For the first couple of months, she’d ghosted around the household, hovering over him as the Braydens spoiled him with tons of toys and a puppy and all the things Jo had wanted to give him. His washed Spidey doll sat on his toy shelf, buried among all the others.
If Thaddie called out for her, Jo had been there in an instant, never quite showing herself. Yet at the same time, her presence had seemed to upset him.
She’d found the Thadpack in a closet and had stolen it back—would hug it like an idiot.
For the next couple of months, she’d tried to back off, watching over him from a distance. Other kids came over to play, and he was always so psyched, finally having the “fwends” he’d longed for. They ran around in the Braydens’ perfect backyard with the puppy on their heels.
Her baby brother called out for her less.
While Thaddie grew like a weed and laughed more and more, Jo had been doing her worst, no closer to figuring herself out or controlling her on-again, off-again ghosting. Sure, she could float right into his bedroom, but how could she nab him when she was just air?
Determined to get to the bottom of her transformation, she’d returned to town. The hospital’s blood bank had drawn her. After gorging on bags, she’d gotten her body back, growing solid.
She guessed that was what vampires did. Though she did wonder why she could still go out in the sun.
Stronger from drinking, she’d practiced switching from ghost-mode to body and back. In time, she could ghost things. Anything she carried turned to air like her, but returned to solid as soon as she let go: purses from cars, clothes from stores, a wigged-out cat.
She’d worked hard at it until she felt confident she could steal Thaddie.
But deep down, she knew he was better off with two parents and his treasured puppy. So she’d strung together the filed bullet slugs from her “death” to make a necklace. If tempted to return, she touched the bullets, reminding herself she wasn’t right.
MizB had banished Jo for a reason. And the woman didn’t even know Jo was a killer ghost/vampire.
So she’d hung out at the morgue, hoping for someone like her to float out of a body bag, but it’d never happened.
She’d tried so hard to stay away. . . .
Then last week, she’d seen the coroner working on a corpse.
It was Mr. B.
Killed in a work accident. He never rose, just stayed dead.
It was a sign for Jo to return. Surely?
No longer were the Braydens better than Jo just ’cause there were two of them, and MizB would be in no shape to raise a kid on her own. Jo was sorry the woman would lose her husband and Thaddie all at the same time, but she couldn’t take this any longer.
She’d decided to let Thaddie attend Mr. B’s wake today, but then she was done. Once MizB put him to bed, Jo would go to him. She had the Thadpack with her and everything.
She could be just as good a mom as MizB. She could protect Thaddie, was strong enough to lift a freaking car. Rolling folks for money had never been easier, so she could buy him toys. And she hadn’t killed a single person since that first night. In self-defense, she sometimes squashed guys’ balls like grapes—but zero murders!
She craned her head. Where was he? The sun would soon set. There! He was scampering into the room, dressed in a little black suit with tufts of dog fur on the pants.
Looking from the pack to Thaddie, she realized he’d never fit. Maybe she could stuff the dog in there.
She’d take Thaddie’s hand, and the three of them would all ghost away together.
He crawled up to sit in an older woman’s lap. Jo had seen the lady visit before. She was MizB’s mom, Thaddie’s . . . “Gram.” The old chick was explaining to him that she would live there from now on and help out around the house.
Isn’t that swell? Jo squeezed the pack. He’s mine! Her necklace felt cold and heavy around her throat.
Storm clouds gathered, thunder rumbling. Jo glared at the sky. Unlike her, Thaddie shouldn’t be out in the rain.
MizB came into the room, her eyes all puffy. She must feel like crap rolled over, but she wasn’t crying, and her dress and hair were neat.
Thaddie crawled from the old woman’s lap to MizB’s. Gazing up at her with those big hazel eyes, he asked, “Mama, where did Daddy go?”
Jo swayed, her breath knocked from her lungs. Mama? Tears welled and spilled. He hadn’t even called Jo that.
If she took him today, Thaddie would lose a father and a mother. Would that mess him up beyond hope?
The clouds opened up, rain falling as fast as her tears. Drops streamed through her; she must’ve gone into ghost-mode without noticing.
MizB wrapped her arms around him. Jealousy clawed at Jo when he curled up against the woman with so much trust. Jo found herself clutching the Thadpack to her chest.
Keeping a stiff upper lip, MizB answered, “Oh, sweetheart, remember? Daddy’s gone to heaven to be with JoJo.”
Knife in gut. Knife in gut. Knife in gut.
Jo stood in the worsening storm, heart shriveling—because she’d reached a conclusion about Thaddie’s future.
I won’t be in it.
She pressed her palm to the window. Though no imprint showed, she willed him to turn in her direction, to see her.
But he didn’t.
Tears pouring, she hugged the Thadpack tighter. Between sobs, she whispered, “Bye-bye, Thaddie.” She turned away, with no idea where to go.
As night fell, she ghosted down the lonely highway with only the storm as her companion. . . .
THREE
The dimension of Tenebrous, Perdishian Castle, capital of the Elserealms
Beings of power stirred in the echoing stronghold as Rune Darklight made his way through the immense black castle.
He was the sole Møriør who’d stayed awake for the last five centuries and was tasked with rousing the others when Tenebrous had ground through time and space to near its destination: Gaia.
Also known as Earth. Rune had sounded the telepathic call moments ago.
Boots clicking across the ancient stone floor, he entered the war room—a chamber with a massive star-shaped table and a wall made of blast-proof glass.
Outside the glass, against a slate of black nothingness, images of worlds flashed by, as if from a film projector.
He took one of the twelve empty seats at the table, propping his boots up on the gold surface as he awaited his allies. Or at least, he awaited five of them. Two seats remained vacant, and four Møriør would slumber on; considering their natures, waiting to unleash them on Gaia was for the best.
Abyssian Infernas, prince of Pandemonia, was the first to join Rune. Sian, as his compatriots called him, was over seven feet tall and muscled, with long black hair. He wore leather bands over his broad chest and dark trews.
Rune could admit the prince of hells was as wickedly handsome as the devil who’d sired him.
Sian turned his green eyes toward the glass wall. “Good, we’re still a few days out. Gives us time to prepare.” He took his seat at the table. “I haven’t been to Earth in ages.”
“Much has changed. As you’ll soon see.” Rune had been the others’ eyes and ears over the last five centuries, documenting every realm he’d visited. Once his allies had convened, they would delve into his memories, updating their speech and learning about these new times in which they would war.
They were in for some graphic scenes; Rune had spent most of his years plowing slick nymph flesh.
Out of habit, he slid an arrow from the quiver strapped to his calf. He tapped his forefinger on the arrowhead, collecting some of his black blood to draw symbols on the shaft. With those demonic runes, he could focus his fey magicks, amplifying a regular arrow into one of power.