Archive of Our Own

The men’s bathroom was silent. Magnus might have found it eerie had the hour not been so late, but as it was, visitors to these places often declined around dinner time, most travelers preferring to find somewhere more permanent to rest for the night. There was a chill in the air that hadn’t been present earlier, he allowed, thoughts of the spirit that Abigail had encountered here spiraling in his mind. 

But he stopped those thoughts short. That had been the women’s bathroom and Magnus was nothing if not practical. He likely wouldn’t find that spirit here.

There was no one in the men’s bathroom, in fact, not even Ortus, who Magnus had come looking for in the first place. Though Ortus was prone to lengthy daydreaming and an imaginative mind that often led him wandering, a disappearance of nearly half an hour was still noticeable. It was borderline alarming considering he’d left his camera behind.

Magnus checked for him in every stall, ignoring the pull to turn his head to see who it was that he felt watching over his shoulder. It was only his anxious mind, trying to keep aware of any threat that might try to corner him. No, his focus was singular, and no wayward entity would deter him just yet. 

Despite the absence of any feet at the open crack between the doors and the floor—and if Ortus had been for whatever reason standing on top of a toilet, well, the man was far too tall not to be seen overhead—Magnus made sure to knock politely at each stall just to be certain.

When there was still no response from the final bathroom stall, he had to face the facts: There was no one else in the room.

As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway at the sound of a soft, high-pitched whistling. Magnus tilted his head to catch the noise from a better angle. It sounded like air being blown through some sort of pipe or vent. The sensible part of his mind surmised that it must just be the air conditioning.

The more imaginative parts swore it wasn’t whistling at all, but whispering .

Magnus chose to table that.

He returned with his wife—who, as expected, insisted on investigating the bathroom herself—along with the two young travelers they’d met earlier by the vending machines. They were a curious pair; one was quite tall and somewhat childish, while the other was surly and dressed like a messenger of death. They seemed close despite their endless bickering, and reminded Magnus of the way his favorite niece and her closest friend never seemed to have anything kind to say to one another when anyone else might be listening.

That might have been why Gideon—the tall, childish one—was somehow able to convince Magnus that they should join them tonight. His wife had teased him for being such a pushover, and when he attempted to protest, she reminded him none too gently that he let Jeannemary get away with much more than anyone really should. But, really, she was his niece. Weren’t nieces supposed to be spoiled? It wasn’t as if Abigail ever stopped—

“Was it this chilly when you came to use the restroom earlier, Magnus?” she was asking him. 

He turned his head thoughtfully, but no one would see the movement as, given Ortus’s current disappearance, he was the one holding the camera. Currently, it was trained on his wife, who was staring intently past the lens at him. “If I’m honest, I can’t say I noticed,” he said, trying to remember where the microphone was so as not to speak directly into it. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this impromptu investigation. If they didn’t get any usable content out of this, Augustine would have their heads. “Was it less cold in the women’s?”

“Significantly. Wouldn’t you say, girls?” Abigail turned to their companions, and Magnus turned the camera to follow her gaze.

“Cold doesn’t bother me,” Harrow said with marked disinterest, her arms crossed neatly over her chest. Of the four of them, she, even more than Magnus, wanted to be here the least. She could hardly be blamed for her boredom. She didn’t seem to be a fan of The Ghost Agenda, though compared to Gideon’s seemingly endless devotion to the series, it was difficult to say whether she was a fan at all.

It was Gideon who had impressed Magnus with her breadth of knowledge of his and his wife’s show. She even carried a charming fan-made keychain that she insisted was meant to be the ghost of Captain Wake of the Valiant, though really it could have been a ghost of anyone. She had also shown him her array of artful pins, one of which she had gotten from the pre-order of their book and was lined in bold colors: WHAT A ROLLER GHOSTER! 

It was Magnus’s favorite of all their merchandise.

He hadn’t needed proof of her dedication, though it did always warm his heart to meet a fan who truly enjoyed their content. And Gideon’s overjoyed smile when he not only gave her a copy of their book freshly signed by the three of them—because there was no neglecting Ortus’s hand in their adventures—but also convinced his wife that they should all take a picture together was a reward of its own.

In fact, she had only stopped smiling now that they had shifted into investigation mode, though her excitement filled the air around them with a wild electricity. “Should I go check?” she asked, glancing from Abigail to Magnus. It was evident as her eyes darted quickly away that she was trying to keep in mind what Abigail had told her earlier about pretending that the camera didn’t exist. “I could go check and tell you the difference.”

“Well,” Abigail said, thoughtfully, “you ought not to go alone. If Ortus was indeed ensorcelled by a spirit, we can’t chance something similar happening to you. Though I do wonder…” She trailed off and in her silence Magnus heard Harrow mutter, “Ensorcelled,” sounding as if she’d never once heard the word spoken aloud prior to this night.

“Partners, then?” Magnus suggested, before immediately doubling-back. “Though, I suppose we only have the one camera.”

“You don’t think Augustine would appreciate cell phone footage,” Abigail said, the inflection of her voice turning the statement into a question even though they both knew it wasn’t one. Augustine might actually tear out his own hair if they presented him with only B-roll quality material. “No, all as a group then.” She headed to the door. “Let’s go, ladies.”

Magnus waited, following behind the three of them. He briefly considered moving the camera to give his right shoulder a rest, but dismissed the idea on the grounds that he didn’t know how to rotate the viewfinder and wouldn’t dare risk learning without Ortus’s guidance.

In the time it took him to have this internal dialogue, Abigail decided that the women’s bathroom was absolutely a much more agreeable temperature.

“So, the temperature’s different,” Harrow said, unable to keep her cynicism to herself. “How do you know that’s not just an issue with the thermostat?”

“We don’t,” Abigail responded, seemingly oblivious to the girl’s tone, though Magnus suspected she simply didn’t care. It was just as likely she appreciated someone voicing an argument to her own deductions so she could tackle this puzzle aloud. “But don’t you think it’s rather odd just how chilly it was in the men’s room? Frosty, you might say.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“You just admitted to having a high tolerance for cold, Glacial Goddess,” Gideon said, ignoring the disgusted curl of Harrow’s lip. “It’s not like you’d be able to tell.” She turned to Abigail. “It’s definitely colder in there. Where does that leave us?”

“I think,” Abigail said, a bright twinkle in her eye, “we need to contact our ghost.”

It was always astounding to watch Abigail work. No matter that Magnus had seen her at work at least a thousand times before, no matter that he worked with her, every time she began preparing her communications with the dead, it was like the first time all over again.

Well, he fumbled around less after all this time, but his amazement remained the same.

They unloaded Abigail’s collection of candles and chalk and singing bowls from the RV, while she described at length the eerie feeling she'd had in the women's bathroom earlier and the quick research she'd done on the history of the rest stop. "I couldn't help myself; this place is clearly a hub for the supernatural. After all, that's two ghosts we've come across so far, both particularly conniving. If my hunch is correct—" and it usually was "—they might be connected."

While they were putting together their plan of action, Magnus found Ortus’s cameras. A few were fully charged with empty memory cards, which felt fortuitous and ominous all the same, though he needed only to remember that they had originally been traveling to do an entirely different investigation to realize this preparation was intentional on Ortus’s part.

He sat fiddling with the new camera on the bathroom floor as Gideon helped his wife draw a circle on the tile with chalk. Harrow, hearing Magnus muttering in distress about white balancing, leaned over with a supercilious glance, and offered her own assistance.

“Oh,” he said stupidly, unable to hide his surprise. “It’s just one of these buttons here that does it, I think. Can’t remember which; I’m afraid I’m still a disappointment even after everything Ortus has taught me.” Ortus would surely have gone into one of his melancholic fits if he’d been watching. Magnus tilted his head. “You have experience with cameras?”

“I do photography.”

Much to Magnus’s dismay, she didn’t say much else on the subject, but she did find the button he’d spent ten minutes looking for in less than sixty seconds, so it seemed a fair trade. 

“All right, we’ve finished the inner circle,” Abigail announced, stepping back to appraise her work. Inside the main circle were lines drawn connecting points signified by different runes and sigils. “Now,” she said to the girls, but Magnus held up a finger to stop her.

“Camera.” He stood up from the floor, lifting the equipment in question. “And I want to set up one of Ortus’s microphones. We can’t put it in the center—”

“No,” Abigail said as if he’d asked a question. “That will disturb the energy.”

“Just leaves me wishing I paid more attention to his technical side of all this. I don’t think we’ve ever filmed without him.” He paused. “You think he’s all right out there? Wherever he was taken?”

“I certainly hope so.”

Magnus’s mouth set in a grim line. It had been over an hour now with no sign of their cameraman. If he was honest, he’d been thinking that Ortus was only lost, like the time Magnus himself went wandering the wrong way down the tunnels underneath the Denver airport, but it wasn’t like this was a particularly large rest stop. There were only so many places a man of Ortus’s size could be hiding.

He sighed, focusing his attention back on the perfect location for the microphone. Harrow suggested they just put it next to the closest camera. They were using two now. One was set a little precariously atop one of the garbage cans for a wide angle shot. They’d made sure to cover the open top of the can with a long piece of cardboard from the RV to give the camera some form of a safety net, but it was as flat of a surface as they were going to get.

Magnus propped the other camera up on a tripod, focusing the lens on his wife. “I suppose I’ll just attach the microphone here,” he said as Harrow went behind him to check the angle. “Hopefully it won’t pick up too much ambient noise.” He glanced at his wife. “You’ve got yours on?”

“Yes, right.” Abigail reached into her pocket and pulled out the microphone attached to a wireless system that would record her speaking, and clipped it to her shirt. Magnus had his own and had given one to each of the girls as well. “Ready.”

Magnus hit record on the camera and nodded at Harrow to do the same with the other across the room. “And...action,” he said, grinning.

“Now,” Abigail started again, “this circle is meant to contain our spirit. It won’t do so permanently, only while we speak to them and only as long as it remains intact. I do have to ask you both not to touch any of the chalk lines for both your safety and ours.”

“Right, right, of course,” Gideon said, looking like she was trying not to vibrate out of her skin with excitement. Harrow, meanwhile, remained unimpressed.

“I need the three of you to sit here just outside of it, and then I’ll draw us in.”

“What does that mean?” Harrow asked.

“It will be a layer of protection for us while we’re communing,” Abigail explained. “The inner circle is meant to centralize and stabilize the spirit’s energy, give them something like a tether, so that it’s easier for me to speak with them. The outer circle will be a shield for our own spirits in case something goes awry. It’s always better to be safe in these situations.”

Harrow didn’t seem convinced, but Gideon was already pulling her down to the floor. “Can you believe it? A seance with Abigail Pent! I must be dreaming. There is no way Dulcie will believe this.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve said this multiple times, Griddle.”

Magnus tilted the camera down for a clean view of their circle before joining them on the floor. The three of them watched as Abigail dragged the chalk in a second circle around them, stopping to join them on the inside of it before finishing it off. 

“There,” she said, setting the chalk in the box next to her. “Now we can start.”

She took a long-stemmed lighter from the box and began lighting the candles around the circle, starting with the one on her left. “Could you continue around?” she asked, handing off the lighter to Harrow sitting across from her. “Don’t want to risk messing up the chalk lines for the candles I can’t reach.”

As Harrow lit the rest, Abigail reached for one of the alcohol pads in her box and wiped down the top of her pinky. She then pulled out a small needle, already previously sterilized, and Magnus frowned.

This was his least favorite part of their work. Abigail always said that it was necessary to keep the angrier spirits sated, but he knew that this tiny taste wouldn’t stop them from trying to consume her entirely. Earlier in their career, there had been more than one occasion where a hungry ghost had chased them home with murderous intent. They’d gotten more and more careful over the years, but Magnus still worried.

Abigail pricked her finger and leaned over the chalk lines, letting three drops of blood spill from her onto the center of the circle.

The air around them stilled. Magnus resisted the instinct to reach for his wife’s hand.

“We have gathered today,” Abigail started as she moved back from the inner circle, her voice ringing in the silence, “with this, our offering, and beseech you, dear spirit, to speak with us so that we may understand your purpose here.”

Both Gideon and Harrow were glancing around, searching for any indication that she had been heard. A rustling in one of the bathroom stalls. A pipe creaking in the wall behind them.

No. Only silence.

Keeping her gaze trained on her blood at the center of the circle, Abigail reached into her box. She didn’t pull out one of her singing bowls, which Magnus knew from experience she often preferred to use to get the atmosphere right, but instead chose a single silver handbell.

“I know you’ve been hidden for some time,” she told the spirit. “I know you may feel it’s easier to stay hidden, but we only wish to lend you our help.” She raised the bell in front of her and rang it, letting loose one long, trilling note that echoed off the tile walls.

When it stopped, there was nothing.

A frigid wind rushed past them, twisting around and around and into the circle. They all felt it as one, and even Harrow’s eyes grew panicked as it tousled her hair. She grasped tightly to Gideon’s hand.

“Help.” It was said as a whisper, and it came from the center of Abigail’s circle. When Magnus looked down, he saw that the blood that marked the spot was gone, and spiraling up in its place was what appeared to be a tiny cyclone. It spun and spun, growing larger and larger, until it transformed and they were looking at a young girl.

Her hair was a mass of bright golden curls, her eyes a strange violet. She couldn’t be more than twelve, but there was a weight to her expression that felt older than time itself. “It’s too late for your...help.”

“It’s never too late.”

It was Abigail who had spoken, but the spirit leered at Magnus, her gaze filled with so much hate it made him feel guilty. For what, he couldn’t say. Perhaps his very existence. 

He didn’t have the time to startle when she vanished. There was a violent woosh of air as she flew right towards him, into him. And then there was nothing.

Magnus was hungry.

He had been examining the map of Virginia set in a case on the wall while waiting for his wife, but the rumbling in his stomach was growing distracting. He glanced at the entrance to the women’s bathroom hoping to see Abigail, but there was no sign of her. It was rather odd seeing as she’d gone in over ten minutes ago�—His phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. Ah, his wife was calling.

“Hello?” he answered. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m going to be a bit longer. There’s something...peculiar here, and I’m trying to find the source of it.”

“Peculiar about the bathroom?” Magnus had thought the men’s bathroom perfectly unremarkable. But then, this was his wife. She could find the supernatural in a laundry basket. 

“Yes, there’s some sort of energy staining the place. A bit cold, quite bitter… At any rate, I didn’t want you to worry. Why don’t you and Ortus go for a walk?” she suggested. “I’ll let you know if I need assistance.”

“Well, all right… I suppose…” 

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, dear.”

That was decided for him, then. His stomach growled again, and Magnus supposed now was as good a time as any to find himself a snack. Earlier, he had spied a covered square playing host to five large vending machines, and he made his way there now. 

He hummed a little ditty to himself, wondering absently where Ortus had gone off to. The man had said something about taking scenic shots of the trees here, but hadn’t specified which. Well, it wasn’t a very large—

“Just give me some damn quarters, Harrow,” a loud voice demanded as Magnus rounded the corner. He had to pause to reorient himself. The voice hadn’t been directing its vitriol at him. It belonged to one of two loud young women standing in front of one of the snack machines.

One of the women was tall and muscular, with an unruly head of cropped red hair. The other was willowy and had dark hair. But for all their differences, the glares they were giving one another were exactly the same.

“If it’s already eating all of your quarters, what makes you think it won’t eat mine?” the short one—the one Magnus assumed was named Harrow—asked, her lip curling in disdain. “Stop being an idiot. You don’t even need that shitty excuse for a—”

"Spicy sweet chili, Harrow! They never carry good flavors in vending machines! At some random rest stop in Virginia, of all places! I need this.”

Harrow rolled her eyes. “You’re an embarrassment, you know that?” 

“You tell me every day, babe.” 

“And yet.” Harrow paused as the embarrassment clasped her hands together in a desperate supplication that made Magnus grin. And though it did provoke another eyeroll, the motion worked. “Ugh, fine. Waste my change.”

“Yes! Just you wait—I’m gonna get three bags out of this, and then we’ll be living large.”

“Well, I sure hope so considering you’ve already spent three whole—”

The tall girl shushed her. “Let me work my magic.”

“What ma—”

“Shh!” 

Harrow crossed her arms with a huff, forced into patience for her companion’s magic. Slowly—one might even say dramatically—the redhead slid one quarter after another into the machine. When the money was set, she raised a purposeful finger into the air and pressed each of the buttons with force, a master at work. She took a step back when she was finished, smirking with excitement at Harrow, who looked as if she’d rather tear her own eyes out than continue standing here in front of the snack machine.

It buzzed, catching their attention. The coil around the Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos bag began to spin, pushing three bags forward to squish against the glass, but the noise stopped before anyone could claim it was a victory. The screen flashed, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE, as the three bags sat there, unmoving.

“Is that your magic?” Harrow asked. “Gotta say, very impressive, Griddle. I’ve never seen someone lose this much money to a single vending machine.”

“What the fuck,” Griddle—now, that was an interesting name—muttered, staring open-mouthed at her failure. Her brow narrowed as she shouted, “Are you fucking with me, you shitty excuse for a computer! Give me god damned Doritos!”

Sensing impending violence, Magnus stepped forward, announcing himself with a loud cough. “Having trouble there?” he asked, opting for kind, but probably just sounding awkward. “Let me give it a try for you.”

“Oh, that’s really unnecessary,” Harrow said. “The last thing she needs is junk food.”

“This machine is an asshole,” the one supposedly named Griddle told him. “I mean, this makes no sense, right?” She gestured with emphasis to the pile up of chip bags and Magnus could only nod.

“There’s a trick to these things,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He spilled some coins out into his free hand, shifting them around until he found what he was looking for and put the rest back into his wallet.

Magnus filled the machine, perhaps not as masterfully as the girl had, and glanced back at the pair. “Now, I’m going to show you,” he said, “just where to give it a good smack—or shake! A shake can work just as well—to get it unstuck. All these machines are the same, so this’ll work for anything. Snacks, drinks—” He paused. “Well, I suppose drink machines can be finicky. You won’t know if you’re getting what you actually wanted.”

With the confidence of someone who had performed a task at least one thousand times before, Magnus took both sides of the vending machine with his hands. “Erm…right. Which was it? The spicy...?”

“Spicy Sweet Chili,” Griddle corrected. “Doritos. B3.”

“Yes, okay.” Magnus backtracked to key in the code and then quickly resumed his position. “Now, all you need to do is give it a quick smack here on the side. Right here,” he emphasized as he smacked it. “And a slight tilt helps as well, if you’ve the strength for it.” 

He did tip it, mostly just for show, and then stepped back to assess his work. The three of them watched the coil spin, pushing a fourth back forward, but despite Magnus’s prodding, it only followed the others, stacking up behind them in a frustrating line of unobtainable chips.

Magnus squinted at the machine. “That trick always works.”

“Well, that’s, what? Five dollars wasted now?” Harrow glanced at Magnus, adding politely, “Sorry about that.”

“No, no,” he replied absently. “I was sure that would work…”

“It’s haunted!” a voice shouted behind them. Startled, the three of them turned in unison to see Magnus’s wife rushing towards him. She glanced around, suddenly aware of the attention, and lowered her voice to a volume approaching normal. “The bathroom is haunted, Magnus.”

“The bathroom.” He perhaps sounded a bit more skeptical than he intended, but if his wife noticed his disinterest, she didn't mention it.

“Yes. We need to investigate.”

Not one to eschew manners, Magnus turned to his new companions with an introduction. “My wife, Abigail. We’re—Well.” He paused. “You may have heard of us. Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn, Paranormal Investigators.” 

Harrow blinked, but Griddle’s eyes went wide, recognition spreading across her face. “Holy shit. The Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn?” Her gaze darted between the two of them. “This is the best fucking rest stop I’ve ever visited.” 

Magnus knew his grin was proud. “Ah, so you do know us. We’re on tour, currently headed to an old haunted beachfront off the coast of North Carolina, which,” he added in an aside to his wife, “we’ll be late to if we choose to stop here for too long.”

“Oh, please, Magnus,” Abigail said. “We have the time.”

“You seem to be forgetting how Augustine reacted the last time you said something like that.”

“Just because that man has a stick up his—” At Magnus’s look, Abigail left the ‘where’ of that statement up to imagination. “Well, you know he does. Besides, if we get good footage here, what can he be upset about?”

“I’m sure he’ll find something. We are on a strict schedule, dear.”

“Oh my god, so not only did we happen to run into you on a road trip, it was a mutual road trip? Harrow, Dulcie is not gonna believe this!”

“Great.” Harrow rolled her eyes again. “Something else for the two of you to bond over.”

Oblivious to her sarcasm, Griddle delved into a fanatical babble that Magnus was familiar with, listing her favorites of his and his wife’s ghost adventures. It always surprised him how many details their fans were able to remember, and every time, it made his heart warm with gratitude.

“Would you like an autograph?” he asked when she finally stopped to take a breath.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.” She rummaged through her pockets to find something—a scrap of paper—a ticket stub—an old receipt. By the look on her face, it seemed she found none of her options adequate. This assumption was only further affirmed when she offered her own arm instead and said, “My name’s Gideon.” A much more sensible name than Griddle. “Shit, I don’t have a pen.”

“I think we have some copies of our book back in the RV, if you’d rather,” Magnus suggested, the thought of signing his name onto someone’s skin sounding impractical.

“What about your chips, Griddle?” 

“Oh—Oh, right, my chips.” She glanced at the machine, weighing her interest in an autograph against her hunger. “What if we just...tipped it completely over?” 

“Well, you may end up clogging the bin if you try something like that,” Magnus said. “If everything fell out, it’d take a while to retrieve it all.”

“That machine is haunted.”

Abigail’s voice cut through their dialogue with such finality, all three of them turned to stare at her. It was Harrow who broke the silence, her voice laced with cynicism. “How can you tell?”

“It’s not plugged in.” Abigail nodded to the cord where it lay on the floor next to the outlet. 

“Holy shit,” Gideon said, gaping at the empty outlet. “This machine has really been fucking with me this entire time.”

As his wife stepped up to speak with it, a buzzing sounded in Magnus’s ears. A buzzing...no—whispering. “My sister,” it said. “My sister. You know my sister.” And then, much louder, “What did you do to my sister!?”

As Magnus whirled around, a cold fog crept over them, blurring the edges of his vision. Before him stood a girl, not quite a teenager, but tall enough to be mistaken for one. Her curly hair was as golden as the sun.

“Why are you here when I told you to leave?”

He was reminded of his trip to the bathroom, of searching for Ortus, who was still lost somewhere nearby. That was well after he’d met the girls, Gideon and Harrow. What was going on?

“Actually, I wanted to leave,” Magnus corrected, squinting at the girl—the ghost. “It was my wife who decided we should stay. She’s very curious about you.”

The girl stared. “Wife?” he heard her whisper. But her mouth was unmoving, as if it were her thoughts he was hearing instead. “Wife... Wife.”

The world around him lurched forward towards Abigail, her body growing in size until she was a giant before them. Or they were little gnomes beholding her grace. How had the ghost girl done this? Why was Magnus the only one affected? What had even happened to those two rowdy young women?

“She knows,” the girl whispered. “What does she know?”

“I’m not… I’m not sure what you mean,” Magnus said. “Is there something wrong with your sister?”

The girl glared at him, her eyes growing larger and larger until he was practically standing inside her pupil. How had she done that? Or was this his own doing? Had he accidentally taken a hallucinogen again?

The girl flew at him before he could determine the answer, her body turning to the very mist surrounding them as she overtook him. He was mist, too. He was nothing more than a man being devoured. 

It was a scream that woke him, though at first he didn’t know it, the sound echoing in the back of his mind like the blare of a horn. He reached for his head first, trying to ease the pounding in his ears.

“YOU KNOW WHO DID THIS!”

Magnus blinked his eyes open, distinctly aware that whoever was talking was probably not talking to him. “Oh, thank god, you’re awake,” someone else said. A mess of red hair hung over their head as they—she—stared down at him. The girl from the vending machines. Gideon.

“What’s...What happened?” he asked, attempting to sit up. His head was spinning and his body felt stiff and cold, like he’d become a block of ice in his sleep.

“The ghost went straight for you,” she told him. “She barely said anything, and the next thing we knew, you were knocked out and now she’s going nuts. Abigail said I couldn’t fight her, but she’s letting Harrow help fight her?”

Why did that sound like a question?

“What?”

“HE FOUND HER! YOU LET HIM FIND HER!” the ghost yelled, distracting them both.

Abigail was talking to her, but it was hard to make out what she was saying over the roar of the wind in his ears. As he sat up, he saw that the circle had been broken—likely when he’d been knocked out—and the ghost girl was sitting overhead, little cyclones spinning beneath her and storm clouds above her.

It was snowing, Magnus realized. Why was it snowing?

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Harrow stealthily circling the ghost and his wife. She was purposefully spilling something on the ground, trying her best to keep the heavy winds from blowing it away. One of his wife’s concoctions, he was sure. Something to help calm or contain the ghost; she was always more prepared than anyone gave her credit for.

“—was looking for you,” Abigail was saying. “But she got lost in the blizzard. Her spirit never stopped searching—She’s been trapped.”

“TRAPPED BY HIM!” 

Magnus felt the ghost’s attention all at once. He almost didn’t want to look, and probably would have been happier if he hadn’t. Her eyes had gone black as the deepest end of a frozen lake, but even that paled in comparison to the way her jaw slowly extended unnaturally out of place. Her teeth were twisting into sharp points that would soon try to pierce him through.

“No,” Abigail said, always calm even in crisis. “You mistake Magnus for the man who hurt you. Just as you also mistook our friend, Ortus, for him as well.”

Ortus? Did Abigail find out what had happened to him? Had Magnus missed everything while he was unconscious?

“NO! ” The force of the ghost’s shriek rattled the pipes and the lids of the toilets. There was a rumbling beneath them now and it sounded like…

“The cameras!” Magnus shot to his feet, darting straight for the trash can. “Get the camera,” he said to Gideon, pointing at the tripod. The girl was startled, but thankfully easily directed, scooping the camera into her arms a second before the pipes began to burst and every single toilet exploded in a cascading waterfall around them. 

Gideon cursed and Harrow made a noise that sounded like a disgruntled hamster. Only Abigail remained steady amid the torrent, indefatigable even as the water that sprayed forth froze to icicles at the ends of her hair.

“The man who did this to you suffered for it,” she said, her voice growing louder over the noise. 

“Harrow!” Magnus called, waving her over to the door as soon as he managed to gain her attention. “You girls need to get out.”

“Shouldn’t we be filming?” Gideon asked.

“It’s not safe.”

“Fuck that,” she said, decidedly turning her camera to face the action. “We can help.”

Harrow nodded. “I put those salts down like Abigail said. Some sort of protection, I think was the idea, but…” She trailed off, scowling at Gideon, who was paying too much attention to the ghost to keep the camera properly upright. “Give me that,” Harrow said, snatching it from her. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to use a camera, Nav?”

“Uh, it’s a camera,” Gideon replied. “You hold it.”

Harrow muttered something obscene under her breath, and Gideon followed with something else, but Magnus felt he was better off narrowing his focus to only hear what his wife was saying.

“I promise that man is gone now. You tasted my offering; you would know if I was lying to you.”

The ghost faltered, her eyes flickering to their normal hue and then back again. “NO! HE...HE DID THIS! MY SISTER…”

“That man never found her,” Abigail said. “Your sister has been searching for you, Coronabeth. And I want to help her.”

The ghost’s eyes flickered again, and for a moment, she looked as any lost child might. Small and a little wary. But as her gaze tilted to the side, she remembered Magnus standing there, and her face warped into the creature it had been before. “THEN WHY IS HE HERE?” she hissed, inching towards him. “HOW CAN YOU TRUST HIM?”

“Oh, Magnus?” Abigail glanced back as if she’d forgotten anyone else was in the room with them. “He’s my husband; I love him. I can prove he won’t hurt you, if you’d like.” The ghost—Coronabeth—squinted curiously at her. “Magnus, dear, would you mind…?”

Camera still in hand, though perhaps a bit uselessly, Magnus stepped forward. It was an instinctive step at the sound of his wife calling for him, and it took his brain an extra second to catch up to what it was she was asking of him. “Is that...necessary?”

“It will be fine,” Abigail assured him. 

He glanced at the ghost girl, still filled with malice, and chose not to believe her. “You’re sure there isn’t...something else? You remember what happened the last time you suggested…”

“I know, I know. But it was only the one time, and perhaps if you weren’t so delectable...” 

“Abigail Pent,” he chided. “We are in the middle of a very serious conversation.”

His wife matched his grin. “Let me draw you a circle, hm?” She patted her pocket, but was surprised to find it empty. “Where is my chalk?”

“Here!” Gideon held the piece of chalk above her head, splashing loudly over to them.

“Thank you,” Abigail said, and then refocused her attention on the ghost, who had turned back into a child. The transformations were starting to make Magnus dizzy. “Now, Ms. Coronabeth. I need your word that when we make this offering to you, you won’t go seeking more than what was given.”

Coronabeth tilted her head. “What will he offer?”

“The same as I did, but nothing more,” Abigail said as she began to draw a small circle decorated with runes on the tiled wall. 

“And if his life is sour?”

“Well, then of course you can kill him.”

“Dear!”

Abigail waved her free hand at him. He knew she was confident that wouldn’t be something they’d need to worry about, but was it really necessary to give the ghost ideas?

“This is…” Coronabeth glanced sidelong at Magnus as if already contemplating her revenge. “Acceptable.”

“All right, Magnus.” Abigail gestured him forward, and not for the first time in his life, Magnus wondered if he ever really had a choice in these moments. The illusion of choice, maybe. He sighed and gave the camera to Gideon, reminding her to keep it level, before offering his hand to his wife. 

She was gentle—at least as much as one could be when pricking a finger—but he still hated it. Even more so with Coronabeth watching them so intently. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as a bubble of bright red blood appeared on the tip of his finger. He sighed again and pressed it to the center of the circle.

Coronabeth dissolved into mist, and the storm followed. 

The blood on the wall vanished. 

The wind had stilled to nothing and the pipes had stopped their rattling. All Magnus could hear was the sound of his own breathing.

“Is that it?” Gideon asked. “Did she leave?”

Abigail put a finger to her lips, staring up at the ceiling as if the ghost might choose to appear overhead. That was what had happened the last time Magnus offered his own blood. It did not ease his nerves to think she was expecting it now.

“You’re very tasty,” a voice said beside him; he nearly jumped out of his skin. Coronabeth was standing there, staring at him with wide, eager eyes as she licked her lips. “Are you sure you don’t have more to share?”

“Now, we certainly aren’t in the habit of making an avaritia,” Abigail said, despite the fact that no one save Magnus understood her. “We made an agreement.”

“We did.” Still Coronabeth stared at Magnus, refusing to hide her disappointment. To his surprise, she told him, “I hurt you, but you do not taste like the man I thought you were.” It was close enough to an apology.

She turned to Abigail. “Where is my sister? I want…” There was a tremor in her voice now, a dolorous ache. “I want to go home.”

“Your sister is a little lost,” Abigail said gently. “She doesn’t know where you are. None of us know where you are. Will you show us?”

Coronabeth nodded first at her, then at the wall beside them. “He hid me there. He hurt… He hurt me there.” She walked towards it, disappeared through it.

“We need to get through this wall.”

“Aw, yes,” Magnus heard Gideon say behind him. He glanced back in time to watch her rub her hands together and then reach into her pocket for a pair of leather gloves. “My time has come.”

“Violence,” Harrow muttered. “Her favorite.”

“My favorite.”

Magnus wasn’t entirely sure having Gideon punch through the wall was the most effective plan—as enjoyable as she might have found it—and he said as much before running back to the RV to grab his toolkit.

In the end, it didn’t matter how they’d done it. All that mattered was what they found: A pile of small human bones scattered on the ground. And beside it, a man-sized lump of snow. 

They extracted Ortus first.

He was still breathing, sleeping soundly beneath the cold, white blanket. They brushed him off, checking for injuries. Coronabeth admitted to possessing him, but it didn’t seem she’d had much time to use him. Magnus wondered if she’d searched through his memories, too. 

When he didn’t wake even after they’d given him a good shake, they decided to take him back to the RV. There, at least, they could bundle him up in bed. He had avoided frostbite, but only just. Unprompted, Gideon lifted him up over her shoulder. Magnus protested, but she shook her head, gritting her teeth until she found her balance. “I’ve got him.”

Coronabeth followed them, wary of the outside air. She kept close to Abigail, clinging to her skirt. Magnus wondered if his wife could feel her there as if the child were still alive. They were having a quiet conversation, one he thought it best not to overhear. Instead, he led the way to the parking lot, down the sidewalk lit up by street lamps, and helped Gideon carry Ortus into the van.

“He’ll be disappointed he missed all the action,” Abigail said as she draped a blanket over him. 

“Better that he’s safe,” Magnus said. “Did you find smelling salts?”

She nodded, taking the small crystal from her pocket and pressing it underneath Ortus’s nose. For a second, his breath faltered, and then he was coughing, pushing her hand away. “What… What is that?” He blinked his eyes awake, looking at Abigail as if he’d never seen her before in his life.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, giving him room to breathe.

“Confused,” he said, though it sounded like a question. “What happened? Why…” He pressed a hand to his head as he tried to sit up and groaned. “Advil, please.”

Magnus was quick to his feet, finding the pill bottle and pouring water into a tall glass as Abigail helped Ortus upright. “My head is spinning. I feel like I’ve been dreaming for weeks.” He swallowed the pills in one large gulp, but knew better than to put down his full glass in front of Abigail Pent. Much to her approval, he handed it back to Magnus empty. 

“How long was I unconscious?” he asked, glancing between them, then past them as his gaze was pulled to Gideon and Harrow standing near the door. Coronabeth was there, too, peeking out from where she was hiding behind Gideon. “The ghost.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Abigail nodded. “We spoke with her after she possessed you. Only for a short time,” she added quickly. “You were… You were covered in snow when we found you, but otherwise unharmed.”

“Snow,” he murmured. “I had… Well, I thought I was dreaming of snow. I was a child—I was a girl.” Ortus glanced again at the ghost girl. “We were linked, you and I.”

Coronabeth did not speak. She only stared at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Do you remember when I told you about the twins who had gotten lost here?” Abigail asked him. “One of them thought you were the man who had harmed her in life.”

Ortus paled, turning his head to gape at her. “I didn’t realize… Do I really look so frightening?”

“She attacked Magnus as well. I think it’s only the trauma.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I suppose you’re ready to send her off, then.”

“Not...exactly.” Abigail shared a careful look with Magnus. “Her sister is trapped in one of the vending machines. We’re going to set her free.”

It was a fight to get Ortus to stay in bed after that.

In the end, they had to accept that no matter the injury, he would be going with them. It was just their luck that all he really needed was some Advil and a good stretch, though Abigail was still arguing the point that rest, reclined rest was what he needed. Ghostly possession aside, Ortus did seem to have a jaunty spring in his step as they headed back to the vending machines. Perhaps he had rested enough.

Magnus, on the other hand, was exhausted. His body could never get used to these late night excursions. But he was the only one who seemed bothered. Even Gideon was still somehow vibrating with excitement, though it was likely she was just filled with adrenaline.

“God, this is incredible,” she said to no one in particular. “I am so glad you had to pee.” That, Magnus was fairly certain, was directed at Harrow, who was trying very hard to keep her composure under the watchful eye of the camera.

“How are you not past this?” she hissed. 

“I feel like you don’t understand the gravity of the situation,” Gideon insisted. “But, whatever. Dulcie gets me.”

“Yeah, no, I think we get it,” Harrow said, rolling her eyes. This time, for whatever reason, the motion—or perhaps just the prolonged bickering—made Magnus chuckle. Oh, to be young and freshly in love again. Well… He glanced at his wife, warmth bubbling in his chest. No one could say he wasn’t just as in love as he ever was.

Harrow’s brows knitted into a fierce glare as she dug her elbow as deep into Gideon’s side as was possible. “Quit that, you idiot. Stop acting like you’ve never been in front of a camera before.”

“But it’s Ortus Ninegad filming us!” Gideon protested, not even reacting to being impaled. 

“It’s been hours. Would you shut up already?”

“Honestly, I may never shut up again after this.”

“Now, give me a moment to speak with her before we begin,” Abigail said to them as if she hadn’t been listening to a word anyone else was saying. She spoke most notably to Coronabeth, who was still clinging to her skirt. “She was tenacious in her search for you before she got trapped here, so we don’t want to overwhelm her, all right?”

Coronabeth gave a distracted nod as she stepped back. She was staring at the haunted machine, and Magnus wondered for the first time what it was like to see through a ghost’s eyes. There was recognition in her expression even though no one had pointed out yet which machine it was that held her sister.

“Why don’t you stand with Gideon,” Abigail suggested. It seemed that Harrow couldn’t help but make a face, but Magnus was just as surprised; Gideon hadn’t seemed particularly adept at summoning or speaking or warding. But what she said next made it click. “Harrow, would you help me with the glyphs?”

“Oh. Of course.” Harrow stepped forward, holding the box of supplies, but Abigail held a hand out to stop her.

“Not too close yet.”

When Abigail stepped up to the haunted machine, she spoke in a soft whisper that was impossible to understand. They would know later what she had said when they listened to the recording from her microphone. For now they could only see the machine flicker to life. Magnus couldn’t help sparing a glance at where the cord lay on the ground, still unplugged. He’d done this a thousand times, but he just needed to be certain. Hopefully Ortus had gotten a shot of that.

The machine shook violently, and on instinct, Magnus reached for his wife, stopping short only when his brain caught up to his reflexes—Abigail wasn’t in danger. At least, not yet.

“It’s all right, Ianthe,” she said at a normal volume now. It was hard to tell whether she was trying to make sure she was heard over the rattling inside the machine. She held her hands out in a calming gesture. “We’re going to help you get free. All I need you to do for me is to relax a moment while we work.”

When the machine shook a second time, Gideon said unhelpfully, “I don’t think she knows how to relax.”

Something dropped into the machine’s pickup box. It was a pack of peanut butter crackers that launched out of it to slam right into her stomach. Gideon let out a curse; Harrow shot her a glare.

“Ianthe?”

Being that she was a child, it was no surprise that Coronabeth—just like her twin—was too impatient to wait for Abigail to start her work. Being that she was a ghost, no one could actually stop her from running up to the machine. For what it was worth, Magnus did try, but she simply passed right through his hand like smoke.

“Ianthe, I can feel you there,” she said, pressing her hand to the glass. Somehow, it did not pass through. “Can you feel me?”

Someone—Ianthe—moaned her name.

“They’re going to get you out,” she told her. “You have to let them. I need you.”

The machine shook again, every light flashing white, then red. There was a violence in it, that much Magnus could tell, even if his wife was oblivious to it. She had gestured Harrow forward and the two of them were hastily drawing sigils down either side of the vending machine. Abigail pricked her finger and drew the last of them in blood.

A high-pitched shriek pierced the air. Magnus pressed his hands to his ears and glanced back at Gideon and Ortus to make sure the two of them were all right. Ortus had wavered at the sound, but was experienced enough in these types of situations to still be on his feet. He was determined not to miss any more of this night.

Gideon, on the other hand, looked confused and restless. It was clear that she wanted to lend a hand, but wasn’t sure where her kind of aid might be useful. That was understandable; Magnus wasn’t sure he was much help here either.

Abigail started chanting.

There were chants for different purposes—summoning ghosts, sending ghosts away—but they all made Magnus uneasy. His unease grew as Coronabeth joined in on the chant, somehow knowing the words despite likely never having been taught. Perhaps that’s just what it was to be a ghost: You were at once just yourself and yet also everything in the world.

The glass in the machine shattered. Abigail cowered back as Magnus stepped forward to try to pull her away. They both looked up at the same time as a light darted from the machine and swirled into the air above them. It seemed to have its own mind, drifting back and forth at a measured pace until it froze. Like it was staring.

In the blink of an eye, it launched itself down, spearing Abigail’s chest.

It pushed her back, but Magnus caught her before she fell to the ground. It was happening again, he thought absently. All three of them possessed in one night! 

Abigail moaned, muttering something Magnus couldn’t make out.

“Abigail?” he murmured unhelpfully.

“That wasn’t very kind,” she said. And then, “My body? No, I don’t think you need to do that.” While she squabbled with the ghost who evidently wanted full use of her physical shell, Magnus helped his wife to her feet, keeping a hold on her just in case she needed the support.

“No.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “No, you do not. You’ve done enough damage trapped in a machine.” There was another pause. “Your sister is right here, you know. Do you want to greet her in someone else’s body?”

That was apparently enough to convince Ianthe out of her. The light burst through Abigail the way it had come—which Magnus hoped wasn’t as painful as it looked—knocking her off balance for a second time. But he was ready this time, holding her upright as the light crashed into the broken glass, splintering into jagged fragments that quickly pieced together into limbs one after another. 

At the end of what looked like a painful transformation, a small frail girl stood before them. She looked nothing like her sister, with her dull, thin hair and her willowy limbs. Magnus suspected that she had looked the part of a ghost well before she’d died.

“Corona…” the girl whispered. 

“You’ve really…” Coronabeth stepped forward, her eyes swelling with tears. “You’ve really been here the whole time. I thought… I thought you forgot about me.”

Ianthe reached for her with both hands, moving in a way that was both compassionate and possessive. “I would never forget you,” she murmured. “All I could think about this whole time is what that man did to you. And how I’ll kill him.”

Magnus glanced at his wife and tried not to look too panicked. She didn’t seem to look panicked.

“We,” Ianthe corrected herself. “We can find him. We can kill him. We’re dead now! We can do whatever we want.”

“Well, that just isn’t true,” Abigail interrupted. Both of the twins turned to her, one pair of eyes filled with surprise, the other filled with enmity. “There are many things the two of you can do now that you couldn’t when you were living, but there are just as many things you can’t do anymore. One of those things is continuing your existence as it is.”

“What do you mean?” Coronabeth asked. She had let go of one of her sister’s hands, but was still clutching the other tightly. “We’ve been dead for years already.”

“Yes, and that’s already far too long. You’ll endanger your souls by sticking around, especially if your next intention is revenge.”

Ianthe squinted skeptically at her. “And you know so much about souls?”

“I do. It’s my profession, knowing about souls. And after the hardships you’ve faced, I know without a doubt that it’s time the two of you got some well-deserved rest.”

Coronabeth tugged on Ianthe’s arm before she could say something that Magnus was certain was bound to be impolite. “Mrs. Abigail saved you,” she reminded her. “We wouldn’t have found each other without her help.”

Ianthe studied Abigail for a long moment, torn between what her sister wanted and the emotions festering inside her. She turned back to Coronabeth and said, “I don’t wanna go.” She was desperately trying to sound brave.

“This is the hard part, I’m afraid,” Abigail said gently. 

“It’s not fair,” Ianthe spat. “He shouldn’t get to live.”

“He didn’t. He didn’t even become a ghost as far as I know.”

“That isn’t fair either.”

“You said he suffered for it,” Coronabeth said to Abigail. “Tell us how he suffered and then maybe we’ll go.”

Ianthe shot her twin an ugly look, unhappy with the bargain being made on her behalf, but despite her anger, she was patient enough to allow Abigail this chance.

“He froze to death,” she explained. Magnus blinked, and wondered briefly whether anyone else was surprised by his wife’s bluntness. “You weren’t the only one who got lost in that storm, Ianthe. But he also had the misfortune of suffering from severe blood loss.”

“Blood loss?” 

Abigail nodded. “It’s not clear exactly what happened, but at some point he was hurt. He had broken bones and an open wound. It’s likely he hurt himself trying to escape in the blizzard.”

Coronabeth watched her sister chew on this, a hopeful glint in her eye. “Was it very painful?” Ianthe asked, her frustration not yet fully giving way to curiosity.

“I imagine so,” Abigail said. “I don’t know if either of you ever broke a bone, but it is something awful, especially when it breaks the skin. I can’t imagine what must have been worse, that or whatever had caused his wound. And forced to suffer all of that during a blizzard? I assure you he cried.”

“And it was a long time? He didn’t die too quickly?”

“No.” Abigail frowned. “No, he didn’t.”

It felt like they might stand there forever. The tension would have eaten Magnus alive if he’d been in his wife’s place. As it was, he was mentally rating his options in the event that Ianthe chose violence. 

“I should have been the one to do it,” she said finally. “He hurt my sister.”

Abigail nodded like this child’s thirst for vengeance wasn’t a concern. “What he did was unforgivable. Unfair. But you have something he was never given, something many of us are never given.”

“The chance to be ghosts?” Gideon asked. Harrow, who had moved back to stand next to her, jabbed her elbow harshly into her gut. 

“He had to pass on alone,” Abigail explained. The twins stared at her, not understanding. “The two of you have each other. Do you know how uncommon it is to transcend from this life alongside someone you love?”

Ianthe turned to her sister, her eyes brimming with tears. “But I don’t wanna go.”

“It’s just somewhere else, right?” Coronabeth was also starting to cry a little. “Somewhere not here. I’m so tired of being here, Ianthe. Aren’t you?” It didn’t seem Ianthe was sure until her sister added, “We’re already dead; the next step can’t be worse, right? We can go be terrors somewhere else.”

“I guess. But…” Ianthe turned back to Abigail, and then glanced beyond her at the group. “How do we even go?”

Abigail smiled. “That’s the easier part.”

“Stardust!” Gideon was still raving the next morning. “We’re really all just stardust!” 

At some point Harrow had either stopped caring or stopped listening because for the first time since the start of this excursion, she didn’t nag Gideon to stop talking. “Thanks again,” she said to the ghost hunting trio instead. “This, uh… This was cool.”

Magnus grinned, remembering the awestruck look he’d seen in both her and Gideon’s eyes as they watched the twins turn to light that twinkled out in the night sky above them. He was sure he’d looked the same; watching ghosts pass on was never something he’d been able to get used to. And getting to share that experience was even more profound. It was only a shame their time together had come to an end.

Magnus had insisted that the girls get some sleep, if not in the RV, then in the nearest hotel, if they would be more comfortable—on his dime, of course—but in the morning, Abigail was firm about them heading out early. 

Years of experience had taught their ghost-hunting family that authorities were always hit or miss in these kinds of situations; some were quick to respond and even quicker to clean things up, while others were strict about paperwork and statements and matching up case facts. Once, a few months earlier, they’d been stuck for so long in a small town in Connecticut that the townsfolk had thought the trio was planning a move, all because one of the men on the board of selectmen had insisted that every detail be confirmed multiple times. 

He at least had believed in the supernatural. There were plenty of officials who didn’t and whose minds couldn’t be changed. Those cases were always the worst.

But they couldn’t predict the nature of a rest stop worker off the highway in Virginia, nor how long it might take them to call for aid. “We don’t want to delay the rest of your trip,” Abigail told them. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if you missed your concert because of us.”

“This is definitely the best reason to miss a concert,” Gideon assured her.

“Uh, no.” Harrow frowned. “I paid good money for these tickets and they are not refundable, Nav.”

“I do hope we run across one another again in the future.” Abigail turned to Harrow with a soft smile. “I was serious about my offer. If ever you feel you want to try your hand at spirit calling, I would happily be your mentor. You have a natural talent for it, truly.”

Harrow tried not to blush and muttered something about not knowing how it would fit in with her schedule at university. Next to her, Gideon was grinning. She clapped her hands together and said, “Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Oh, what? Now you want to spend your life beating up ghosts?” Harrow snarked.

“Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

Magnus chuckled. He had never considered what it might be like for Abigail or himself to take on an apprentice, but after tonight he felt enthusiastic about the prospect, even if Gideon refused to understand that they didn’t actually fight ghosts.

“Be sure to let us know how, erm—” He’d forgotten the name of the band they were going to see. “—how the concert is.”

“Totally. We will totally do that.” Gideon held up her phone. “Got your number. Got both of your numbers. Ortus, do I have your number?”

“You got everybody’s number,” Harrow interrupted. “Come on, we’ve got to get back on the road.”

“What about breakfast?” Gideon protested.

Harrow gave her a dead-eyed stare. “You finished that fourth bag of Doritos half an hour ago. I watched you.”

“That was not breakfast.”

Abigail hummed thoughtfully. “I do recall seeing a sign for an IHOP at the next exit.” Innocently, she said it so innocently, but Magnus caught the sly look she gave him.

“Darling, we do have a schedule,” he reminded her.

“Technically,” Ortus stepped in tentatively, “if Augustine accepts this footage, we won’t actually be behind.”

“Darling,” Abigail echoed, sidling closer, “I think I have a craving for pancakes.”

“Pancakes!” Gideon pumped her fist. “That is breakfast.”

That was just asking for another delay, but Magnus had to admit that pancakes probably wouldn’t eat into their schedule too much more than any of the rest of it had. As long as the restaurant wasn’t haunted.