Richelle Mead - Shadow Heir

“Sure do,” he said. “Thanks for letting us come by. I promise not to mess anything up.”

“You better not,” she teased.

I gave him a look of wonder as we made our way to the house. “Do you know everyone around here?” I’d noticed similar receptions in my time with him, but being given full access to a site like this was pretty remarkable.

He chuckled and opened the front door for me. “It’s one of the perks of settling in one place so long. You don’t just get to know people—you practically become family.”

We spent almost two hours going through the house. It was a huge place, with room after room that had been restored and furnished with period items. Most everything was labeled with small placards too, overloading my brain with more history than I could handle. The plantation’s more sinister side and history of slavery continued to bother me, but I could see that Evan was right about the importance of learning about the past.

After finally seeing all there was to see, we returned to one of the grand sitting rooms. I rested on a small bench and admired the setting. Taking in the rich details and lush fabrics, I couldn’t help but think this room would’ve fit seamlessly into some gentry palace. Evan eyed me with concern.

“You up for seeing some of the outside buildings? We can head out if you’re tired.”

The truth was, I was tired. I firmly told myself it was simply from knowledge overload and depressing history—and not because pregnancy was wearing me down. “Let’s at least take a quick look,” I said, refusing to show any weakness. “It’d be a shame not to after coming all the way out here.”

“Okay,” he agreed. He held out a hand to help me up, and I accepted. As we walked toward the door, a wave of cold hit me—and it wasn’t from the plantation’s cooling system, either. In fact, it was exactly the kind of cold spot I’d been trying to explain to that guy on the phone the other day.

“Did you feel that?” I asked, coming to a stop.

Evan gave me a curious look. “No. What was it?”

“A cold spot.” Yet, even as I said it, the spot moved, and I was back in the room’s previous temperature. I studied the room, looking for some sign of the source. Evan followed my gaze. Even with basic training, he understood the significance of a cold spot.

“There,” he murmured, pointing to a corner.

I’d almost overlooked it. In a roped-off alcove filled with furniture, a ghost stood between a clock and a sofa. He was so still and so translucent from the sunlight that he was difficult to spot. He had a forked beard and wore an old-fashioned suit with a bow tie. He watched us warily but made no movements.

“That’s an old ghost,” I said. “Judging from the clothes. Probably been around since this place was built. Of course, if that’s the case, he probably doesn’t bother many people—or else someone would’ve called Candace long before this.”

Evan shifted uncomfortably, a small frown wrinkling his forehead. “True. But it doesn’t matter. She’d still say he should have been banished a long time ago. It isn’t right for him to be tied to this world.”

“Also true,” I admitted. “We can let her know, and she can come back.”

To my surprise, Evan produced a wand from his pocket. It was similar to mine—which I’d left with Roland—save that the gemstones tied to its wooden base were different. “I can do it now,” he said.

“You carry a wand with you?” I asked, kind of impressed.

He shrugged. “Aunt Candy says be prepared. You better step away.”

I started to say I had nothing to fear from a mild-mannered ghost like this but then remembered that this wasn’t my show. Besides, even though this ghost seemed pretty localized, it was better if I didn’t draw attention to myself—not that there seemed to be any danger of that. From the way the ghost had now fixed his steely gaze on Evan, it was obvious who had been identified as the threat. I moved to the room’s far side.

“Send him to the Underworld if you can,” I said.

Evan nodded and extended the wand. I felt its magic fill the room as he attempted to open a gate that would send the ghost away. Before he’d really even opened up past this world, the ghost attacked with a fury that neither of us had expected. Since the ghost had seemed so docile, I’d figured he would take his banishing meekly.

No such luck. He shifted to a flying form and threw himself forward, knocking Evan to the ground and immediately shutting down the tentative gate. Evan had remarkably fast reflexes and rolled to avoid the ghost’s next blow. Spying a silver candlestick, Evan leapt up and grabbed it with his free hand and then took a swing at the ghost. It was a smart move. A silver blade was better, but any silver object wielded as a weapon by someone with enough skill and magic to use it correctly could cause damage. Sure enough, though the candlestick seemed to pass harmlessly through the ghost’s translucent form, he howled in rage and retreated out of reach.

Evan used the opportunity to attempt his gate. I felt the tingle of magic once more, soon followed by a connection to the Otherworld. With that connection, my earlier need for the Thorn Land and Rowan Land flared up with startling intensity. They were so close ... but still out of my reach. I bit my lip and forced myself to stay still. Despite the connection, Evan was taking my advice and sending his senses farther, forming an opening to the Underworld. The ghost snarled as he recognized what Evan was doing. A ghost could come back from the Otherworld sometimes, but from the realm of death, there was no return.

Knowing it was now or never, the ghost struck again. Evan was ready and dodged the blow, still swinging the candlestick defensively. I felt the connection to the Underworld waver, but he was just barely able to keep hold. His near loss was a sign of his inexperience. Neither Candace nor I would’ve lost a gate that established. Still, he’d pulled it off and began the banishing words. The ghost attacked again, and Evan shifted—realizing too late it had been a feint. Evan moved in the wrong direction, and the ghost quickly picked up a wooden chair and threw it hard at Evan. The chair hit its mark, knocking Evan to the floor once again. The wand fell from his hand, instantly dissolving the connection.

The wand rolled to a central spot in the room, and I moved without even thinking. The ghost was advancing on Evan. I grabbed the wand and quickly cast an opening to the Underworld. As the magic poured through me, I nearly gasped. I hadn’t realized just how long I’d gone without it. Shamanic magic didn’t have the addictiveness of gentry magic, but it still had a sweet, pleasurable feeling I’d missed.

The ghost turned to me in surprise, not having expected me to offer a challenge. He abandoned Evan but wasn’t fast enough to reach me before I spoke the banishing and sent him on. The ghost dissolved before our eyes, screaming in fury as it finally went where it should have long ago. Soon the screams were gone too, and we were alone. I hurried over to Evan, who was already getting to his feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

I almost laughed. “Me? You’re the one who just got tossed around by a ghost. Look at your arm.” One of the chair legs had caught his arm at a bad angle, leaving a bloody gash. It likely wouldn’t need stitches but was still ugly.

“I’m fine,” he said. He righted the chair and gave it a quick survey for damage. There was none, meaning he wouldn’t get in trouble with Wanda. “I’ve never seen a banishing that fast. I don’t even think Aunt Candy can do it.”

“It just takes practice,” I assured him, not wanting to make a big deal of it. Evan knew I had a shamanic background, but I didn’t want the extent of my power made that obvious. “Come on—we should get home.” I was already looking back on what I’d done with regret. In that moment, there’d been no question. I’d had to help Evan. But in doing so, I’d exposed myself.