Bryony Pearce - The Weight of Souls

“Sucks for you.”

I nodded. “Worst birthday ever.”

“And your Dad can't see the ghosts?”

“He thinks I'm ill, that I have a skin condition and the rest is all in my head.”

“That must be hard.” Sympathy changed Justin’s face. “So you've been seeing the dead for what, five years?”

“Since we met.”

“Look, Taylor,” he rubbed his face and stepped away from me. “Maybe your Dad's right.”

“What?” I spluttered. “How can you not believe me? You’re one of them.”

“Obviously I believe you see ghosts.” His hand lifted as if to touch my shoulder then changed direction as if repelled, and slipped into the glass case. “That part could be the illness at work, changing something in your brain, letting you see stuff that other people can’t. But this thing about avenging murder victims. Maybe that’s the part that’s made up.”

“You–”

“No, listen. What if you don’t really need to avenge the dead? Maybe someone in your family came up with it as a way of justifying what happens to you.”

My chest felt tight, like I was wearing a corset. I ripped off my glove. “Is this all in my head?”

Justin examined my hand as though I was holding out an interesting beetle. “I thought you wore that because of eczema.”

“It happened when you touched me, just like the clown. Once we find your killer I’ll touch them and this Mark will move from my skin to theirs. Then the Darkness will take them away.”

Justin cleared his throat. “What is the Darkness?” His foot moved through the shadows that surrounded the sarcophagus.

I shook my head. “It’s… the Darkness. It’s meant to take murderers to Anubis for judgment.”

Our faces were both reflected in front of the dead Egyptian and in the glass we both looked like ghosts.

Justin stood almost a head taller than me. His hair and eyes toned with mine; a brown so dark it was almost black. But my eyes were slanted almonds and his were round-edged and deep set, preventing a true match. He had lost his tan over the years and was naturally pale. The skin of his throat curved above his tie soft as the petals of a flower. Not for the first time, it struck me that he looked like someone I should really like. It was a shame I didn’t.

Strands of my hair shifted around my shoulders as the air-conditioning blew over us so gently I barely felt it. Through our reflections I could see the face of the mummy and the phantom of the display behind us; tiny statuettes of Thoth.

Our eyes met. Then Justin looked down at himself and ran his hand over his jumper, flattening it over his chest. “I feel solid.”

I said nothing as he pinched his sleeve between his fingers as if he’d only just realised what he was wearing. He offered a strained half smile. “I’m dead and I’m stuck in this crappy uniform.”

I snorted. “As far as I know your consciousness resurrects you in the last way it remembers. You must’ve been wearing your uniform when you died. Look, after we find your killer you won’t have to hang around here. I don’t know exactly what’ll happen to you but I’d have thought you had better things to worry about than the dress code.”

“What happens if you don’t transfer that Mark?” He pointed to my hand and I closed my fist around it.

“In a couple of weeks the Darkness will come for the bearer of the Mark. If I don’t pass it on, it’ll come for me.”

“And me?”

“No, but you won’t be able to move on. You’ll be stuck here, unable to touch. No eating, sleeping, nothing.”

“It might not be so bad.” He shuffled his feet. “I could go to films, that sort of thing. You don’t know what this whole moving on thing is. You don’t know that it’s a good thing.”

“Ghosts all want to move on. Watching movies forever would get old, Hargreaves.”

His eyes flickered.

“So you’d better tell me who killed you.”

His long fingers twitched and he pressed his hands together. “There’s one problem with your crazy theory, Oh.”

My eyes narrowed and I wheeled to face him. “And what’s that?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I wasn’t murdered.”

I rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans. “You mean you don’t know who killed you?”

“No. I mean , I wasn’t murdered.” He bent close to me. “That's why I think your Dad might be right.”

“You must have been murdered.” I stuck my blackened hand in his face. “If you weren’t, your touch wouldn’t have done this .” My shoulders vibrated inside my T-shirt, rage fuelled. “This is so typical of you. Nothing can be easy, can it?” I dug my nails into my palms and tried to see reason. “I suppose it’s possible you don’t know who did it. Just tell me how you died and we’ll see if we can work it out.”

Justin looked at the mummy. “I-I don’t want to talk about it.”

I swung him to face me. “Didn’t you listen to a word I said?” I growled. “I’m not going into the Darkness for you. Tell me what happened and we can be done with each other.”

He yanked his shoulders out of my hands. “Why should I do anything for you?” he snapped.

I blinked. “Are you kidding me?” I realised that my voice was raised and lowered my tone to a hiss. “You aren’t doing me a favour, Hargreaves, I’m doing you one. The dead chase me all over London trying to get me to do what I’m trying to do for you. My life is a bloody nightmare because of you.”

“Me?”

“All of you, the damn dead.” I gestured angrily at the body before us. “And let’s not forget you made my life hell at school. If I could walk away from you and leave you alone, believe me I would. But I can’t, so tell me what happened, you selfish, arrogant jerk .”

He jumped as if I’d bitten him and landed in the middle of the case, wearing the mummy like crazy fancy dress. “I’ve just found out I’m dead.”

“Get over it.”

“Pete’s right about you. You’re cold.”

His words made me gasp as if he’d thrown cold water at me, but I felt as if I was standing on the edge of a furnace. My face flamed. “You don’t know anything about me,” I yelled. And what was worse was that just wasn't true any more. Justin now knew more about me than anyone since my mother had died.

There was a noise and I spun around. I had finally drawn the guard.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He fingered his belt, not quite touching his walkie-talkie, but the threat was there.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Right. Sorry.”

I stumbled through the small Egyptian display, past the guard’s vacant stool and back into the white corridor. I was so angry I could hardly see. I slammed my hand against the lift button and waited for the doors to open. Justin stood at my heels, also silent, tailing me like a mosquito.

Once inside the lift I whirled on him. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I scrubbed at my face, trying to rub the fire away, but it only seemed to make it worse.

“I–”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish. “Fine.” I showed him the Mark again. “Your lot called me Godzilla for years because they thought I was scaly under the glove. I don’t have eczema, I’ve got this Mark. Do you know what happens if I don’t cover my hand up?” I advanced on him and it was his turn to step away. “I could accidentally transfer the Mark to someone.”

“That’s–”

“I could pay your girlfriend a visit. Tamsin treats me like dirt. Or what about your precious Dad? We could see how long it takes for the Darkness to take him.”

“You wouldn’t.”