Reckoner Redeemed Read online

  “Look, then,” I said. “With a reckoner’s eye.” I indicated not just the city but, most specifically, her neighborhood. And of course I didn’t say this so much as share it with words unspoken, the skill of which she also picked up at an admirable rate.

  Perhaps I should have pushed her to this step sooner.

  Lisa moved us closer to her home—both of us, mind you—and looked down upon the landscape in etherea, where her home rested in a clean, uncluttered space of bright breezes and healthy green eddies.

  But the surrounding homes were hardly as fortunate. They wavered with murky colors and the distinct blots of incoherent and unrestful spirits, the tangles of heavy breezes—all surrounding the ethereal gravity that was Lisa McGarrity.

  “Normally, I keep this area tidy,” I told her. “From now on, that will be your responsibility. “

  “How?” she asked.

  “With cleansing breezes and dispersal techniques—”

  “And how,” she asked, “do you know all this? What made you who you are, Rhonda Rose?”

  It was the second time she asked, and the second time I failed to respond. But I took note. I was bound to hear it again.

  “When I said from now on,“ I told her, “I meant, starting now. With a light hand, if you please.”

  She cast me an ethereal glower. But she also went to work, and her hand was just as light and precise as it had ever been. As if she’d been doing this all her life...and would.

  ~~~~~

  Definitely Not a Turtle

  An actual job. A new one, too, with the potential to become a regular. So here Garrie was, early afternoon in Albuquerque, just like any other Reckoner afternoon on a day with work to be done—regardless of the battles fought the night before, her ongoing awareness of Trevarr’s suffering, or the tender, gritty feel of her cried-out eyes and sinuses.

  She leaned against the passenger door of her Outback in the eldercare residence parking lot, one ankle in repose over the other and her arms crossed at her chest, pondering the clouds and wondering if they’d get a fall rain. Waiting, and perfectly aware of the unsettled ethereal breezes around them. Lucia sat comfortably in the car seat behind her, flicking her way across the Internet on her latest tablet and occasionally sticking it out the window to share her find.

  Pots and pans. Garrie had the feeling the new kitchen would be well-stocked.

  A compact pickup truck with a paint-patch bed bounced into the lot, jarring its three crowded passengers to an abrupt stop behind Garrie’s Outback. The driver’s window rolled down and Drew leaned his arm over the door. “Yo!”

  The passenger door opened and Quinn didn’t so much exit as he was ejected; Robin hastened to follow, tumbling out into the afternoon warmth. “We’re riding back with Garrie,” she said, loudly and to no one in particular.

  Dana-Bob appeared beside her, full of clarity but not, thankfully, the least bit visible to non-reckoner eyes. He looked at the building and smirked. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Have fun with this.”

  Drew took his own glance at the building—assisted living, respite care, and nursing care wrapped up into one over-cheerful, carefully presented more-Southwestern-than-thou package—and stopped looking so casual, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. His mouth twisted into sourness. “No wonder you just gave me the address.”

  Lucia didn’t even look up from her tablet, though her voice took on brisk tones. “Just don’t look too deeply, Drew. Isn’t that what you always told me when it got hard?”

  Drew shook his head. “Dunno how a history of this place would be useful, anyway. It’s where old people come...and go.”

  Garrie slanted him a look. “Pretty sure they’ve got an active cluster. I need all the hands I can get for containment work.” She pushed away from the car, opening Lucia’s door. “Your choice, as always.”

  Lucia emerged, long legs encased in slim-fit jeans, painted toenails peeking out from sandals of the thinnest strapping, a cute bolero vest over a sharp white shirt, makeup plied to emphasize the sweep of her eyes and lashes. Camouflage, all of it. “I haven’t looked too closely,” she said, all business as she pulled her Kate Spade tote from the foot well. “But at the moment there’s nothing too intense going on.”

  “Well, let’s go figure it out.” Garrie locked her car while Lucia handed out containment bags and Drew parked his little truck, emerging with a mutter. Dana-Bob drafted along in their wake, anticipation brightening his already searing colors as they pushed through the entry airlock doors and into the tiny lobby.

  The receptionist gave them an uncertain look when Garrie identified them, as if she’d expected a team with matching polo shirts. She was a mature woman with carefully coiffed hair and a bright happy face broach at her shoulder, and she quickly schooled her expression. “Teresa will be here momentarily. She’s expecting you.”

  “Looks like she’s not the only one. Wowza.” Garrie peered through the glass of the door to the residence proper, where several hallways met in a hub of open space—and where diffuse entities mingled freely among residents doing slow motion wheelchair exercises. “It’s crowded in there.”

  “Time for a good cleaning?” Drew asked, cheerful enough now that he’d decided to join them.

  “I assure you—” the receptionist said in offense, “this facility is kept to scrupulous standards of cleanliness.”

  “No, no,” Lucia murmured. “Not that kind of cleaning. Just a pleasant non-denominational cleansing.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, adjusting her broach. “Well, then.”

  Garrie returned to the restless cluster—remnants too disparate to be have true awareness, too well-formed to simply fade away. In the center of the mixed gathering, a male form emerged—standing tall and straight in his frailty, and almost completely realized. The wispy remnant personalities fluttered away from him, twisting around one another in confusion at his unusual nature.

  Garrie opened the residence door, stuck her head through, and crooked a finger at the aged Bob.

  “Me?” he said, his spiritual voice uncertain and creaky.

  “You.” She let the door close again while he worked on that, and addressed the receptionist. “You lose someone recently?”

  “No, no! All of our residents are closely monitored.”

  “She means,” Lucia said, most kindly, “has anyone died?”

  “Oh. Of course. I mean...of course that’s what you meant. And yes, I’m afraid so. Mr. Ephram Shore passed away several nights ago.”

  “Gee,” said Dana, hovering at her shoulder. “What sounds familiar about that timing?”

  “Get over it,” Garrie advised him, still watching through the window. As the elderly Bob made his way through the wheelchair crowd, the activities director arrived, buffing her arms on the way to the foyer.

  “Ugh,” she said, with no idea that Ephram-Bob had entered right on her heels. A younger woman than the receptionist, she too was smartly groomed, but her professional demeanor couldn’t mask an expression of dismay. “Did anyone else feel that?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Drew said.

  Lucia stepped firmly on his foot while Garrie offered introductions, adding, “And Mr. Shore is also here.”

  “I beg your pardon—did you say Mr. Shore?” Teresa’s glance included the receptionist with what was likely meant to be a subtle exchange of doubt, not really so subtle at that.

  “You ought to beg my pardon!” Ephram’s creaky voice rose. “Someone ought to! How stupid is it for a man to die because you people couldn’t remember to change his socks! Diabetic toes!”

  “Ephram—can I call you Ephram?” Garrie asked him. “Or do you prefer Mr. Shore?”

  He regarded her through rheumy eyes, his straight posture flickering to bent and back again. “It’s about time someone heard me,” he said. “You’re cute as a button, and you can call me Mr. Ephram.”

  Teresa said again, “I beg your pardon. Didn’t I understand that you would do some
sort of cleansing—a nice inoffensive event? Some sort of ceremony, maybe with sage?”

  Robin looked down at her collection of greased containment bags and muttered, “Something like that.”

  “We can do that,” Garrie said. “But first, Mr. Ephram has concerns about his passing.” She found herself suddenly relieved to be back in this familiar role, this relatively easy role.

  “No, no, no,” Teresa said, waving her hands in a defensive gesture. “I don’t think I want to know about this. Can’t you just fix it? My friend at the hospital says you work wonder in their ER. That’s what I want. Wonders.”

  Garrie shrugged. “Depends.” She turned back to the spirit. “Mr. Ephram, is there something I can do for you? I can see that you’re unsettled.”

  Mr. Ephram went vague and fluttery, his creaky voice as thin as fraying cloth. “Change my socks...”

  Garrie sent a frown at the activities director. “Did he really pass away because no one changed his socks?”

  “Diabetic toes,” Mr. Ephram said, a rising moan beneath the words. In the next room, the remnant spirits twisted like decorative wind spinners.

  Teresa startled. “He—” she started, and then stopped. “These things can be complicated. He...might have seen it that way.”

  “Toes!” Mr. Ephram cried, and the remnants whirled, catching the building ethereal distress and pinwheeling away. A passing nurse recoiled, batting at the air, and one of the wheelchair-bound residents cried out.

  “Okay, then,” Garrie muttered. “Time to settle things. Lu, remember that lullaby we used last year?”

  Lucia looked away. “Oh,” she said. “That was such a sad case...” Then she gathered herself. “Yes, I know it.”

  “Go for it,” Garrie said, glancing at Drew, Robin, and Quinn, all ready for containment duty. “Then we’ll see what’s left.”

  Lucia closed her eyes and took a breath. “Duermete mi niño...duermete mi amor...” With a voice sweet and clear, she spun Spanish words into a lilting lullaby. Ephram’s mouth opened in a gentle O of surprise, and Garrie quietly opened the door to the spiritually overpopulated central room.

  Lucia’s lullaby entranced them; her faint soothing breezes entranced them. They settled, aligning themselves to her.

  “Again,” Garrie whispered when she knew the end of the song grew near. Teresa stood frozen, uncertain; the receptionist sank back down into her chair. Someone’s daughter stepped briskly through the exterior door, made the same little O expression, and waited in attentive silence.

  As Lucia’s voice faded from a final chorus, the remnants drifted through the lobby with calm quiescence, bobbing like spiritual jellyfish. Garrie said quietly, “If we can satisfy Mr. Ephram, I think we can round up the rest without any trouble.”

  “That’d be good,” Drew said. “If they get really riled, it’ll be hard to explain.”

  Ghostly effluvia, AKA ghost poo. No one’s favorite.

  “Let’s not rile them,” Garrie said dryly. She eyed Mr. Ephram, who had recovered enough from the calming effects of the lullaby to eye her back. “I get why you’re upset, Mr. Ephram,” she said. “I think everyone here understands. What else can I do for you?”

  “I can’t stay?” he said, rather sadly.

  “You really can’t.”

  After a long silence, he said, “I want them to be careful with everyone else’s socks.”

  Garrie cleared her throat. “Mr. Ephram would like to know that you’ll be more careful about socks.”

  The receptionist perked up. “They have a new system, since—”

  A glance from Teresa silenced the rest of that sentence.

  Garrie sent her a look that said she’d noticed and stuck to task. “Tell you what, Mr. Ephram,” she said, and he leaned a little closer, his manner confidential. “I think I’m about to be asked to come by every month or so to keep this place tidy. Every time I’m here, I’ll check on the socks system.”

  “You seem like a good girl,” he said, and patted her shoulder, his hand a tickling breeze. “Will you do that, so I can go?”

  “I will,” she told him. “You feel free to watch us clean up, and leave whenever you’re ready.”

  He nodded, eyes suddenly filmed and body suddenly bent—but when he straightened again, he looked younger than ever—his decision made, his realization no longer anchored to recent times but to a stronger past.

  Lucia tilted her head. “He feels ready, I think.”

  “That was easier than I expected,” Drew said, draping his lanky form against the reception counter.

  “We’re not done yet,” Garrie said. “Grab those containment bags and let’s get the rest of the cluster out of here.”

  Teresa gave a nervous laugh. “I’m sure this is all just part of your routine?”

  Garrie knew the sound of that laugh. Teresa had hired them with no idea what they truly did—but she was beginning to suspect. As reactions went, this one was familiar. Comfortable, even.

  “I know it looks odd,” she said, staying matter-of-fact—as if Teresa had understood all along. “But this is the best way. We’ll release them at one of the old cemeteries.”

  Lucia opened the lobby door into the hub. “They’re still calm. We can do this quickly.” When Drew hesitated, she cast him a Look. Also familiar. Drew hastily followed Lucia into the lobby, trailed by Quinn and Robin. Garrie stirred the breezes with gentle care, easing the unresisting remnants toward the open bags—directing them with only the faintest hint of her available power, and making them secure and welcome.

  When she looked back at Mr. Ephram, he’d gone on. Just as it should be.

  ~~~~~

  “That went well,” Lucia said, sounding a little surprised about it as they left the eldercare residence. The clouds had retreated and late fall valley heat slapped down from the sun to bake back up at them from the asphalt; they automatically stopped at the edge of the building’s shade. “Just like the good old days.”

  Not that they were very old days at that.

  “It kinda did,” Drew said, and gave Lucia a second look. “And you’re not crying, even though there were lots of old dead people.”

  “Lu did a great job of shielding.” Garrie checked her arms for the shimmer and tucked a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.

  “I suppose I could have learned it earlier.” Lucia sounded wistful. “Think of all the trouble it would have saved me.”

  “I dunno,” Quinn said. “Things aren’t what they were—we’ve all changed. Maybe it just was what it was, and you were already doing what you could.” And then as she glanced his way, he hastened to add, “Not that it didn’t accumulate at you.”

  “Damned farking right it accumulated,” Lucia said sweetly. She pulled sunglasses from her tote, sleek and sporty. “But thank you.”

  Garrie cast him a grateful look he wouldn’t see from behind dark lenses. “I’ve got to meet a contractor,” she told them. “I think we’re done for the day?”

  As far as I know,” Lucia said. And then, because Garrie’s propensity for killing cell phones and other tech meant that Lucia wrangled email and voicemail, she added, “I’ve got some inquiries to return. One suspected pet haunting, one monster in the closet, one please tell me I’m not crazy.”

  Quinn crushed a stray piece of landscaping bark under the toe of his sneaker. “I’m working afternoons and evenings the rest of the week, but I can cut back on my hours if it looks like our paid work is ramping up again.” He tipped his head to wait for her reaction, his forelock scattered over his brow in perfect heroic anime style.

  Garrie hesitated, and then said what they were waiting to hear. “I think we can count on it. I’ll probably handle the new stuff Lu mentioned, but we’ve got some regular sweeps coming up. And there are too many changes from the portal damage to just go away.”

  She didn’t say out loud what she already knew—that the affected beings weren’t hanging around the portal epicenter of San Jose; they were coming here. Beca
use Garrie was here.

  Before anyone had a chance to think about it, she cast an eye at Drew. “I don’t know how long you’ll be visiting, but you’re welcome to sign back on with us while you’re here. You’ll get a share from today’s work, anyway.”

  “Sure,” he said, a shrug of a word. As if he hadn’t been waiting to be asked.

  “This is so normal I’m not sure I can stand it,” Quinn said. “But I gotta say—are we still just doing nothing about the mountain?”

  Garrie struck out across the parking lot. “We’ve done what we can for now. We may just have to see how it develops.”

  Robin’s unusually cautious tone reminded Garrie that she was still hoping for a ride home. “It’s already killed two people.”

  As if Garrie didn’t know. “And we’ve contained its attachments and protected the trails. I’ll monitor it. But I need time.” For more than just managing the mountain, but she wasn’t about to tell them that. She knew what they thought of her need to find Trevarr, and her chances of doing it.

  She wondered what they’d think if they knew, as Lu did, that she’d already found him. She just didn’t know how to reach him.

  Lucia said nothing, her head held high as she strode across the asphalt to Garrie’s car, her mouth compressed. So far, so good—or at least, as good as Garrie could expect. She slowed as they approached the vehicles, glancing at the team.

  “Look,” she said. “I’ll see if I can wrestle some actual information from Sklayne. And Quinn, you might see if the Bestiary has anything to say about something called a kyrokha, if you’ve gotten that far with figuring out how to use it. Sklayne’s mentioned the word a couple of times—maybe it actually has meaning.”

  She hadn’t wanted to tell them that much. Not when the mountain had such a familiar taste. But Sklayne hadn’t been forthcoming so far—he’d hardly even been evident. She had the impression he was sorry he’d given her even that much information.

  Just as she might be sorry for telling Quinn.

  “Ooh!” Lucia pulled her sunglasses off and bent to look beside the Outlook’s front tire, her hair tumbling over her shoulder to obscure the view. “Look! A turtle! Sort of.”