fast hobble, wincing every time I twisted my back.

The ambient magic swirled and mixed, stirred into a chaotic storm of its own. I could tell that many ghosts were resting in their graves. The graves were a safe place for them, protected from the ravaging magic that would whip and pull at them just as the physical storm pulled at me. Those graves, made by human hand with intent and focus, had their own kind of magic, different from the sort I used regularly. It was the kind anyone could do with enough care. I made it to my door and stumbled through it, quickly locking it behind me. I was shaking with cold, which was a good thing. If I was still shaking, that meant I hadn't entered into a late stage of hypothermia yet. I stripped out of my wet clothes and into my small shower. The Steaming water burned as it crashed against my skin. But I couldn't have cared less. After a couple of minutes, the burning changed into a beautiful warmth that seeped through me and stopped my shivering. I stayed in the shower until the water started to get cold. At which point, I hastily dried off and changed into a fresh pair of clothes: baggy sweats and a T-shirt.

I considered going through the door directly across from my bathroom, crashing down in my bed to sleep. I needed to talk to Ben, though. Make a quick plan for tomorrow. I wasn't worried about getting tracked to my home tonight. They may have been able to find me at the library, but now that the storm had hit in force, almost any tracking attempts would be useless. mundane or supernatural. I walked into my living room. Which also pulled double duty as kitchen, entryway, and lounge. Ben was sitting on the only couch. It was just big enough for three people to sit comfortably and had squishy green seat cushions and offensively orange back cushions. They had been there when I got the place, don't judge me. Ben had tried to turn the radio on, but the sheer amount of magic in the air was playing hell on the brick-like device, and nothing but static and the occasional garbled word came through.

Ben saw me enter the room, and his eyes lit up. "Alder, you look a million times better! Which isn't saying much, but it's an improvement!" "Ass," I replied. My heart wasn't in it, though. His comment had forced a smile on my face against my will. "We need to talk about what happened at the library.

Agatha is doing her best to clean up the mess we made, but." "It's fine," I said, cutting him off. "Well, we're probably not fine, but you know what I mean." Ben nodded, but I could see the worry in his eyes. "I've already thought it through," I said as I sat down on the opposite end of the couch, my lightweight sinking in the cushion slightly. "And well, I haven't come to many conclusions. I've come to a few." Ben raised a brow, so I filled him in. About the conversation I had had with Mr. Wards about the conclusions I had reached. Everything. Everything, except for the questions I had been asking myself. I wasn't ready to share those; I didn't know if I would ever be ready to share those. Once I had finished filling him in, Ben leaned back. Stretching out on the couch. I knew it took some effort to not sink straight through the couch, but after so many years as a ghost, it was a subconscious one.

"Well," Ben said with a sigh. "We have a couple of things we need to do. But you need to get sleep first." I was inclined to agree with him. Every time I blinked; it was a struggle to get my eyes back open. And my thoughts felt as if they were coming through molasses. "But before you get sleep, we need to make sure you're not going to get taken in your sleep." I started to respond, but a loud yawn interrupted me. I clamped my mouth down, cutting the yawn short. "No need for tonight. If they marked me somehow without either of us noticing, or if they followed us the good old-fashioned way, this storm should stop any attempt at tracking." I stood up and started to stretch, then winced as my back screamed in protest. "The amount of ambient magic swirling about every which way should disrupt any magical tracking, and the literal storm makes it kind of hard to tail someone."

Ben nodded. "What's your plan, then?" I started for my bedroom, answering over my shoulder, "sleep. Then I'll make a few phone calls."