Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #1: Villanova Apartments: Part 18

Noah's head swung back and forth. I couldn't tell if he realized he was doing 

"Noah," I said, calmly but sternly, dropping down onto my knees in front of him. "Noah, I need you to not freak out on me."

His head kept shaking. I slapped my hands on either side of his face and forced his head to stop moving. "Noah Walker, take a breath."

He obeyed, taking in a deep breath at my command. Then he took another one on his own. His eyes began to focus on me, the distance in them fading.

"I'm not going to let it get you."

Chuckling echoed throughout the room.

Noah flinched at the sound.

With my hands still on either side of his face, I gave him a soft jolt. "Noah, I am not going to let it get you. But I need you to stay with me, ok? No running off to la la land here, ok?"

It took him a minute, and visible effort, but he nodded once.

"Atta boy," I said, letting go of his head and rising.

The chuckling continued.

I had felt brave up until that point. But now that I was back up on my feet, I had no idea what do to. Without a name, I couldn't do anything. And Noah's ward was failing fast.

It would get in here soon.

Any my options were limited.

If we waited for the ward to fall, or if Noah broke it on his own, we could try and make a run for it. But for whatever reason, this monster didn't seem to play by the same abode-dwelling rules as Cyril and Oliver. Probably because it seemed to haunt tears in the layers more than places, and, well, wouldn't you know it, Noah and I were walking, talking, living tears. We wouldn't be able to outrun it.

And we wouldn't be able to keep it out forever. Noah had probably less than an hour before his ward fell.

There wasn't really anyone we could call for help.  Unless the Ghostbusters answered to their catchy jingle the way Bloody Mary did with a bathroom mirror.

Those were our negatives. Our positives? I could command it if I knew its name.

Only, we didn't know its name. And it knew not to give it to me.

I took in a deep breath. If we couldn't run and we couldn't stay, our only option was to use my power. I had to figure out how to get its name from it. Like every single good fantasy story I'd ever read, I'd have to beat the monster at a battle of wits.

God, how pathetic was it that my social anxiety was kicking in at the thought?

I let out my held breath and looked back up at the ceiling. "Ok, here's what's going to happen Ted—can I call you Ted?—because here's what's going to happen. You're going to disappear. You're going to leave Noah and Bronte and the ghosts alone—everyone, you're just going to leave everyone alone. Or I will order you to."

It chuckled. "Dear, sweet Stella. Lying has never been your strong point."

"You don't know I'm lying."

"If you knew my name, little Stella, you would have ordered me to flee already."

"Then how about I figure out your name? Rumpelstiltskin style."

It chuckled. "You have until dear Noah collapses to find my name."

"You've got to give me a hint or something. That's only fair.  All the big villains are doing it these days."

It didn't answer.

"Crap." So much for that.

Behind me, I heard movement. I turned to see Noah had risen from the floor and moved toward the dining room table. I was about to call out to him when I saw him swipe Bronte's candle and matches from the decorative centerpiece and bring it back to where I stood.

He sat back down, wiped sweat from his forehead, and lit the candle.

As soon as the match struck, I could see the shimmering film of the ward brighten. Noah blew out the match as the candle's little flame flickered. "Fire is a purifying force," he explained without bothering to glance up at my confused expression. "It'll fortify the ward. So I don't have to push myself as much. Should buy us some extra time."

"How long?"

He shrugged and rolled his head, causing his neck joints to pop softly. "Maybe fifteen minutes?"

"That's good. Really good."

He scoffed at my obviously fake enthusiasm. Whether it was fifteen minutes sooner or later hardly seemed to matter—neither one of us held much hope of getting out of this alive.

I stared at the candle. Bronte's candle. She loved them—had multiple candles in every room of the apartment. Often with different scents burning at the same time to make something new.

I wasn't going to see her again.

And the last thing I'd done was betray her trust.

The small flame danced at the wick's tip.

I'd be leaving her defenseless too. As soon as the monster finished with me and Noah, it would go after Bronte, Cyril and Oliver. Raising its kill count all the way to ninety-nine.

I looked up from the flame, to Noah. "How did you beat it back before?"

He'd been staring at the flame too, lost in his own thoughts. "Hm?"

"When you were a kid? After it had killed your widow—Clara. How did you survive that? You never said."

"It won't work again."

"But how did you do it?"

"Stella—"

"How do you know it won't work again?" I pressed, inching closer. I tried to mask the excitement in my tone but some of it squeezed through. "We could maybe use that trick again. It was a long time, maybe it doesn't—"

"He set his home ablaze."

I flinched from the purring reply.

It chuckled at my reaction. "So much fire, I had to flee. When I came back, he had left. Scared little boy.  It took me years to find him again."

Noah stared even harder at the flame. "An accident," he mumbled. And I wasn't sure if it was directed toward me or him. Whether he wanted to convince himself or me.

"Oh," I whispered, settling back into place.

It wouldn't work—not again. Not in an apartment full of people. We might make enough fire to distract the monster, force it to flee from  its purifying force or whatever, but not without risking others. And even then, I doubted the monster would fall for that a second time. Not when it heard us talking about it.

I stared at the candle, at the small little flame. And I tried to imagine it growing, spreading. A pinprick of fire growing into a raging inferno. It would roar as smoke billowed into the sky. Melting and twisting and cackling. All from a single drop of flame.

We'd be safe then.

"Hm?"

I looked up from the flame to see Noah staring at me. "What?"

"You said something."

"No, I didn't."

His brow furrowed. "You did."

I looked back at the flame. "No, I didn't. It was probably Ted."

He scowled. "It wasn't Ted—the ghost," he grumbled, obviously annoyed at my penchant for naming things.  "It was you.  What did you say?"

The front door opened.

We both turned, startled, to see Bronte standing in the doorway. Out of breath. The pocket watch clutched in her hand.