"I-It wouldn't be proper, sir. You are my magic-master."
"You've done it already. Called me by name. Grey. Twice. I heard you."
"But-"
"Elinor calls Harry, Harry. Harry calls her Elinor. You will call me Grey and I'll call you Pearl."
"That's different, Elinor and Mr. Tomlinson."
"No, it isn't. You are Pearl. I am Grey. Now stand right there, yes, at my elbow, and lay your two fingers on my wrist, there. Just so." The power surged inside him, then settled again. Would it interfere with his conjury, whatever it was?
He lifted his face and felt for the bits of anchor magic in the sigils around the body in question. But before he could send magic into them, his most familiar spirit flashed into the cellar. What do you think you are doing, Greyson Carteret, calling ghosts without me?
Grey grimaced. He'd hoped Mary wouldn't object for once, since the other spirit was present. He addressed her mentally, not wanting witnesses to the discussion. "You were so tired, dear heart, when you were last with me. You are after all, a very new spirit."
I might have been tired then, but I'm not now. Stop coddling me, Grey. I'm not like I was before. For a moment, she solidified into the strong, womanly form she had taken after death. And I'm not so new as all that. I've been passed on for ages longer than Davy. How long again? It's hard to keep track.
"You don't have to," Grey replied. "But if you must know, it's been seventeen years and three months. No time at all."
Not here. Mary curled wispily around Grey's shoulders. But there, where you are, it's been ages and ages. You've gotten old.
"So have you."
She didn't forget her goal. You know I don't like for you to call ghosts without me.
"Yes, madam, I do know," Grey said aloud. "Forgive me." He paused. "May I call my ghost now?"
Of course, she said, all graciousness.
"You might want to take advantage of the sigil on Miss Parkin's arm, with our young friend," he suggested.
How clever of you. Mary floated over to Pearl. Hullo, Davy. Good to see you again. Hello, Miss Parkin. I'm Mary.
Did all spirits know all the other spirits? He often thought so.
"Pleased to meet you." Pearl bobbed a curtsey, which made the spirits drift a little.
Grey cleared his throat and everyone went still, turning their attention to him. He felt for his anchors again, then poured magic into the sigils around the murdered man's body. Come. "Angus Galloway, come and speak."
Nothing. Not a stir in the aether, except for a quick in-and-out flicker of curiosity in a corner. He infused his "Come" sigils with more power, put more in his voice. "Angus Galloway, you are instructed to present yourself at your mortal remains."
The more recently dead sometimes responded better to officious-sounding language.
It was still daylight. The moon had risen while they'd been out on Pearl's shopping trip, so that was all right. But the sun did affect ghosts more than spirits, and Galloway was very, very new to the other side, whether ghost or spirit. He would have little strength for answering.
Grey would have to provide the strength. He reached into the aether for more magic, piling it up in the space between the four sigils, where the body lay. For the third time, he called. "Angus Galloway, come. Present yourself."
He was sweating in the chill basement. He could feel the threat of a massive headache looming, waiting to crash down on him. The hand he extended to hold the magic in place strained on the verge of trembling.
Calling the recently dead could be more of an effort than rousing the long-departed from their comfort. The new ones, ghost or spirit, had little of the power the old spirits did. Sometimes it took more strength than Grey possessed to call them.
He hoped this was not one of those times. How impressed would his new apprentice be if he fell over in a faint, like Ferguson?
But his hand never trembled. The headache never crashed. His heartbeat steadied and the strain in his muscles eased, strength sliding into his body from somewhere. He put it into his voice. "Angus Galloway, come forth!"
The sound seemed to echo through more than mere air. A guttural bellow with an overlaid scream came roaring back, rampaging through the cellar so loud and so quick, Pearl ducked. Grey shifted her two-fingered touch to his other wrist so he could put his closest arm around her for protection.
And for that instant when her skin did not touch his, his head pounded, his hands shook, and his knees buckled. The strength came from her, from Pearl, his tiny, fragile apprentice.
He jerked, meaning to shake her off, and Pearl wrapped her hand around his bare wrist.
"Don't," she said. "Don't you dare. I need to see what's happening. I have to know. The little spirit's faded, so don't make me let go." She reached up to her shoulder and clasped the hand he'd laid there before she let go his opposite wrist. "There. You've got your hand free. But don't let go. Together we're stronger than we are apart."
The cellar door slammed shut and the roaring shriek filled the room, so loud that Pearl had to shout to be heard. It wasn't audible merely to conjurers and their apprentices. Ferguson hunched on the stairs, face hidden in his knees, hands tight over his ears. But then he was a sensitive, poor chap.
Grey watched the ghost go screaming by, for there was a ghost attached to the scream. It zoomed around the room, bashing into corners and knocking over tables, spilling bodies to the floor in its ricochet attack, making Pearl cry out in horror. But apparently it did not see the other magicians or spirits in the room. Pearl's experimental spell was working.
He waited and watched. When it came streaking past, he bumped it toward one of the binding sigils, which snared it like a fish in a net.
The ghost struggled, its roar suddenly silenced, but it was well and truly caught. It was strong for a new ghost. Or maybe it was the magic he'd fed it. Grey was glad he'd chalked two binding sigils, though it was caught in just the one. He had the other in reserve.
Seconds ticked away as the ghost fought to break free, shredding itself into wisps equally snared in the magic. Finally it stilled, apparently resigned to capture. Grey waited until the wisps coalesced and began to look something like the faint transparency of a man.
A man who bore little resemblance to the broken mess beneath the cloth, for he had a narrow, almost beaky nose, eyes deep-set beneath a high forehead, and a fine, firm jaw. Every one of those sharp-cut bones had been shattered into pudding. The only thing the same was the deep red of the hair curling in all directions.
"All right, my dear. Time to go to work."
Yes, Grey. Mary rearranged herself on Pearl's arm, doing the small-spirit equivalent of coming to attention.
"Please verify that this is the ghost of Angus Galloway."
It is. I asked him already.
The ghost howled, a silent howling this time. Grey hoped it had used up all its strength in that earlier display.
"Is he aware of his demise?"
What? Mary "blinked" in confusion.
"Does he know he's dead?"
Oh. A brief pause. What did I tell you about using fancy-pants words? Another pause while spirit communicated with ghost. Yes, he knows.
An' 'e's powerful pissed about it, too, Davy added.
Hush, I'm answering Grey's questions, Mary scolded the other spirit.
"Does he know who killed him?"
I can't get much sense out of him, Mary admitted.
'E's spittin' mad. Davy put in his contribution. An' 'e's spittin' an' 'owlin'.
Mary-did she pinch the boy spirit? Could spirits do that? They wouldn't tell him if he asked. Grey sighed. "I was afraid of that."
"What about the magic?" Pearl said. "My magic, I mean. If it helped those others ascend, mightn't it help Mr. Galloway?"
"I imagine a great deal of the magic you dispersed earlier was his. If it were going to help him ascend, don't you think it would have done so already?"
"But his ghost wasn't here. Maybe that makes a difference."
"Maybe. Might. Perhaps. The problem is we don't know." Grey lifted an eyebrow at her. "No more experiments. Remember?"
He was haunting the place where he was murdered, Mary volunteered. He does make that much sense. You had to call him from there.
"Where was he murdered?" Grey asked. "Does he know?"
Near the river. Near Green Bank where he was found. He doesn't know much more than that.
Savin' that it were an empty building, Davy said. Fallin' down, like.
The ghost burst into a furious struggle, fighting once more to break free, shredding itself into a thousand flaring wisps. When it re-formed, it was less substantial than before.
"I have some of its magic left to me." Pearl's voice held quiet determination. "If all I do is disperse it, it's not an experiment, is it?"
Grey gave her a suspicious look.
"It's not," she argued, though he hadn't said a word for her to argue against. "We know I need to disperse it. I know how to do that. The only thing we don't know is what will happen when his magic reaches him."
"And if he's black-hearted, we won't get another word out of him."
Pearl frowned. "Why not?"
"Because the wicked get no respite from hell."