Free Brimstone by Rosemary Clement-Moore

fluorescent soot. “I’m considering all possibilities.”
    Justin seemed intrigued; he leaned on the roll bar of the Jeep and I couldn’t help thinking that he smelled awfully good for such a sweaty guy. “Okay. The way I understand it, ectoplasm is—supposedly—an ethereal substance that manifests when a spirit is present, like while a medium is channeling at a séance.”
    “So it’s sort of like a psychic snail trail?”
    His brows twitched in suppressed laughter. “I haven’t heard it described in quite that way.”
    I thought about taking issue with his amusement, but stayed focused. “But does the stuff actually exist?”
    “There was a lot of research done when that kind of spiritualism was popular at the turn of the twentieth century. But there are so many frauds, it’s hard to say.”
    I pursed my lips, dissatisfied with the nonanswer. “What about you? Do
you
think it exists?”
    “I keep an open mind.” He smiled at my frustrated sound. “I have some books.” A pause, while he seemed to mull something over. “That’s my dorm there. Drive over and I’ll get them for you.”
    “Sorry. I can’t. I’m not wearing any pants.” Now
there
was a phrase I never thought I’d say out loud.
    “Oh.” He glanced down, then quickly back to my face. “I just thought that was a very ugly skirt.”
    “Thanks.” I grabbed my phone from the drink holder. “What’s your number? In case I have more questions.”
    He rattled it off and I punched SAVE .
    “What if I want to get in touch with you?” he asked.
    “About my alleged psychic powers?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Then think about me real hard, and I’ll know to give you a call.” I flashed a sunny smile, put the Jeep in gear, and drove away. For the first time that day, I felt as if I’d gotten the upper hand in a human interaction.

    I dreamed of blue fire that night, burning in a big, beaten metal bowl, with engravings scrolling around the edges.There was liquid in the brazier, too. It didn’t quench the fire, but made the clean blue flame hiss and spit and throw out thick black smoke. As the darkness rose, it didn’t drift aimlessly, but pulled into the center and coalesced into a shapeless mass.
    I watched, both repulsed and fascinated as the thing built itself from soot and shadow. It seethed above the flames with sentient awareness. Though it had no eyes, I knew the moment it looked back at me. Somehow, on some strange dream plane, it saw me. More than that, it
recognized
me.
    A shock of fear and revulsion jolted me awake. My eyes opened but I lay frozen, afraid to move in case some
thing
was there, in the room with me. I heard nothing but the blood pounding in my ears, saw nothing in the stripes of moonlight that fell through the curtains. I forced myself to turn my head, to search the darkness, but I was alone.
    Just a dream
. I repeated it like a mantra.
    Then I whispered it like a prayer.

    I woke in a lousy mood. I had washed underwear and shirts the night before, but my last marginally clean pair of jeans had been bagged and tagged. I found a casual skirt and put it on with a sunny yellow T-shirt and a pair of Converse. Mom’s reaction when I reached the kitchen was predictable.
    “Is that what you’re wearing?”
    I got my coffee cup out of the dishwasher as I answered. “No. I just put it on to annoy you.”
    “If you would go to bed at a decent hour, you wouldn’t be so grumpy in the morning.” She frowned at my extra-talltravel mug. “You wouldn’t need to drink so much coffee, either.”
    “It’s my drug of choice, Mom. Be grateful.”
    She sighed. “I know. I just thank God you turned out as well as you did.”
    I cast her a grumpy look on my way to the door. “It’s nice to know you think I could have turned out worse.”
    Her voice followed me out. “You need to eat some breakfast!”
    I scored an excellent parking spot at school, and was downing the last of my coffee when a shadow fell across me.
    “Cheese and