A Guide to the Other Side (19 page)

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Entering the city center of Keene was like traveling into the eighteenth century. Tall trees lined every road, and the buildings were mostly original brick construction occupied by small businesses that sported signs like
YE GOODIE SHOPPE
or
WALPOLE CREAMERY ICE CREAM PARLOUR
. A couple of church steeples soared into the sky, the only things in the city taller than the tree line.

I locked my bike up at Central Square and tuned in the spirits I'd been desperately attempting to block out during my ride so I wouldn't crash. I immediately spotted some Plegians casually hanging around the giant structure that held up all the jack-o'-lanterns during the annual pumpkin festival, comfortably reclining on it. Plegians are at once the most innocuous and the most terrifyingly destructive of demons: They don't latch onto people the way other kinds do, but they still cause needless harm. Whenever a freak accident happens—a building collapses, a car's brakes stop working, a sinkhole swallows a house—the Plegians are usually at play.

I veered far away from the structure, in case they decided to send it toppling down on me, and headed to the first address, just behind the square on Winter Street, less than two minutes away.

Downtown was looking very pleasant this time of year. The tree branches were grasping to the last stubborn, colorful leaves, and the occasional crisp breeze would sail through and wrest the leaves from the trees' grip, sending them tumbling through the air, spinning and spiraling in all directions. Lights were already strung around some of the trees, and it made the whole square look charming and welcoming.

I turned onto Winter Street and stopped dead in my tracks, inching back to hide behind the corner. Someone was exiting the tarot card shop, followed closely by a winged creature called a Bruton.

I'd seen that kind of demon only a couple of times before, but its image was seared into my brain. The face of a Bruton isn't well defined; when it moves, it blurs, so you're never sure exactly where it is or what it looks like. The wings seem too barbaric and jagged to actually fly, but they can expand as wide as a house and are extremely powerful. But the worst part, as usual, is the eyes—they're made of fire, and not the good kind of fire that I flock to, but the menacing kind that burns down houses and destroys forests.

Brutons latch onto people like other demons do, but in a more sinister way. Instead of sucking away a person's energy, they use their own negative energy to manipulate and deceive. People occasionally tell me that they have nightmares featuring scary creatures with flames for eyes and batlike wings, and I immediately hand them a candle, tell them to close their mind to negative energy, and then run far away from them. If a Bruton is passing through your dreams, you're in trouble.

The human and the demon didn't seem to notice me as they walked away, and I stayed hidden behind the corner until they were out of sight. I debated whether I should even enter the shop. If it was where Brutons regularly hung out, I didn't want to mix with that energy. But after I decided it'd be highly unlikely to have two Brutons in a small tarot card shop, I sucked up my courage and walked toward the door.

When I entered, annoying wind chimes sounded from above. “Oh, did you forget something, Miss Ti—” The clerk looked up from papers on the counter and realized I wasn't the customer who'd just left. “I'm sorry. How can I help you?”

He was a guy, probably in his early thirties, with limbs as thin as ski poles. He'd been shuffling papers together, and I was amazed he had the strength to lift even a few pieces of them.

“Who was just in here?”

“I'm afraid my customer information is confidential.”

“Well, whoever it was is in grave danger.” I studied the object hanging around his neck: a pentagram, the symbol of a Wiccan.

“I see,” he said curtly. “Can I help you with something?”

I hadn't asked Tommy what I should be on the lookout for. I assumed I'd know it when I saw it. “I'm not a hundred percent sure. Do you have anything that deals with, uh, other spiritual dimensions?”

“You're interested in the occult?” His eyebrows shot up. “Reaching another realm besides the physical one?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling certain that if we were to nail down the specifics on what exactly he meant by that, we'd have very different opinions.

“You're just a kid,” he said, rummaging around on his desk, “so I'm not going to get too into it with you, but I'd feel comfortable giving you this, at least.”

He handed me a pamphlet with the words “Introduction to the Far Shadow” boldly printed on the cover.

“What's the Far Shadow?”

“Everything,” he said, smiling, “and nothing.”

I flipped through some of the pages. Astral dimensions. Zodiac signs. Pentagrams. Moon cycles. Ritual introductions. This wasn't going to help me find the Sheet Man.

“You might be interested in page twenty-seven,” he said.

I flipped to it and read the heading: “Book of Shadows.” It detailed a list of rituals and spells and some specific examples.

“The Summoning of the Far Spirits?” I said. “Why would you need to summon spirits? They're all around us.”

“Some would disagree with you,” he said.

Well, then,
some
were idiots who knew nothing.

“It's a challenging spell, not something you'd be able to do by any means without years of training behind you.”

“Oh. Well, can you do it, then?”

He chuckled, grabbed the pamphlet back, and, in a dramatic, hushed whisper, read:

“Invoked you are

To appear at my side.

Travel through the realms

And journey to my voice,

Which beckons you past the stars,

Through the dust, and into my presence.”

Nothing happened.

He frowned. “Still haven't gotten that one to work yet.”

“Have you gotten
any
of them to work yet?”

“It's harder than it looks, kid.” He sounded insulted. “You try it.”

I sighed, knowing full well this was a huge waste of my time, but part of me felt bad I'd wounded his pride. I picked up the pamphlet, smiling earnestly at him, and recited the words.

“Invoked you are

To appear at my side.

Travel through the realms

And journey to my voice . . .”

I'd looked up to make a face that said,
You're right, this is stupidly hard
, and in that moment I learned two semirelated things. The first was that this guy was very much a fraud, in possession of no spiritual gifts whatsoever. The second was that I was very much not a fraud, because when I'd looked up, I'd seen a pair of shimmering red eyes, detached from their owner, hovering just above the skinny Wiccan guy.

I dropped the pamphlet as the eyes pierced my own with their gaze. They squinted at me curiously, as though
I
were some kind of circus freak.

“What's wrong, kid?” the guy asked.

“Look up,” I whispered.

He looked right up at the eyes, which looked down at him in an almost pleasant way, and then he turned back to me. “What?”

“I need to leave,” I said, hoping the eyes wouldn't follow me out of the store. I actually wanted to look to see if there was an opposite spell—the Unsummoning of the Far Spirits, some kind of Get the Heck Out of Here chant—but I was too afraid to touch the pamphlet again, let alone say any more of the spell, in case the rest of red-eyed entity appeared. Instead I pulled out my lighter, surrounded myself with light, and hyperblasted some positive energy at the big red eyes floating above. They squinted, more annoyed than angry, as if the flames of fire were nothing more than irritating gnats.

“Aw, come on, kid, it's only a dumb spell,” the guy said, laughing. “A bunch of hocus-pocus from a dying branch of Wiccan beliefs.”

I shook my head. “You need to be more careful with that stuff.” And I walked out the door.

What had just happened? Whatever it was, it didn't feel too menacing . . . it just
looked
menacing, which was almost as bad. I lit my lighter one more time for some reassurance, to make sure nothing negative had attached itself to me. I was fairly certain demons couldn't do anything to me, since Kristina's protections didn't go away simply because she did. At least, I hoped they didn't. I had no real frame of reference to work with.

I debated whether I wanted to continue after having invoked the eyes of a Far Spirit, a phrase I wanted to extinguish from my mind as soon as possible. I thought back to the creation of my talisman, the weird phrases I'd had to recite and the strange ribbons of energy. Wasn't that basically a form of pseudomagic? What else was I capable of? Shaken, but determined I was doing the right thing, I decided to keep going.

The other shop, Madame Nadirah's, was on the other side of the square, past the pumpkin-holding structure and down the main road a little bit. I admired the square again, steering clear of the Plegians and doing my best to ignore the ghosts making requests.

“Please tell my daughter she doesn't need to worry about maintaining my coin collection. I only collected them in the first place because I was so bored all the time, and I don't want her ending up the same way.”

“My son's been asking for a sign from me. Go up to him and mention the explosion in Montana, he'll get a kick out of it.”

“My sister is right there and needs to know her son has been experimenting with some disgusting substances. Don't walk away from me, young man. I know you can hear me.”

“I'm on a mission,” I hissed to them. “I don't have time to deliver your messages.”

A blinking mom and her daughter looked back at me with concern, and I laughed and waved them off, which I realized only served to reaffirm that I was crazy.

By the time I reached Madame Nadirah's, I must have ignored at least ten ghosts, feeling a pit of guilt grow in my stomach with every rejection, but the good thing was that there were no Brutons or any other sort of demon lingering around the shop. It seemed nice enough. There were no tacky neon signs advertising psychic readings, nor were than any crystal balls or tarot cards in sight. There was just a sign that read
MADAME NADIRAH'S MYSTIC SHOPPE
, and purple curtains blocked the view inside.

I opened the door, causing a loud bell to ring from somewhere in the back. Crossing the threshold, I was sort of charmed by what I saw. There was a spinning display of books and pamphlets advertising various ways to deepen spiritual connections (
DON'T HATE. MEDITATE!
); a colorful selection of meditation mats lining one of the walls (
A STRONG MIND MAKES A LIFE DEFINED!
); posters and plaques inscribed with uplifting platitudes (
CUSTOM-MADE TO FIT YOUR SPIRITUAL NEEDS!
); and a massive display filled with all kinds of candles (
FIND THE SCENT AND HUE THAT'S JUST RIGHT FOR YOU!
).

As I was looking at a twenty-dollar candle that had sage-infused wax (
BURN THE SAGE TO CLEANSE AND PURGE UNWANTED VISITORS ON THE VERGE!
), a short woman with an out-of-control Afro emerged from the back room. She wore a loose-fitting green dress featuring elaborate gold stitching down the sides, and a pair of thick glasses magnified her eyes, making her pupils look twice their normal size.

“I am Madame Nadirah,” she said in a breathy, excited voice. “Welcome to my shop. I notice you're looking at the spirit-cleansing candle. Are you experiencing problems in your house?”

“Uh, well, you could say that,” I said, shrugging. “I'm actually not here to buy any products. I'm wondering if I could make use of your abilities.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ah, you seek guidance from the spiritual world, do you? I can help you, my child.” She stepped forward, looking me up and down and clucking her tongue. “You seem tense. Very tense. There is clearly something bothering you, child.”

“You're off to a good start,” I said, wondering why anyone would show up to a shop like this unless something was bothering them.

“Come, follow me, we'll sort it out together.”

She headed for the back door, and we entered a dark room lit up by black lights, causing everything white to glow neon blue.

“Oh man.” I blinked several times, hoping to make my eyes adjust to the sudden change in light. “Wasn't expecting that.”

“I feel it's best to channel spirits in a way that can allow their energy to radiate in a different form, one that you may even be able to see.”

“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. Kristina had told me repeatedly that most living people couldn't see ghosts, no matter what they claimed.

“Now, get comfortable,” she said, pointing to a glowing cushion on the floor. I took my seat across from her, a low table between us. She had her hands on the table, palms down, fingers spread wide apart. A soothing song featuring low chants played quietly from somewhere in the room, and I felt a tingle around the base of my neck as the energy riled up around me. This woman had some kind of gift. I wasn't sure to what extent, though.

“Tell me your name, child,” she said peacefully, like she was starting a mediation.

“Baylor Bosco.”

“Now, Baylor, why don't you . . .”

She stopped suddenly, her illuminated eyes flicking up toward my face and zooming all over. She reached up and hit something on the wall.

The black lights went off, and a harsh fluorescent light filled the small room instead. Madame Nadirah's face had transformed from serene to irate.

“Baylor Bosco?” she spit. “Are you kidding me?” Her voice had changed as well. The breathiness had disappeared, replaced by a sharp, sassy tone. “What are you doing in my shop?”

“You've heard of me?”

“Of course I've heard of you! You're only my biggest customer stealer in the state. My shop's been open for fifteen years, and ever since you started delivering messages left and right, my business has gone down by fifty percent.”