Free Living With Ghosts by Kari Sperring Page A

Thierry?”
    Miraude rose. There was another piece of information she had gathered only the day before. She looked at the floor. Yvelliane was tired. Now was not the time. She said, “He’s all right, I think.”
    “His valet tells me he was out late last night,” Yvelliane said. “I shouldn’t wake him.”
    “I don’t think he’d mind.”
    But Yvelliane shook her head. “He needs to sleep.” And she left, closing the door behind her.
    Miraude stood for a moment, gazing after her. Then she sighed and rang the bell for her maid.
    It was late in the day when Gracielis awoke. His head and right shoulder ached abominably. The lieutenant’s ghost hovered over him in unholy delight. He wished briefly for the strength to banish it, then simply turned his eyes away.
    The movement was unpleasant. He set his teeth, let his eyes close again in search of comforting darkness. Somewhere, dimly, in the back of his mind, water was falling.
    Something cool was laid over his forehead, easing the pain. A hand stroked his hair back from his face. He relaxed and said, in Merafien, “You should’ve gone home.”
    The reply was in another tongue entirely. “All that way? That would be a waste, surely?”
    He said a word that, on his lips, would have shocked most of his clients. Then he opened his eyes. “I don’t want you, Quena. Go away.”
    Quenfrida sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. He wanted to lean against her, let her soothe away the pain and discomfort with her clever hands. She said, “That is scarcely graceful, my Gracielis. I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
    He was not a child. He could do without her comfort. She said, “It took you hard, I think. What happened?”
    “Nothing.” He wanted to pull away from her. “I did as you bade me. Nothing more. Please go.”
    She took her hands away. The bed rocked as she rose. He listened to her steps as she crossed the room. She poured something into a cup. “Drink this. It may ease you a little.”
    “I don’t want . . .”
    “Don’t be childish.” Her hands slipped under him, lifting. Without thinking, he recoiled from her, setting his head and stomach churning.
    He was not going to be sick in front of her. Fighting nausea, he let himself be guided into a sitting position, and opened his eyes.
    She said, “Drink.”
    The glass was at his lips; he drank reflexively. There was a moment’s silence as she took the cup away. He watched her covertly, afraid of her presence, afraid of her departure.
    She leaned on the table and looked at him. “So. Tell me of this “nothing” that befell you. What did you learn?”
    “That other people’s ghosts make me sick,” he said nastily. The lieutenant’s ghost smirked.
    She raised her brows. “Very witty.”
    “Thank you.” At another time he might have bowed. “I try to amuse.”
    “I’m sure you do.”
    He felt too ill to fence with her. He sighed, watching the lieutenant’s ghost hovering at the foot of the bed. He had never been quite sure if she could see it or whether she simply sensed its presence. Resigned, he said, “The moons weren’t aligned last night.”
    “What of it?”
    “This is Merafi.”
    “You astonish me.”
    “Stop it, Quena. You know what I mean.”
    “Do I?” She was determined to play games.
    “You taught me. Merafi is a null space. Confluence of salt and fresh water. It’s harder for ghosts to manifest here, there’s no nourishment for them. They need extra force to appear, the combining of the moons.” The lieutenant’s ghost laughed. Gracielis looked at it and added, “Usually.”
    “They can be seen at other times if one has the power. Even here.”
    “Yes, but . . .” His head ached too much for this. “Who is he?”
    On another person, her expression would have been shock. It was not possible. She knew him too well to be surprised by him. She stared at him, almost as at a stranger. He heard the catch in her breath.
    She said, “Who do you mean?” There