Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Irene, don't scare me like that! Also, (and I can't believe I have to say this), you can’t STEAL historical artifacts just because they’re gay!”

Alice’s words were disapproving, but her eyes were keen. A few irritated patrons glanced their way, but Alice ignored them. She lunged for the packet her older sibling dangled just out of reach, and Irene smirked.

“So you don’t want it, then?” She lounged backward across the table with maddening nonchalance, long arms holding the treasure aloft.

“I didn’t say that.”  Alice jumped for it and missed. “I just said you shouldn’t steal.”

“This is why we made you play R2D2 when we were kids. Private property is a social construct.”

“So is prison, Irene. Also, don’t lie on the tables. My boss is extremely strict.”

“Hot.”

Another lunge and a halfhearted scramble later, Irene surrendered the packet. She settled, cross-legged on the table, with an air of complete satisfaction. Alice opened the envelope, and withdrew a memory stick. Minutes later she was scanning its contents, nose wrinkled cutely beneath her glasses.

“I know ancient history is more my thing than yours, but this email is from 1995. We have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Keep reading.” Irene urged, eyes definitely not scanning the room for a glimpse of the aforementioned extremely strict librarian. Hoping she was a brunette.

“Looks like it’s a lawsuit against the town of Gundagai…regarding the remains of…George Scott?”

“Bingo.”

“Weird. I don’t recall Eli mentioning any lawsuit when he did that episode…do you?"

"Nah, but that was ages ago.” The siblings and their two best friends had been running a queer history podcast for nearly a year. Well, one best friend now. Only Eli remained, since Hamish had buggered off to run Spain or whatever it was.

“What was the dispute?” Alice murmured, skimming obtuse legal language as quickly as she could. “They settled this. They finally moved him so he could be buried with the bones of James Nesbitt.”

“Near the bones of James Nesbitt,” Irene corrected, leaning in conspiratorially. “They tried. His grave was unmarked, right?”

“Sure,” Alice said impatiently, scanning further. She pushed a mop of lavender-hued curls from her eyes. 

“Turns out it was…a lot more unmarked than anyone wanted to admit.” Alice glanced up, and Irene grabbed the mouse, highlighting the key passage.

“Alice, did I find something? Please tell me I’ve found something.”

”Irene,” she breathed, “You’ve found something.”

Chapter Text

“WHY DOES HE EVEN HAVE A PHONE IF HE NEVER ANSWERS IT?” Alice shouted to Irene, hoping to be heard as they flew through the streets of Melbourne in an open car. The wind carried her voice away, but Irene heard the tone and saw Alice waving her phone in frustration.

“HE’S PROBABLY ASLEEP,” she shouted back.

He better not be, Alice thought. It was dinnertime, and her housemate was meant to be working on his thesis. Of course, that probably meant he was working on everything but. With a roll of her eyes, she pictured him browsing his phone with a messy hair, eating a bowl of cereal and looking unfairly attractive, for all the world like God meant to make Hozier and ran out of inches.

Sigh. Alice shook her head to clear that unnecessary thought. One did not pine after one’s best friend. Not unless one wanted to things to get very, very awkward. Still, it was hard to ignore that for the last four years they had been circling ever closer to…

Anyway.

“ELI! You home?!?!”

Their living room was in a familiar state of disarray. Eli’s worn copy of the Tanakh lay open to Shemot, and books on every subject imaginable (except Sappho) covered the table. Several cabinet doors stood open, their calico cat was meowing to be fed, and Spotify was looping a Japanese cover of Making Bacon Pancakes. Typical.

Taking mental inventory, Alice estimated that Eli had been working on his homework, two upcoming podcast episodes, some AO3 nonsense, and potentially a complete ADHD breakdown when he…fell asleep? No. His room was empty. She thought of calling him again when she realized he'd texted.

on my way to rookwood for research. call you later.

She answered immediately.

Call me NOW. Irene stole something.  Alice smiled as she opened a can of cat food for Fig. That ought to get him. Any minute now, the phone would ring and he would call, demanding full and complete details of whatever caper her incorrigible sister had led them into, and she would naturally draw it out, telling it as slowly as possible for full dramatic effect until he…

Hmm.

None of that would work if he didn't call.

He would, though.

Any minute.

****

“We don’t need Eli,” Irene announced, unceremoniously clearing the table in a sweep. “I’ll get the maps, you get the coffee. Alice nodded, half-distracted as she eyed the weather from their window.

“He’s going to get rained on.”

“Serves him right for disappearing during my HEIST,” said Irene heartlessly.

“You’re going to return that memory stick when we’re through, right?”

“Like hell I am. I’d never find those people again, and besides, what right do Americans have making a documentary about a gay Aussie hero?

“You didn’t say they were American!”

Irene kept her eyes trained on the keyboard as she tapped, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

“Didn’t I? One of them definitely was. Tall, ginger woman in a velvet jacket. Chatty. Bragging about her discovery like no one else ever did any history. Fortunately, she was too drunk to notice anything…go missing…”

Alice clucked disapprovingly, though whether it was of the theft or the unlucky filmmaker, Irene could not tell.

Hours passed. Notes were checked and agricultural maps were consulted. By midnight, the sisters sat flabbergasted, surrounded by legal briefs, courtroom docs, and 87% of a major historical scandal. Lightning flashed, but Eli still had not returned.

“Well, shit.”

Chapter Text

Torrential rain and flash flood warnings (unseasonable to say the least) could not deter Alice the next morning. She flicked on the lights and rummaged in the closet for her jacket.

“What time is it?” Irene groaned from the direction of the couch, one arm flung across her eyes.

“Time to find Eli,” she answered, determinedly. “He never got in, and his phone’s dead. I want to be sure he’s not stranded in his car somewhere.”

“Check the jail.”

Alice snorted. “Irene, why on earth would I check the jail?”

Irene shrugged. “Faster than driving to Rookwood."

***

Jas was not hungover, because Jas refused to be hungover. Hangovers were for weaklings and cowards. The sour smell of her mattress and cell mates, the puke on her favorite coat and the unacceptable taste of blood in her mouth was just…a typical Saturday morning, really.

Which was unfair, since her Friday had been anything but typical. She hadn’t planned to drink at all, beyond the standard wining and dining of a few media investors. That had gone swimmingly, and she had even noticed a cool, leggy person eyeing her speculatively from across the bar. Might have pursued that further, had the whole thing not gone absolutely fucking south the minute they—

“Eli?” A woman’s voice called softly, interrupting Jas’ thoughts, and inmates around them began to stir. Alice scanned the crowds with a set face. “Eli!”

Jas grimaced against the light, opening one eye only to assess the situation. This girl was small and plucky, look of a scholar, probably queer based on her Doctor Who shirt and bisexually-exposed ankles, defiant of the weather. A taller person with an undercut hung back, looking vaguely uncomfortable and bored and—Jas bolted upright.

“OI!”

Irene started. “Gotta goooo, Alice!” she hissed.

“Why?”

“Remember the American?” She jerked her head in the direction of Jas’ cell, where she were windmilling wildly.

“You stole my bag!” Jas lunged for the bars, and Irene bolted for the door, trying to tug her sister away.

“Sorry, mate! You have me confused with someone el—”

“Irene, you didn’t say you took the whole damn—wait. You’re not American?” interrupted Alice, who had put her brakes on, and was eyeing Jas speculatively. Jas thought she might be a little bonkers.

“Whyyyy would anyone think I was--ugh…” With a bit of effort, Jas remembered the ridiculous accent she was doing at the bar, trying to put her investors at ease. Exhausting, but apparently convincing.

“It was a bit,” she said, wondering why she bothered to explain herself. “As it happens, I am not American. I'm an Experience™️, and a damn special one, and— YOU STOLE MY BAG!” She shouted at Irene, feeling more deeply wounded by the second. “Didn’t do you a bit of good, did it? Ruined my night and got no cash. HA! I’m broke!”

“That’s not the triumph you think it is,” Irene scoffed.

Alice drew closer still, curiosity written all over her features. “You’re the one making a film about George Scott?”

“Why do you say it like that?” Jas forgot to wonder how she knew, and was only conscious that this person seemed to be assessing her from red top-knot to blue sarong, with the air of someone rapidly coming to a decision.

“Then you have the rest of it?”

“The rest of…”

“The rest of the info about…” Alice’s voice dropped to a whisper. “…the bodies.” Okay, yes. Cute, bonkers, possibly a bit ghoulish. Not really striking the proper tone, considering the situation, but Jas thought she saw a solution to her impecunious predicament.

“I do,” she said, and quirked a charming eyebrow. “I’ll show you, if you bail me out.”

“You swear?” She leaned in, forehead almost touching the bars, her green eyes huge in the fluorescent lights.

“Every damn day,” grinned Jas. “Now get me out of here.”

Chapter Text

LET ME IN. Let me iiiiiiiiin!

Eli slammed his shoulder repeatedly against the door of a stone vault. Standing in the pelting rain and feeling his arm go numb, he wondered if this was how it would end. He'd planned to leave the cemetery long before sundown, but here he was, dodging lightning strikes coming at a truly unnatural pace, as if Nature had spied him lurking in the Victorian necropolis and thought You know what? Fuck this guy in particular.

Finding shelter seemed the only sensible thing to do, but the mausoleums were secured against vandals and kids looking for a place to smoke pot. The next lightning strike was nearly blinding, and he kept his eyes screwed tightly shut against the onslaught. I can do this, he thought. Just tuck and roll. It’s 500 meters to the car, give or take. Maybe. I don’t know distance.

The death of a nearby tree limb changed his mind. With a sickening crack, it was sheared from its base and fell sparking to the ground.

Or I could get cozy here, I guess. His body, shivering and hungry, begged to differ. The wet clothes were bad enough, but the wind had an eerie, mixed quality like ocean water – tendrils of ice wound through the ordinary chill. He wished Alice were there. Alice probably knew the exact spot you were supposed to kick a door to knock it in. Alice knew everything. Once again, he pitched his slight frame against the stone, but it didn’t budge.

“I believe you need a key to open that.”

“MOTHER OF—” Eli jumped a mile as he saw a man standing very close, where he could swear that no one had been before. His broad-brimmed hat and waxed cloak were silhouetted against the recurrent flashes of light. Moving him gently aside, the man unlocked the vault and ushered him into the cool, dry air. Immediately, the din of the storm receded, and was replaced by the sound of approximately two hundred frogs pattering away from them across the floor. It was far too dark to see properly, but Eli had the impression that the man’s eyes were piercing, but kind.

“Are you the caretaker?”

“For most of my life, it seems.” The man shifted, observing him closely. “What are you doing out on a night like this, son?”

“Got caught in the storm. I was looking for something. Or someone? There’s a grave that should be here but isn’t.”

“That right?

“I don’t mean to imply anything about how you’re doing your job. I am looking for the resting place of the bushranger, Captain Moonlite.” Eli pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and squinted at it in the dusty gloomth, ruing the Classics degree that had ruined his eyesight. “I don’t think he’s where he is meant to be. The Rookwood guide says that he was laid to rest here in 1880, then moved about twenty years ago, but something isn't right—”

“No offense meant, but what’s it to you?”

“I just…I think people’s final wishes ought to be respected.”

The caretaker smiled and held out his hand. “May I?” he asked softly.

Eli went to hand him the note, and lightning flashed. Their fingers brushed, and everything went dark. When he opened his eyes again, the world had changed.

***

Not for the first time, Eli sat in his car with no memory of getting there.

But the hazy coronas around every street light, the pounding headache, and the bone-deep chill? Those were new. As were the sepia images overlaying his imagination and impressing upon him that he must, he must find someone, and soon. 

But whom?

Chapter Text

“All right, so where are we dropping you?”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning where do you live?”

Jas hesitated. “That’s…a good question.” She mentally cast her mind over friends’ couches and garages where she’d crashed the last two weeks.

“You squatting?”

“Orphaned, actually.” The sisters glanced at each other, their eyes softening until Jas continued, “My parents just moved to Queensland.”

“Peaches Christ, mate!” Irene exclaimed, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four, thank you very much,” she said haughtily, “and I’m currently between residences.”

“Fine,” Alice sighed. “We'll figure it out. First, we need to stop by my work; there’s something I forgot to do yesterday.”

***

“I told you both to stay in the car,” Alice hissed. The library was open, and she prayed her weekend counterpart would be too distracted with noisy kids to notice her. “I just have to run this program really fast. I was supposed to finish inventory yesterday.” She crept along the wall toward her desk, Irene behind her.

“I want to see your hot boss. Point her out to me.”

“I never said she was hot.”

“REDWALL HIVE FORM UP!” Jas shouted, bounding into the midst of the library. She danced around the Redwall display with gleeful animation, picking up a cardboard sword and proceeding to challenge a small child to a duel.

Well someone rolled a 0 for Stealth, Alice thought, and then shrugged. As distractions went, it wasn’t bad. She logged in quickly and gave herself a pep talk. It was fine. It would work. She’d gotten the code from 1001 Completely Safe Things to Do with Macros. She opened her program. She pushed the button.

And every screen in the library went out, one by one, like dominos clattering to the floor.

“Oops.”

***

“I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead” Alice chanted as she peeled out of the parking lot with her comrades in tow. Her boss, Dr. Bey, was already lighting up her phone. “She saw me! She’s going to fire me. She’s going to kill me and then fire me. There’s nothing for it but to get a false beard and move to Uluru under an assumed name.”

“Calm down,” said Irene, “She won’t fire you. Didn’t you say our parents were in the Communist party together? And anyway, I’m sure it’s fixable. It was an accident.”

“Blowing up Shelly’s Leg was an accident. This is a catastrophe.”

“Who’s Shelly?” Jas interjected.

“It doesn’t matter, she’s dead.”

“Poor bastard.” Jas couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun getting robbed.

Chapter Text

If you were looking for someplace spooky, you could do worse than the road to Gundagai. Inland from the coast, the road itself is banked by spongy carpets of moss, with a few sad gum trees breaking through. Years of flooding have made the highway the only passable part; the only place you can traverse without being covered to the knees in mud.

It was along this road that Eli drove through the night. Curtains of gnats and mozzies parted around his car and then came to rest again thickly, heavily, as though he’d never been there at all. He saw the landscape with two minds – his own, which thought it looked familiar, and someone else’s – a man for whom all was very much changed. It had been drier, once. Years of agriculture further north had diverted waters downstream, changing the texture and feel and even the smells of the land. Yet, scanning the stars, he knew they were heading the right direction.

George Nesbitt, the accidental bushranger and swag man known as Captain Moonlite, lay in the wrong place no more.

His restless ghost was grateful to Eli, a young man of curious concern, for coming to find him. Why this should be, he did not question*. He merely asked whether he could “hitch a ride” one last time, and the fellow agreed. At least, George thought (hoped) he had agreed. Vampires and fairies aren’t the only spirits who require consent. In any case, he did not require assistance for long.

His bones lay in a duffle bag in the boot of this stranger’s car, and the object of his desire, the resting place of his husband, lay only a few hours ahead.

***

“GUYS, I FOUND ELI!!!”

Alice and Jas went thundering into the living room where Irene stood, agape, watching the TV. On the news, CCTV footage of Rookwood Cemetery showed grainy images. A cracked monument, sideways rain, and the unmistakable specter of their friend, walking slowly from a tomb with something in his arms.

“That can’t be him…”

”You know it is.”

“Why would Eli be robbing a grave??

The cemetery has yet to identify the victim, said the reporter, but states that an entire skeleton, a Bible, and a few valuables were taken. It is unknown whether the damage to the crypt was due to the vandalism or the storm.

Jas whistled. “You folks sure know how to live.”

“Wait,” Alice motioned for Jas to be quiet. The reporter continued, The suspect was last seen by a toll worker outside Gundagai, this morning at dawn. He is not believed to be armed, but any sightings should be reported to the police.

“Gundagai, again,” said Irene. “Can that be a coincidence?”

“Well it isn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jas retorted.

“I need to think,” groaned Alice, head falling into her hands. “And there isn’t enough red string in the world.”

*This author also hopes you won't question the highly improbable coincidence, since due to personal reasons I will not be explaining.

Chapter Text

“Has anyone else seen Supernatural?” asked Jas.

“What?”

“It’s just that I’ve seen every episode, and I'm a bit of an expert in otherworldly shenanigans. And this footage of your friend,“ she tilted her phone toward Alice. “Is not normal. Look. His eyes are bouncing light back at the camera like a cat’s. Which means maybe it's not really him. Maybe it’s a ghost or a shapeshifter or something.”

“Jas…”

“I’m serious!”

“You think a ghost-"

"Or a shapeshifter!"

"Took Eli’s form and stole the body of—”

Andrew George Scott, the famous bushranger known as Captain Moonlite, the radio helpfully supplied. The cemetery identified the remains, stored with many others in an unmarked mausoleum. They’d all been formerly buried in the pauper’s section, now being renovated for—

“COPS!” Irene shouted. Without hesitation, she swerved their car onto a side road, bumping over rocks and fallen limbs. In the backseat, Jas and Alice flew about like ragdolls, Alice protectively clutching Fig in her cat carrier. Seconds later, several vehicles with lights and sirens flew past them, heading toward Gundagai.

Fig squawked, and Alice breathed heavily. “I don’t think they were looking for us, but we need to find Eli before they do. He'll never last in prison, he's too cute.”

“Serious question,” Jas panted. “Can I go? Or am I like a hostage now?”

***

“So let’s say it’s a ghost,” said Irene, pulling back onto the main road. “What would a ghost want with Eli? I mean he’s undoubtedly the gothest person on our podcast, but—“

“Are we seriously considering this?” Alice asked.

“Let’s just say.”

“Well…” Alice’s brow wrinkled. “It’s a long shot…but possibly because he’s trans?”

“I am not following.”

“You remember our old friend, Phil Boscoe?”

“Who’s that?” Jas asked.

“He’s a gay scholar who researches genders in different cultures. He’s not super great at it, but you know. Points for effort? Anyway. He proposes that the history of transfeminine priestesses around the world has its basis in spiritual fact. That because trans people are ‘neither male nor female,’ they're somehow in touch with the Other. They can play with the line between life and death.”

“That makes no goddamn sense,” Jas scoffed. “Has he ever met a trans person? Some of us are definitely male or female.” Irene nodded in agreement.

“Yes, well,” Alice conceded. “He’s a bit of a mixed scholarly bag.”

***

The ground sucked and pulled at Eli’s boots as he carried the bones of George Scott across a muddy plain. His spectral passenger urged him forward, toward the place where the prison warden, Hell take his soul, had thrown the bodies of dead prisoners for years and years, into a remote and stinking bog. George cared nothing for the place, he only wanted an old wrong set to rights.

A few steps more. Pushing through some scrub brush, they came into a clearing with a deep sense of relief, and saw…Nothing at all. The land was drained and tilled. The path, the bog, and the bodies of all those forgotten souls…were gone.

Chapter Text

“So that’s what the documentary is about,” Jas concluded. “They pretended to rebury Scott with Nesbitt in 1995. In reality, they left him in Rookwood and just removed the name. There was nowhere to move him.”

”Why didn’t the story come out then?”

”Someone paid to hush it up, I reckon. Nesbitt’s not the only body to go missing and you know those other folks had descendants as well. Could be a real headache.” She grinned.

”Which you’re about to kick off?” 

”That’s the plan.”

”Now hang on,” argued Irene. “This doesn’t follow. Bogs don’t rot bodies, they preserve them. I saw this on National Geographic.”

”Oh riiiight,” mused Alice. “The guy with the missing nipples.”

”The who now?”

”If they tossed tens of executed bodies into that bog over say, a decade, they should still be there.”

”Can I ask again what kind of gang you people are?” Jas asked.

”Historians,” said Alice.

”Podcasters,” said Irene.

”And your friend is a…” Jas cast about for a better word than grave-robber. “Archeologist?”

”What? No. Eli hates interpreting material culture. He’s a classicist.”

”Well, we are all on a journey of personal growth,” Jas allowed. “So how do we find him?”

”That many police cars pouring into a small town ought to cause a ruckus. Let’s follow the news crews and see where they lead.”

***

”Well, this is creepy.”

There was no ruckus in Gundagai. There were no news crews, no police cars, only humans and livestock and pets. Although people milled about their day, over everything lay a cursed hush, as if a pestilence had blown through town and silenced everything in its wake.

“Should we ask someone?”

”Ask them…what? If they’ve seen a car chase? A ghost? A South Australian who can’t say his H’s possessed by, and maybe carrying the bones of a dead bushranger?”

“Fair point.”

”Let’s find the bog,” Jas suggested. “Why would he come here if not for Nesbitt?”

”Where is it, though? I didn’t bring the map,” Alice groaned.

”We don’t need a map.” Jason tapped her head. “It’s all up here.”

”Oh, that’s comforting.”

”Words can be hurtful, Alice.”

*** 

“You know,” said Irene to Jas as they trudged along beside her. “If Eli was vulnerable because of his gender, then we might be too.”

“How’s that?”

“On the verrrry off-chance Phil Boscoe is right…you’re trans and I’m undeclared. What if Moonlite possesses us too, and we become like a literal gay army?”

”Surely someone brought a gender,” Jas objected.

Two pairs of eyes slowly turned to Alice, straggling behind, struggling beneath the weight of her cat carrier. 

“Thanks for the HELP,” she gasped, and then noticed their pointed gaze.

”What?”

Chapter Text

“Remind me again why your cat is here?”

Alice gave the carrier over to Jas’ waiting hands with a relieved sigh.

”She’s a rescue, and she has anxiety issues.”

”Well, this isn’t going to help.”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “She can’t be alone right now; she’s basically a hairy baby.”

”Gross,” whispered Irene.

Jas jerked her head eastward and said “Let’s keep going. The clearing is just past here.” She held some branches up so Irene and Alice could walk beneath.

A slim, solitary figure stood, their back to the group as they emerged from the bush. Soft brown hair fell to their shoulders, and they held almost almost preternaturally still. Alice stepped forward tentatively.

”Eli?”

The figure turned and smiled.

”I’ve been waiting for you.”

***

”Dr. BEY?”

”Holy crap, you are in trouble,” Jas whispered.

”Call me Claire,” she said, stepping forward to shake their hands.

”Why are you here?” asked Alice, who stood frozen in shock.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” said Claire, with a grim smile. “More to the point, I thought I might find you here. You uploaded some…interesting…files to the library computer system yesterday. I had to crash the whole thing in order to keep anyone else from seeing it.”

”That was you?”

”Walk with me,” she said, and strode away.

“I knew she was hot,” Irene muttered. “I fucking knew it.”

***

“My family has owned this land for over 100 years,” said Claire, pouring them tea around the kitchen table. “When we began draining the wetlands to farm, we found so many abandoned things. Bicycles, trunks, even a cake of gold. But that was nothing compared to finding abandoned people.

”The thing about a bog is that it tans them - whole, preserved. They looked almost alive. Many of them, you could still see the look on their faces when they died.” She looked sad. “Some of them were very young. Their clothes were gone, but some things like jewelry and buttons survived.”

”What did you do?” asked Jas.

”We reported it,” said Claire. “To be honest, it terrified us. My dad thought they were recently dead, maybe the work of a serial killer. They were still…”

”Juicy?” Jas supplied. Alice smacked her arm.

”Something like that. It took some detective work to date them and figure out their identities. Fortunately the warden kept records of everyone he’d chucked into the bog. He didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong.” 

“Bastard,” said Irene. Claire threw her a quick smile. 

“Definitely. Only a local church seemed to care much at all. They helped my parents find cemetery space for them and set some markers.”

”Why didn’t we hear anything about this when it happened?”

“This was 2003, and my dad was sick. My mom had enough to deal with without…publicity. They did the best they could for those men. To be honest, I’d still rather not be caught in the middle. I’d appreciate it if you let it drop.”

”Of course,” said Irene quickly. Jas squeaked and Alice kicked her under the table.

”You got any whiskey for this tea?

Chapter Text

It’s been said that grief is just love with nowhere to go. Where once Captain George had provided only heavy but calm resolution, a quest with a defined goal, Eli now felt himself consumed by swirling torment, turned bitter and reckless without an aim. He acted without conscious thought, his mind a still, frightened passenger to the force that moved him over the town of Gundagai.

The eerie calm that had lain over the day gave way to thunder, and wailing echoed across a century of love and loss. Hail flung out from him in every direction. He was the nexus of fury, the eye of the hurricane, and he hated all mankind.

***

A bottle of 12 year Glenlivet sat on the table between them.

“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” said Irene. “And I think you should seduce him.”

“Not sure I can,” said Jas morosely. “Obviously I have very nice legs, but I’m getting a pimple. Did you notice?” She laid her finger alongside her nose. “It’s practically a boil.” She rolled a necklace in her left hand, a silver cross that Claire said had come from the bottom of the bog. There was a beat, broken only by the croak of locusts in a nearby field.

“So, ALICE,” Irene continued loudly, “I think you should seduce him.”

“Irene, why is that always your solution?” Alice rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were turning pink.

Jas whispered, “Gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day.”

“Jas, if you don’t STOP with the Supernatural references, so help me God.” Irene waved her whiskey glass threateningly. “Come on, Alice. You guys have basically been married since undergrad. You’re the only two who don’t know it. Maybe if he saw you, he’d…I dunno, come back to himself somehow.”

“Seduce him HOW, Irene?”

“Talk about horror films, offer him peanut candy, I don’t know. We need to get his attention so we can tell him about Nesbitt.”

“You should leave Fig here,” interjected Claire from the couch, where she was cuddling an armful of disgruntled fluff. “Not that I’m buying the whole ghost theory, but if it's true, Fig will scare him off. In most mythology, cats are the guardians of the underworld; he’ll get one look at her and flee. Not to mention, she’s already had a hell of a day.”

“That makes two of us,” grumbled Jas.

A gust of wind, and the door flew open with a crack and a clatter. Leaves and hail skittered across the floor. Five heads (four human, one calico) flew in the direction of the sound, and the startled cries died in their throats.

***

A wraith, more shadow than man, moved into the light. His face was obscured by clouds and pain, but his form was dearly familiar to one of their number.

“Eli,” Alice whispered, and he turned toward the sound of her voice. Recognition flickered, and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing poured forth but the sound of unbridled grief in a language none could understand. She stepped forward, raising her hand almost to his cheek. “Eli, it’s me.”

“Steady,” Jas said warningly, stepping forward as if to protect her. She lay a hand on Alice’s arm, and the spirit turned in fury. His eyes alighted on Jas’ tall frame and the necklace in her hands. A scream tore from his throat, and everything went dark.

When the storm blew over and the candles were struck, Jas was gone.

Only a duffel bag and a silver necklace on the floor remained.

Chapter Text

Irene, thought Jas, If this Dementor kills me, you’re the first one I’m haunting. She had the bizarre sensation of being caught up in a hurricane, flying above the town and yet through it, smashing in all directions, flying to bits without ever feeling a thing except icy hands gripping her tightly by the heart. All she could do was hang on.

***

“So, it’s a literal bag of bones,” said Irene.

“And a Bible,” said Alice, poking through the bag. With the reverence of a born historian, she carefully lifted the antique book and examined the spidery writing within. “It is Scott’s, look. It’s the one he used as an itinerant pastor. See? He’s listed the place names and baptisms.” Irene peered curiously over her shoulder. “There’s also…oh.”

“What?”

Alice pulled a silver chain from the bag, and a cross glinted in the candlelight. “It’s the same,” she whispered, and held up the one Jas had dropped. "The same as Claire’s. Maybe Scott and Nesbitt wore these instead of rings.”

“Right,” said Irene, “So, here’s the plan. We hit the church yard and we find Nesbitt. We open the grave, then we chuck these things in with him. FAST.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know, Alice! Possibly we run like hell! We hope his gay ghost is satisfied and doesn’t kill us! We have to try. I owe it to Jas; she’s partly in this mess because of me.”

“Partly?”

“Shut up.”

***

“Be careful,” said Claire softly, when she had given them directions to the cemetery. Alice was already in the car, honking the horn. “I’m…I’m not really equipped to keep this cat.” 

Irene turned in the doorframe and smiled. “See you in a bit.” She bounded to the car and leapt into the driver’s seat, tearing out wildly and spraying gravel in every direction.

“It’s only a mile from here!” Irene shouted. “I reckon it’s that direction!” She waved toward an ominous black cloud in the distance, spewing fire and ice and rubble in every direction. Below it, a steeple.

“DO YOU THINK SO, IRENE?” Alice’s face was white as she gripped the handles of Eli’s bag tightly. “Just drive straight toward the Vortex of Death, that seems like a great plan!” Irene had the pedal pressed nearly to the floor. They turned sharply onto the main road and—

“HOLY FUCK!” Cop cars, ambulances, and news crews, once again hot on the trail, never saw them coming. They sideswiped the car and buffeted the siblings off the road and into a ditch. The cars disappeared around a bend without a backward glance at the wreckage they’d left behind.

Alice coughed through the airbag dust. Still clutching the duffle, she climbed out her side and ran around.

“Irene!” she called urgently. “You with me?”

No answer.

In the driver’s seat, Irene was still, her door battered in, and a thin trickle of blood running from her scalp.

"Irene?" Alice felt dizzy, panicked. She stumbled back. Then she turned in the direction the ambulances had gone, and ran.

Chapter Text

In human form, Jas thought, Eli was fairly adorable. Except for the sclera of his eyes turned black as death, he looked less like an avenging angel and more like Percy Bysshe Shelley. In quiet moments, one might suggest he looked romantic. Only there hadn't been any quiet moments, and Jas was extrapolating from incomplete data.

They stood astride the sharply pitched roof of the church, Jas clinging to the belltower for all she was worth and wishing she had worn more sensible shoes.

"There," said Eli, in a ringing voice that was anything but human, his long finger pointing to the road where police cars streamed their direction. He bared his teeth in defiance.

But Jas saw something else as well. Further back on the road, a lone figure stumbled toward them as fast as she could. A figure running with purpose, and a duffle bag, and unmistakable lavender curls. Alice. Did Eli see her? Jas didn't think so, but she felt his cold fury gathering around them like a cloud, lifting them almost off their feet. Eli's fingers were turning to smoke and wind, his physical form blurring at the edges.

Just a little more time, thought Jas. In another moment, they'd be airborne, spinning through space with no idea of where they were going, or if they would ever land. Jas decided to take a chance.

“George,” she said pleadingly. Eli turned, his face a maelstrom of emotion, and Jas kissed him.

***

Irene. Eli. Jas. Eli. Irene.

Alice's breath came in jagged gasps, coherent thoughts shaking apart at the seams. Why did I skip gym all those years? A flat stone, Claire had said. A flat stone in the church yard with the initials of the men who had died. Too late she thought to wonder how she would dig, bereft of tools and time as she was.

Ambulances too. They came this way, and I can send them back to Irene. Eli. Jas. Somewhere in that cloud. Blood roared in her ears as she approached the church. Vehicles, lights, sirens, and onlookers clustered round the front, shouting up at the roof, where two figures stood in the screaming wind. No one noticed her slipping round the back, through the iron gate, and dropping exhausted into the ochre grass.

There. Near the fence. She saw a plain, rough-hewn rock marking Nesbitt’s grave. One that caring hands could have shaped into something better. In desperation, she scrabbled at the dirt beneath it, creating a tiny alcove and whispering prayers.

“Be at peace,” she urged, and lay both necklaces side by side.

***

“Alice.”

Quiet. Alice heard a familiar voice and felt the heat of late afternoon. No electric tang in the air, no undead magic crackling through the atmosphere. Only the rustle of grass and the quiet crunch of cars driving away in the distance. Alice opened her eyes, and then groaned.

“I’m dead. We’re all dead.”

“You’re not dead,” Irene soothed. “And neither are we.” Irene smoothed the hair off Alice’s face, and Alice noticed a bandage wrapped round her sister’s forehead. She sat up slowly. “We?”

“Jas and Eli are around front being looked after. On the ground now, thank God. Jas was looking a bit green.” She grinned. “Fortunately, the fire department had a ladder.”

Alice got up. “I need to see them!”

Irene nodded seriously and dropped her voice. “Look, don’t say too much until the cops leave.”

Alice stared at her.

“They seem to have an…altered…memory of what’s been happening these last few days.” Irene smiled. “I think Captain George had Eli’s back.”

***

The warning turned out to be unnecessary, since only Jas and Eli remained by the time they rounded the churchyard. Jas looked frankly exhausted, and Eli confused and embarrassed. Nevertheless, they rushed forward when they caught sight of Alice’s smile.

“Alice,” said Eli, having reached her first. “You saved us. You saved me. Listen, I wanted to tell you something. I—

“I love you,” she blurted. His eyes widened.

“Yes, that.”

“I know,” she said, and threw her arms around him.

“About bloody time,” Irene chuckled, and nudged Jas in the ribs. Jas looked a bit forlorn, but smiled.

No documentary, thought Jas. No big break, no romance. No family in town, and no address to give when someone asks if I need a lift home. It’s not like anyone’s just going to rock up and ask if I want to live with them.

“Welp, looks like I'll be leaving empty-handed!” She said, forcing a light tone and not really succeeding.

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Alice, from where she and Eli had been conversing in hushed tones. They walked over, hand in hand. “We were wondering,” said Alice slowly, “if you wanted to live with us.”

“Me?”

“If you like,” said Eli warmly. “You helped save my life. Alice says Fig likes you. Be nice to have a backup cat parent in case I get arrested for—” he waved his hand. “All this.”

“No worries,” Irene giggled. “They got some kind of Jedi mind-wipe. Those cops had no idea why they were here.”

“ELI,” Alice gasped in realization. “There’s footage. On the news and…in their cameras…they’ll see it eventually and remember you!”

Jas straightened her skirt. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll make a few calls.”

“And do what?"

Jas smiled. “Listen, I have my own skill set. I may not be some kind of swash-buckling, bag-swiping, grave-robbing, Communist historian, but I’m proud of what I am. I… am a MEDIA CONSULTANT.”

THE END