Page 59 of Feral Possession

Dove cleared her throat. “Hello?”

The spirit turned from the rose she tended, staring at Dove with a vacant expression. “You bear his mark,” she said in a hollow voice.

Dove frowned, touching her neck. Her fingers grazed the brand Marcus gave her when he claimed her as his Chosen. “Um, yes. I do.”

“Are you worthy?”

Dove’s spine stiffened. Apparently, mothers could be disapproving, even beyond the grave. It was a vague question, so she gave a vague answer. “Are any of us?”

The spirit frowned, not liking her reply.

Past encounters had taught Dove to never let a ghost lead a conversation. “Are you Josephine Steele, Marcus’s mother?” she asked, taking control.

“I am.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?” Archie said Josephine had died in a plane crash when Marcus was still a child. Before he could go into the details, Ida offered a disapproving huff and he clammed up. There was more to the story. Dove was sure of it.

The spirit’s pale expression drew tight, as though she struggled to recall. Energy prickled Dove’s glyph. The air thickened, the smell of smoke wafting beneath her nose. Josephine’s porcelain face darkened. Her flesh blistered and burned, her clothing turning to ash. Nausea tightened Dove’s throat, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

“There was an explosion,” the spirit said in a dull monotone, as though she had no idea she’d turned into a toasted marshmallow. “Fire. Pain. Falling. Then nothing.”

“I’m so sorry.” Poor thing. Dove shouldn’t have asked.

The image faded and the beautiful woman returned. “Like my son.”

It was unusual for spirits to be aware of postmortem events. Unusual, but not impossible. “You know about Marcus’s accident?”

“It was the same.”

Dove frowned. “The same how?”

“There are snakes in the garden.”

“Snakes? Where?” Dove high-stepped, scanning her ankles followed by the shrubbery. No snakes. Phew. Freaking ghosts and their metaphors. This was the trouble with spirits. They literally lived in their own world, sharing cryptic tidbits of information.

Josephine’s brow tightened, her demeanor troubled. “I wanted to see him, but it wasn’t safe. Darkness surrounds my son, preventing everyone from getting close.” She paused, forehead smoothing. “All except you.”

Again, Dove struggled with her meaning. Did Marcus’s mother sense the demon in him? Was that what she meant?

“It isn’t his fault.” The least Dove could do was reassure the woman. “He hasn’t been himself. I’m sure Marcus didn’t mean to push you away.” Welcome to the club.

“He’s in danger.”

“Danger from what?” Dove asked.

Josephine turned back to her roses, her image flickering. “Snakes in the garden. My fault. I opened the gate. You must help him.”

Well, that made zero sense. How could the accident be his mother’s fault? Helen was the one who planted the bomb in his car. Did she mean something else? “I’m trying. Maybe you could tell me how?”

“Close the gate,” the spirit whispered, her form losing its shape, fading to a shimmering mist. And poof. She was gone.

Dove flopped onto a nearby bench. “Well, that was useless. Darn ghosts and their cryptic messages.”

From what she’d pieced together, the entire Steele family was a Greek tragedy. Marcus lost his mother at a young age, his father not long after. Then recently, he’d come close to following in their footsteps. Worse, Josephine believed Dove could help him by closing some mysterious gate.

Darn it. She’d slipped out of her room in need of a break. Here she was, even more stressed and confused.

She scanned Josephine’s garden. Fireflies danced in the hedges, the warm light flickering. Moonlight shone on the roses, frosting their blooms with a silver gleam. No wonder this was the spirit’s favorite place. Dove’s lips curled. Perhaps she’d found what she searched for after all.

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