Page 63 of The Neighborhood Ghost

“Alice, tell me the item in the box is something other than what I’m thinking?” Ez asked.

She still didn’t acknowledge her. Alice opened the box and withdrew a scroll.

“I offer you the magick of love. Wars have been fought over this. People have died. It was my family’s responsibility to be the caretakers of this spell for generations. We’ve guarded it. Protected it. I’ve used it,” Alice said as she held out the scroll.

“Could it be, after all these years,thespell?” the Oaken King asked as he moved closer.

Ez moved beside her. “Alice, don’t do this. You’re the guardian of the spell. If it falls into the wrong hands?—”

Alice glanced over to her with tears in her eyes. “If I have no one to make it with, then why should I guard it?”

Ez nodded. Tears glimmered in her eyes. Alice had never seen Ez cry before. She was usually stoic and levelheaded. She couldn’t tell if Ez was disappointed in her actions or if the reality of the situation had dawned on her.

“Okay, kiddo,” Ez said as she backed away. “I understand. Do what you must.”

“Thank you,” Alice said in a hushed voice. She turned back to the crowd.

The rain stopped. The clouds parted as quickly as they had arrived. The sun shone once more. A moderate temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold. The perfect weather with the perfect breeze. The Oaken King stood amongst the grass, fixated on the spell.

“Let me see it,” he said as she approached.

Alice passed him the spell. He unrolled the ancient scroll, reading from the ancient text. He furled it back up and paused for a moment. His eyes fixated on the spell’s parchment.

Alice gulped. Her neck tightened as she drew in a breath and held it.

“This is indeed the spell,” the Oaken King said.

Alice exhaled. The crowd gasped and whispered behind him.

“I’m willing to give it to you for passage to the land of the dead. Specifically, the realm of the banished banshee,” Alice demanded.

The Oaken King tapped the scroll in his hand. He let out a deep breath. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. The man who stood next to the throne rushed up next to him. The Oaken King handed the spell to his consigliere, who took the spell and scuttled away.

“We have an accord,” the Oaken King said. “I will open the passage to the land of the dead.”

Alice wiped away a tear she had held back. “Thank you.”

“I must warn you, the passage to the land of the dead is fraught with peril. Only one of you may enter. You must offer the ferryman something in return for transportation down the river to the land you seek. The ferryman holds it ransom until your return. Most offer their souls,” the Oaken King said.

Alice’s lips quivered. She struggled to keep her head from trembling. She blinked a few times. Time stood still. She knew the price to return Hugo was high, and she was willing to pay it.

“A price I’m willing to pay,” Alice said.

The Oaken King darkened his eyes, squinting at her. “I suggest you don’t. You can never pay for your own soul to return. A soul of the dead must be paid for by a soul of the living,” he said as he stepped closer to Alice. “You will be taken away in a box to your final resting place. The ferryman will never return topick you up. You will be subject to the same torment as everyone else. You will be as good as dead.”

His imposing form towered over her. Alice didn’t take a step back. She stood tall, ready to meet his intimidating stance.

Alice gulped. “Okay, then what else can I offer?”

“Something special to you. Something unique. Some part of you. Maybe your eyes. Your heart. Perhaps . . . some other part of you.”

Without her eyes, she would be lost. Without the ability to see, she would be as good as dead, unable to stop whatever horrors awaited her. No, she needed her sight.

If she offered up her heart, then would she muster the courage to find Hugo? Would she turn and run at the first opportunity? How many steps would she make it before calling the ferryman back to return her to the land of the living? No, her heart was too important for this mission. She needed it to carry her through.

If not my eyes or my heart, then what?

Alice raised her hands, her eyes focused on her fingertips. Something special. Something unique. A unique trait which defined who she was. Her fingers curled inward to make a fist. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket. She gulped.

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