Free Ghost Memory by Maer Wilson

Ghost Memory

    A Modern Magics Story

    Maer Wilson
     
     
     
    SmashWords Edition

     
    www.ellysianpress.com
     
    Ghost Memory
    A Modern Magics Story
     
    Maer Wilson
     
    © Copyright Maer Wilson 2013. All
rights reserved.
     
    eBook ISBN: 978-1-941637-05-0
     
    Second Edition
    Editor: Jen Ryan, Imagine That
Editing
    Cover Art: M
Joseph Murphy
    Formatted by: Rik Hall
     
    Ebooks/Books are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared, or given away, as this is an
infringement on the copyright of this work.
     
    All Rights Are Reserved. No part of
this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
     
    This book is a work of fiction. The
names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to
be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locale or organizations is entirely
coincidental.
     
     
     
Other Works by
the Author
     
    The Modern
Magics Series
    by
    Maer Wilson
     
    Novels
    Relics , Book 1
    Portals , Book 2
     
    Novelettes
    “Ghost Memory”
    “Unwanted Ghost”
    “Ghost Dancer”
     
    Future Titles
    Magics , Book 3
    “Wedding Ghost”
     
     
     
Dedication
     
    For Kim Farrell and Sharda
Garrett
    Thanks for believing in me.
     
     
     
Ghost Memory
    My misery wasn’t in the mood for
company, especially the company of some old, dead guy. All I wanted
was to get into my apartment, take a hot shower, curl up in a ball
on the sofa and maybe cry for a while.
    “This is a bad time, I know,” said
the old man. “And I know you won’t believe me right now, but there
will come a time when you’ll laugh about what happened
earlier.”
    I only glanced at him as I unlocked
the door to our small apartment and slipped inside, directly into
our living room. The furniture was solidly built in soft browns and
tans. We didn’t have anything fancy, but it was a comfortable,
uncluttered room. The late morning winter sun lit the room with a
muted glow.
    I set my backpack by the coat
closet door. I wanted to gather my thoughts and figure out what to
do next, alone with my humiliation and guilt. I did not want to
deal with the dead right then.
    I don’t have pity parties very
often, but I not only needed one, I wanted to wallow in one. I felt
I was due. I’d just done one of the most stupid things in my whole
life. I’d not only made a fool of myself, I had embarrassed Thulu,
my fiancé, in front of his entire dojo. That hurt worse than
anything. Although I admit I was feeling pretty bad about the guy
with the broken nose, too.
    I pulled my bloody karate outfit
out of my backpack. I stared at the white top and bottom with
disgust and carried them into the kitchen where I wrapped them in a
plastic bag and tossed them in the trash. I definitely wouldn’t
need those anymore.
    For years, Thulu had tried to get
me to take Karate with him. I tended to prefer the more casual
street-fighting style that was taught in self-defense classes. But
I finally gave in during a weak moment and agreed to take a
beginners’ class.
    Thulu had been sitting on the
sidelines, chatting with a friend, while our instructor slowly took
us through the basics. They paired us up to do a couple of the
simpler moves. I stood on the mat in my bare feet, determined to
look good and a bit anxious with so many strangers around me. I’d
followed the instructions easily and thought I was ready to go
through a couple forms.
    I never got that far. My partner
was a tall, skinny guy with thinning brown hair and twinkling blue
eyes. The moment he bowed, my instincts kicked in, and up came my
knee with a sharp crack against his nose. Blood began to spray
everywhere - all over me, all over him - as he held his nose. I
backed away as the instructor rushed over with a towel. It wasn’t
my proudest moment.
    But the worst thing was the look