The Lantern's Ember Page 3

  “This is for you,” she called out softly. The night air had turned crisp and the full moon bathed her face in light as she looked out into the thicket surrounding her home. “I’m sorry you weren’t comfortable enough to come to the party. I brought you a bit of cake though.”

  The air felt thin and bursting with life. It always seemed to Ember that on Samhain, the world sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for the chime of midnight to ring, and then it slowly exhaled, blowing all the unseen things far back, away from the world of the living.

  She sensed it now. The world getting ready to inhale, leaving summer behind and plunging headfirst into winter. Ember turned her back to the window and sat in the small chair by her writing desk. She looked in the mirror to take the combs from her hair and felt the curls tumble around her shoulders. Picking up a brush, she began to run it through the long strands. The lone candle in her room wavered as if it would go out and then the flame turned icy blue. Her breath fogged the mirror and, when she looked up, a moonlight-haired boy with steely, silver eyes stood behind her shoulder, looking at her in the mirror.

  Gasping softly, Ember dropped her brush and felt a soft breeze on her cheek as the candle went out.

  Even without the benefit of the light, she could see him in the mirror behind her. His skin glowed as if lit from beneath. The world hung on the cusp of commutation as the midnight hour cast its spell. Nervously, Ember reached for her water pitcher and filled a cup. The water sloshed out over the sides as she pressed the cup to her lips. She said, “I’d hoped you’d come.”

  The young man behind her frowned and began to walk toward the window, lifting a lit pumpkin in his hand. Ember spun and stood abruptly. “Don’t go!” she exclaimed. Her chair toppled and she reached for it, but missed. The striking apparition with the moonbeam eyes caught it for her and set it on its feet. “Please,” she said. “Not yet. I have…I have so wanted to meet you.”

  She twisted her hands and her guardian looked down at them and then back at her face, then he took her hand, opened it, and placed her folded handkerchief in her palm. Ember’s fingers tightened over the bit of cloth, catching his fingers in her own, and she gasped. “Your hands,” she said. “They’re warm. I didn’t expect that from a ghost.”

  He snorted and pulled his hands away. “For a witch, you certainly don’t know much about how hauntings work.”

  His voice was rich and resonant, with a timbre that lingered, caressing Ember’s skin long after he’d finished speaking. Boldly, she assessed his appearance. He looked exactly how she remembered, though she’d just been a little girl. He was several inches taller than she was, and though she suspected he was older, he appeared to be only a year or two her senior. The young man’s moonlight hair was still wild and unkempt, framing his head like a halo, and his silver wolf’s eyes sparkled, gleaming in the dark.

  “What’s your name?” Ember asked.

  The young man shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters. How else am I to address you? Manners dictate we should be properly introduced.”

  He laughed softly, placed his arm across his middle and gave her a formal bow, though he never took his eyes off hers. “In that case, since manners are so important, you can call me Jack.”

  “Jack.” Ember clicked her tongue, considering his name, and found it suited him. “Very well, then. Hello, Mr. Jack. I am Ember O’Dare.”

  “There’s no ‘Mr.’ Just Jack.”

  “Just Jack.”

  “Exactly. And I already know who you are. You’re the town witch.”

  Ember placed her hands on her hips. “I am at a disadvantage. You know what I am, and yet I have no idea what you are.”

  A rumble echoed in the sky and drops of rain pinged on the open windowsill. Ember headed over and looked outside. Sensing the storm, she shut the window tight, closing the curtains. Then she froze, remembering there was a man in her room. She turned her head to glance at him over her shoulder just as lightning struck. Jack’s face was illuminated by the light, but instead of a chiseled jaw, wide nose, and angled cheekbones, she saw a grinning skeleton.

  She started and let out a tiny gasp of alarm. When the light faded, his face looked as it had before. Ember had never seen such a thing.

  Jack studied her and shifted, lifting his pumpkin closer to his face. “It’s a trick of the light,” he said. “The ember inside the gourd shows my true nature as well.”

  When he lifted the orange globe, the skeleton beneath his skin shone through once again.

  Ember gulped. “So does that mean you’re…you’re…”

  “Dead?” he answered, then shook his head. “No. I’m not dead. Though, technically, I’m not fully living either. I straddle the line between the two. That’s what it means to be a lantern.”

  “A lantern?” Ember echoed, thinking of the still-winking lights outside meant to either summon or scare away the dead.

  “Yes. I guard the crossroads between the mortal world and the Otherworld.”

  “Otherworld?”

  “Yes.”

  Ember cocked her head, curious. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Jack stiffened and glanced at her bed. “No. I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he answered. “But, thank you for the…invitation.”

  Mortified, Ember paced to her table, feeling a flush burn her cheeks. “No, I…no. Of course not. It’s just that this is the first time you’ve shown yourself and spoken with me, and I have so many questions.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Ember’s brows knit together, suspicion gnawing at the corners of her mouth, turning them down. “Why tonight?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you come because I invited you?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  “I…I follow you often.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  Jack grimaced. “I didn’t intend for you to see me.”

  “So you weren’t planning on introducing yourself tonight?”

  “No. Lanterns often struggle to cloak themselves from witches who have come of age,” he explained. “The veil is thin on Samhain. The lines are blurred. I should have remembered that and avoided coming to town.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is the veil thin?”

  “No. Why have you hidden from me all these years?”

  Jack sighed and set his pumpkin on the table. He swept back his greatcoat and put his hands on his lean hips. Ember found she was distracted by the waistcoat that hugged his form and the silver chain that adorned it, one end disappearing into a pocket on each side. The chain itself was lovely, each link was intricately designed with swirls and loops, and there was a pendant hanging below the button where the chain was attached. She could just make out the shape of a key.

  “Is that for a pocket watch?” she asked.

  “It is.”

  “What use does a ghost have for a pocket watch?”

  “I’m not a ghost. I’m a lantern. And what I use a pocket watch for is my business.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “No.”

  Ember stepped closer. “Why don’t you just cram the chain inside the pocket along with the watch?”

  Jack’s mouth opened, as if appalled. “Because the chain would scratch the watch. It’s an antique.”

  “All the more reason to show it off, then. Perhaps you should pin it to your waistcoat instead.”

  “And risk it getting rained on? I think not.”

  Her piqued interest extinguishing decorum, something she was far too often guilty of, Ember touched her fingertips to the watch chain and asked, “But why do you have a chain on both sides?”

  “Because I carry two watches. One keeps time in the mortal realm and the second keeps time, as it were, in the Otherworld.”

  Embe
r’s face took on an expression of sheer awe. Audaciously, she trailed a finger down one of the chains, but Jack immediately took hold of her hands and cupped them together, then took an obvious step back and dropped them.

  “The Otherworld is filled with the devil’s fire, young miss. It would behoove you to consider the consequences before you leap after it.”

  The wind scraped the shutters outside, causing them to thump against the house. Jack brushed aside the curtains. The sky was a tortured tint of roiling black and purple. It would be a long night for him. “I have to go,” he said.

  “Why?” Ember hated that she’d asked him that same simple question more than once when her mind was absolutely brimming with things she wanted to know, things more complicated and wondrous than a simple “why.”

  “The first reason is that it’s highly inappropriate for me to even enter a maiden’s room, let alone linger in it.” He didn’t bother to mention that he’d been in her room multiple times over the years without her knowledge. “The second reason is that the veil is thin tonight, like I already said. I need to guard the paths, make sure creatures of the Otherworld don’t sneak through.”

  “You mean like ghosts and goblins and such? They can do that?”

  “Ghosts, as you call them, are not really what you need to worry about. Though I would watch out for goblins. They like to eat magic.”

  Ember blanched. “Eat…magic?”

  “Oh, yes.” Jack gave her a mischievous grin. “They especially like to nibble on the toes of young, impertinent witches.”

  Shoving open the window, Jack hopped up onto the sill and threw his legs over. Ember caught his arm. “Will I see you again?” she asked. “Say yes.”

  The lantern looked outside then back at the witch. His eyes softened and the corners of his mouth quirked into a small smile. He pushed her away gently, though she still clung to his arm, and summoned his pumpkin. It lifted off the desk and floated over to his outstretched hand. “It will be harder for me to hide from you now that you’ve set eyes upon my face,” he answered. With that, Jack snapped his fingers and his body melted into fog and drifted outside, disappearing in the dark.

  Ember stood there a long time. Long enough for the rain to soak the front of her dress and her hair to droop in wet lengths down her bodice. Finally, she ducked inside, closed the window, and sopped up the mess. When she climbed into bed that night, she couldn’t sleep. Jack, and the magic surrounding him, filled her thoughts.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Jack left Ember, he cursed. What the devil had he been thinking? He was no wet-behind-the-ears, new-to-the-Otherworld lantern. He knew what might happen, and that by visiting Ember he risked her seeing him. Then to speak to her? It was folly.

  He knew how Rune handled witches. The more Ember came around, which she would, knowing her, the more certain the chances that Rune would notice her.

  But hadn’t a part of him wanted this? Why else would he have draped his coat over her as she slept? Jack didn’t know what was wrong with him.

  The rain beat down on his shoulders as he trudged up the cobblestone path, but Jack froze when he smelled something sweet and acrid: a troll. Trolls were not uncommon, even in the mortal realm, though most humans never even knew they were there.

  Jack checked the barrier to the Otherworld, but there were no tracks, no scents emerging from his bridge, which meant the troll had wandered into Jack’s territory through the forest. It had likely been born and raised in the mortal realm.

  By the odor, he could tell it was a male, perhaps leaving the brood for the first time to forge out on his own and seek a mate. To gain the interest of a female, he’d have to occupy and secure a nesting area. Sadly for this troll, he’d chosen Jack’s covered bridge while Jack had been in town.

  Crouching down, Jack peered underneath the timbers. A gleaming pair of eyes flashed in the darkness. “I’d come out if I were you,” Jack warned.

  A voice hissed back, “Stay away or I’ll eat ya.”

  “I don’t think you’d find me very tasty.”

  “Who’s ya ta tell me what’s tasty?”

  “I’m the lantern that guards this land. You’ve wandered into my territory. Now, are you coming out of your own free will or do I have to drag you out by the long hairs of your head?”

  “Not comin’,” the troll said. “Never heard o’ no lantern. Go guard some other place. This here bridge is mine. Best move on now before I change me mind and gnaw your bones for dinner.”

  Never heard of a lantern? That was a new one. Most Otherworlders living in the mortal realm gave lanterns a wide berth. Any seen fraternizing with humans or coming near a village were immediately sent to Otherworld holding facilities.

  Jack sighed. “Very well.” He held up his pumpkin and the light inside brightened.

  The troll beneath the bridge screamed as the light became brighter. He wailed, “It hurts! It burns! Douse your light! I’m beggin’ ya!”

  “Will you come out?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. Yes,” the troll said, his eyes streaming with tears. Quickly, he scrambled out from beneath the bridge, his long fingers digging handholds in the mud and clasping rocks as he pulled himself up.

  Jack studied the trembling creature. His bald, craggy head sprouted only a few long, wiry hairs, and he had the skinny frame of youth. The troll’s hunched back was covered in lichen and sprouting mushrooms, and the few clothes on his body were mildewed and half rotted away. The wide feet were bare and mud-caked and the nails were long, jagged, and blackened with fungus. But his arms were strong and elongated, giving him the ability to hold on to the underside of a bridge for an extended length of time.

  Jack knew the longer the arms were, the better the odds of the troll choking his rivals to hold his bridge or grasping on to and holding a female captive during mating. Jack wrinkled his nose. The troll’s odor would be attracting half the female trolls in the territory.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, “but you can’t stay here.”

  “I knows. I knows. I’ll move on.”

  “That’s not enough now,” Jack said. “I’ll have to send you back.”

  “Back?” The troll’s shining eyes widened in alarm. “Back? No! Please. I can’t go ta the other place!”

  “It’s called the Otherworld. It’s not a bad place, just different.”

  “Me great-gramperes escaped from there. They told me terrible stories. Trolls gots no freedoms there.”

  “Of course they do,” Jack countered, though he really didn’t know if they did. He’d only spent brief days in the Otherworld, staying only long enough to learn his duties, and then he’d been assigned to the mortal realm where he’d remained ever since. From what he remembered, the cities of the Otherworld were remarkable. Full of inventions the humans hadn’t even considered yet. Still, a country-raised boy like Jack felt much more comfortable in quiet towns like Ember’s. The Otherworld cities were much too wild and chaotic.

  “I begs ya!” the troll cried, tugging on Jack’s coat. “I’ll go far away. Ya’ll not see a hair o’ me head or catch a whiff o’ me hide.”

  “I wish I could let you go. I really do. But you’ve already marked my bridge. If I allow you to wander, you’ll attract too many others—both males who want to battle and females who want to…er…wrestle with you in other ways. I’ll be up to my ears in trolls.” Jack’s mouth twitched wryly as he considered the troll’s long tapered ears, the centers tufted with hair, and the backs pocked with warts.

  The troll puffed up his chest at the idea of females looking for him, but Jack could still see the fear on his wide face. “I warns ya,” the troll said. “Ya sends me there ta me death. That other place is no home for a troll. The bridges are metal. They gives no life ta trolls. The sky’s so full o’ smog, the moss on me back will shrivel. What female will take me then?”

  “I really couldn’t say,” Jack
answered, blinking, as he pondered what a female troll would be attracted to. “But I’m sure you’ll be fine. If you have a problem, contact my superior, Rune. He’ll help you find a bridge to call home. Now close your eyes. It will hurt less that way.”

  Jack raised his pumpkin high and the smiling face he’d carved into it cast its light on the troll. The creature shook violently, steam rising from his body, and then there was a flash and he was gone. Setting down his pumpkin, Jack dusted his hands and sneezed.

  * * *

  * * *

  The man, if you could call him that, stared into the orb watching Jack banish the troll. He waved his hand over the looking glass to cut off the precious witchlight and the image inside disappeared. The girl was nearly ripe for the plucking. He could almost taste her. The power she possessed would fuel him for five hundred years, perhaps longer. The last one hadn’t been as strong. He’d only gotten a bit more than two hundred years from draining her. This one, though—he was certain she was the one he’d been looking for.

  When the time was right, he’d draw her in. Bind her to himself with a witch’s song. Something no witch could resist or escape. And then, when she walked in his door, he’d play the kind benefactor at first, ply her with riches, a seat of power, all the comforts she could ask for, in exchange for just a taste. She didn’t need to know that once the door to her soul was open, he could take everything.

  The girl could say no, of course. Fighting him would offer a different kind of pleasure, but it would, unfortunately, damage his prize. He’d lose some years that way, but he could afford to. After all, he’d done this for eons and the devil always got his due. He chuckled and rubbed his hands in anticipation.

  There was a knock on the door. The high witch curtsied and asked if he was ready to join the celebration.

  “Absolutely,” he said, offering the old hag, her face painted with a spell, a simpering smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”