I hesitated before jumping to the ground on the other side of the stone wall that divided the properties. Once my feet touched that unconsecrated soil, the ghosts of Haven Crest would know someone was there. They might not care that they had a guest at first, but once I got a little closer, the stronger ones would “taste” me and probably form a not-so-welcoming party. Bent had come to check me out almost immediately when I’d come here with Mace—he’d felt his victim’s return.
Not everyone at Haven Crest had been one of Bent’s followers, but there had to be a few spirits there who wouldn’t be happy to see me.
Who was I kidding? No one there was going to be happy to see me. Not even Wren.
I took several iron rings from my pocket and slipped them on my fingers. They’d been made from old nails. They weren’t all that pretty, but they were effective when punching a ghost in the face. I didn’t usually wear them since they could hurt Wren, but to not have protection here would be incredibly stupid. Way more stupid than I already was.
I could have brought my iron rod. I probably should have, but I figured that would be like walking into a gang clubhouse with a pistol in my hand. Besides, I wanted to make nice with the ghosts if I could. And I didn’t want to cause trouble for Wren, whom I was also counting on to help protect my ass.
She was nearby, my sister. Hopefully she felt me, too.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed down to the ground. The moment my boots hit the grass I felt a tingle run up my legs. Halloween, you had to love it. Even the property of Haven Crest was charged with spectral energy. The night of the Dead Babies concert I was going to be jittery as hell if this was any indication.
Luckily, the tremors in my legs stopped after I took a few steps. It was dark and quiet. Too quiet. I didn’t use a flashlight because security would spot it. I’d covered my white hair with a black hat and kept to the shadows as best I could. I had no desire to be caught trespassing here again. No desire to meet up with Officer Olgilvie again, the dick.
I kept low as I ran toward the main cluster of buildings. As used to ghosts as I was, this place was still creepy. The old brick buildings had rotting wood trim and busted windows, but you could tell it had been pretty at one time. That wasn’t the creepy part. The creepy bit was all the faces in those broken windows, watching me as I scurried past. That was not something you ever got used to.
I had a fairly decent sense of direction and an idea of where Woodstock’s haunt was located, but that wasn’t necessarily where I was headed.
I hid behind a tree when I saw a police car slowly move along the paved road that ran throughout the compound. The site had a security guard, but the cops patrolled, as well. From what I’d heard, Haven Crest used to be a lot more popular with the teen population of New Devon and surrounding towns. It used to be a haven for the homeless and runaways until the town reclaimed the property and started renovations. That’s when the police added it to their nightly patrol, keeping an eye out for trespassers.
I bet the ghosts hated the police for the extra attention. Suddenly their all-you-can-haunt buffet dried up, and they had to make do with the odd ghost hunter, cop or teenager daring enough to risk getting caught.
Luckily for them, there would always be people who thought looking for a ghost in an abandoned mental hospital was a fun idea. People like me, who were at least looking for a particular ghost.
Once I was sure I was safe from security, I ran across the cracked pavement to the other side of the roadway. From there, I sprinted across the lawn, past the building where we’d hunted Josiah Bent and outside of which Mace and I had been picked up by the cops. On the other side, I slipped into the shadow of the building and waited for my breathing to calm down—I really needed to do more cardio.
“You shouldn’t be here,” came a voice from my right.
Shit. Slowly, I turned my head toward the darker side of the building. Standing there, dirty arms folded over her narrow chest, was a girl about the same age as me. She was dressed in a plain cotton tie-dyed sundress, and her feet were bare. Long blond hair hung down her back.
Wait. That wasn’t dirt on her arms, and her dress wasn’t tie-dyed. It was blood. Her forearms were sliced from wrist almost to elbow.
I swallowed. Looking at those wounds made my own scars itch. “I know, but I’m looking for somebody.”
Her thin face was void of sympathy. “Last time you came here looking for somebody you upset a lot of us.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, but no way was I going to let Bent take my sister.”
Her pointy chin lifted. “There aren’t too many of us who miss Josiah. Even fewer who would thank you for it. You put a hurt into a lot of us that night.”
“They tried to stop me from burning his bones,” I reminded her. “And I’m not going to apologize for that.”
She moved closer—little lurches like when the cable TV feed sometimes got garbled. Japanese horror movies did it all the time. It was scarier in person. I closed my fingers into a fist, just in case she got too close.
“Why are you here now?” she asked. This close I could see that her eyes were bigger than they ought to be—too big for her tiny face. And her eyelashes were thick and kinked like spider legs.
“What do you care?”