colors and the ghosts, but it was now. Or it had been until a few days ago.
Quinton left our hats and bags by the door and followed Sam into another room off to the left of the main entry. The siblings fell into some chitchat while Sam changed the baby. I could hear them murmuring through the open doorway as I continued to look around the main room. It was a lofty space that rose to the roof beams on one side and opened into a dining area and kitchen toward the back. The baby-changing room and probably a couple more rooms were hidden off to the left of the doorway and a wooden staircase with chunky wooden rails marched up one interior wall to the bedrooms above. A modest fireplace anchored the end of the main room while views of the yards at the front and back could be glimpsed through the tall, narrow windows on each side of the living room and dining area. It was a more-modern design than the house itself, but it suited the building’s current use better than the smaller, closed rooms it must have had originally. The soft yellow stone had been left bare on the fireplace and staircase walls, but it had been plastered and probably insulated on the longer exterior walls. The rear windows that faced south had been left open to the ocean breeze that came in with the scent of brine, jasmine, and lemons. One of the vineyard managers had lingered around the fireplace, pacing in perpetuity. While Quinton and Sam were still busy with Martim, I walked over to see if he was a repeater or a more-aware spirit.
The pacing ghost didn’t notice me until he walked through me.Then he stopped, startled, and looked around until he spotted me. “Eh? O que é isso? Quem está aí?”
I didn’t need a translator to get the gist of what he’d said. I sank a bit closer to the Grey, edging toward the fluttering cold current of his temporacline, but not entering the layer of time. I didn’t want to vanish from the normal world; I only wanted to chat.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, hoping he understood at least my tone, if not my words. “I’m . . . an investigator—a seeker of lost things.”
He peered at my shadowy form. “ Inglês? What do you want, spirit?” His English was rough and stumbling, but not inaccessible.
I worked a hunch. “Have you been bothered by a pair of mages recently?” Willful spirits and those with some awareness of their surroundings usually notice things like mages and magic in their vicinity the way normal people notice small earthquakes.
“What? Bruxos! Sim, ” he added, nodding. “Two that want the little girl. They watch her until the mother took her away. I have not seen her again. What happens?”
“They may have taken her.”
The phantom man looked angry. “You will get her back? The house is happy with her here—with her family here. They do not bother me.”
“Can you tell me anything about the mages?”
“Me? What would I know?”
“What sort of magic did they use? Could you feel it?”
“Feel . . . ? The air was colder when they were near. It made my bones ache. And the smell . . . like the vineyard when the rain comes too late and rots the grapes. But magic? I know nothing.”
It was still more than I’d had before. “Was there anything around them like old burned wood, like charcoal? Brittle, black, or white . . . ?”
He shook his head. I guessed he didn’t experience the magic the same way as I had felt its residue, but it had been worth a shot. “Thank you,” I said.
“I did not help you,” he said, puzzled.
“Yes, you did. I’ll be able to recognize them, now, when I smell rot and feel cold where it’s warm and clean.”
His craggy face lit. “ Bom . Bring her home. She makes us smile.”
“I will,” I promised, backing out of the Grey.
Quinton and Sam were watching me from the kitchen archway. Sam was startled and pale, her eyes wide while small, sharp sparks jumped from her aura. Quinton still looked a little tense, but he
Quinton left our hats and bags by the door and followed Sam into another room off to the left of the main entry. The siblings fell into some chitchat while Sam changed the baby. I could hear them murmuring through the open doorway as I continued to look around the main room. It was a lofty space that rose to the roof beams on one side and opened into a dining area and kitchen toward the back. The baby-changing room and probably a couple more rooms were hidden off to the left of the doorway and a wooden staircase with chunky wooden rails marched up one interior wall to the bedrooms above. A modest fireplace anchored the end of the main room while views of the yards at the front and back could be glimpsed through the tall, narrow windows on each side of the living room and dining area. It was a more-modern design than the house itself, but it suited the building’s current use better than the smaller, closed rooms it must have had originally. The soft yellow stone had been left bare on the fireplace and staircase walls, but it had been plastered and probably insulated on the longer exterior walls. The rear windows that faced south had been left open to the ocean breeze that came in with the scent of brine, jasmine, and lemons. One of the vineyard managers had lingered around the fireplace, pacing in perpetuity. While Quinton and Sam were still busy with Martim, I walked over to see if he was a repeater or a more-aware spirit.
The pacing ghost didn’t notice me until he walked through me.Then he stopped, startled, and looked around until he spotted me. “Eh? O que é isso? Quem está aí?”
I didn’t need a translator to get the gist of what he’d said. I sank a bit closer to the Grey, edging toward the fluttering cold current of his temporacline, but not entering the layer of time. I didn’t want to vanish from the normal world; I only wanted to chat.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, hoping he understood at least my tone, if not my words. “I’m . . . an investigator—a seeker of lost things.”
He peered at my shadowy form. “ Inglês? What do you want, spirit?” His English was rough and stumbling, but not inaccessible.
I worked a hunch. “Have you been bothered by a pair of mages recently?” Willful spirits and those with some awareness of their surroundings usually notice things like mages and magic in their vicinity the way normal people notice small earthquakes.
“What? Bruxos! Sim, ” he added, nodding. “Two that want the little girl. They watch her until the mother took her away. I have not seen her again. What happens?”
“They may have taken her.”
The phantom man looked angry. “You will get her back? The house is happy with her here—with her family here. They do not bother me.”
“Can you tell me anything about the mages?”
“Me? What would I know?”
“What sort of magic did they use? Could you feel it?”
“Feel . . . ? The air was colder when they were near. It made my bones ache. And the smell . . . like the vineyard when the rain comes too late and rots the grapes. But magic? I know nothing.”
It was still more than I’d had before. “Was there anything around them like old burned wood, like charcoal? Brittle, black, or white . . . ?”
He shook his head. I guessed he didn’t experience the magic the same way as I had felt its residue, but it had been worth a shot. “Thank you,” I said.
“I did not help you,” he said, puzzled.
“Yes, you did. I’ll be able to recognize them, now, when I smell rot and feel cold where it’s warm and clean.”
His craggy face lit. “ Bom . Bring her home. She makes us smile.”
“I will,” I promised, backing out of the Grey.
Quinton and Sam were watching me from the kitchen archway. Sam was startled and pale, her eyes wide while small, sharp sparks jumped from her aura. Quinton still looked a little tense, but he
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