Page 12 of Medium
We crossed the back patio, which was dotted with ceramic urns and planters of various sizes holding shrubs pruned into unlikely shapes.
I cleared my throat. “I wish I could just call their names to see if they’ve passed on, but my gift doesn’t work like that. I have to run into a ghost or have a ghost I know bring them to me before I can communicate with them.”
Garfield gave me a stiff nod. “Understood.”
But there had to be a way to find his pack members. Or at least take down the people putting on these auctions. Surely if rich fuckwads were trafficking paranormal creatures, someone was tracking the rich fuckwads.
The door to the house was unlocked. I kept my phone to my ear and spoke loudly about KPIs, portfolios, currency adjustments, and yield fluctuations as I walked through the mudroom and the laundry room as if I did it all the time. I passed a few house staff in black and white uniforms. After giving me a double-take, they ignored me. Garfield floated ahead of me, and I resolutely kept my eyes trained at his shoulders. One glance at his hairy ass was enough.
We turned down a couple of corridors, and the sounds of the party grew fainter. We didn’t run into any other staff. The doors along the hallways were all shut, and these walls weren’t decorated with artwork.
We were almost at a T-junction when a ghost whipped around the corner straight into Garfield. “Chamberlain!” she shouted. “Go back! He’s coming!”
Fuck. I whirled, plowing right through Grandfather. I power-walked back the way I’d come, trying not to make any noise. “Are any of these doors unlocked?” I whispered.
“Don’t know,” Garfield said from behind me.
I didn’t dare try the handles for fear of the sound they might make.
The ghost woman—she didn’t look like a tree, more like a Valkyrie with her height and long blond hair—appeared ten feet ahead of me at the junction of another hallway. I was grateful she was wearing clothes—leather pants and a jean jacket over a t-shirt. She pointed to my right. I followed heraround two more corners, then I was in a dead-end with three doors. I spun around, but she was looking back the way we’d come.
“They shouldn’t turn this way if they’re going back to the party,” she said.
Shouldn’t. Fuck.
Carefully I tried the door handles. Locked.
We heard voices and the clinking of ice in glasses. The woman and Garfield vanished, but Grandfather stayed by my side.
A man’s voice said, “I contacted my source, but they said they weren’t responsible for the health of the specimens after the sale was final.”
“What terrible customer service. They’re the only source, you said? I would love to get my hands on a specimen for myself.” He sighed. “Maybe next year after some investments come through.”
The men passed the hallway leading to my hiding spot.
The first man said, “Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement. I find I require assistance keeping the specimens alive.” The voices trailed away.
My mouth fell open. I met Grandfather’s eyes, and his snarling face told me I was right.
Uncle Hugo.
Randolph Chamberlain had taken him to see the captive dryad girl, and Uncle Hugo wanted one for himself.
CAL’S CAMPAIGN COMPENDIUM
BONDING, PART ONE: INTRODUCTION
A bond is a permanent uber-connection between mates. It creates what is effectively a mind-meld between the partners, with the following attributes:
Speaking mind-to-mind
Rapid healing
