Free Apparition (The Hungry Ghosts) by Trish J. MacGregor Page B

used to order their lives. But more and more frequently, he found that time was all he could think about.
    How much time had elapsed, for instance, between the last physical life of the older council members and now? Centuries? Millennia? For the really ancient chasers, it was millennia. He was the oddball on the council, with loved ones still in the physical world. And because of his intimate connections to the living, to this century, he was able to teach other council members about technology: the Internet, Twitter, Facebook, iTunes, iPhone, the iPad, all of Apple’s nifty inventions.
    Granted, it was rare that he or any of the chasers could impact the physical world in terms of the actual Internet. Now and then, though, their collective desire enabled them to add something to their physical, three-dimensional blog and Web site. Most of the time, chasers communicated through their mental constructs—not unlike the brujo net through which Dominica and her tribe used to communicate. Another disturbing similarity.
    Some of the other chasers trickled in. Karina saw him, waved, and made her way over to his table, a cup of coffee in hand. “Hey, Charlie, may I join you and your parrot?”
    He always felt sort of tongue-tied around her. She was the loveliest female council member—alabaster skin that invited a caress, shockingly blue eyes, a thick, dark braid that curved like a question mark over her right shoulder.
    “I’d be delighted,” he said, and quickly got up and pulled a chair out for her.
    “ Hola, Karina,” Kali said, fluttering her wings and tightening her grip on Charlie’s shoulder.
    Karina laughed. “Kali. I thought you looked familiar. I haven’t seen her for a while.”
    “She just started following me around.”
    “Any idea what this meeting is about, Charlie?”
    “Maybe about what happened at the Taquina. I was hoping you might know.”
    She shook her head. “I’m out of the loop lately. I’ve been over in Africa, helping some of these kids with AIDS pass over.”
    “Any sign of brujos over there?”
    “In Africa? Ha. Brujos have no interest in seizing people who are starving and sick. Seizures in other countries are increasing, though.” She stabbed her thumb toward the door. “Here comes Victor.”
    Charlie glanced around. Victor, nearly bald and wearing a silly white toga, looked like a throwback to ancient Rome. He quickly thought away the toga and replaced it with modern attire—khaki pants, a black shirt, a jacket. He ordered his usual whipped-cream latte sprinkled with cinnamon, with a huge sugar stick inside of it, and headed over to the table.
    “Hi, Karina, Charlie. What’s with the parrot?”
    “No idea. Ask her.”
    Victor squeezed his corpulent body into a chair, his eyes pinned on Kali, and pointed his index finger at her. “¿Qué quieres, Kali?” What do you want?
    She squawked at him, lifted from Charlie’s shoulder, and fluttered over Victor’s head for a moment. A couple of her soft bluish-green feathers drifted down on his head. Charlie snickered. “You’re fortunate she didn’t shit on you, Vic.”
    “Wouldn’t be the first time. She’s never liked me.”
    “So what’s going on? What’s this black stuff that devoured part of Taquina Café?”
    Victor sipped noisily at his whipped-cream latte. He looked utterly miserable when his dark eyes met Charlie’s. “Come with me for a moment, Charlie. I’d like to show you something.”
    Charlie hesitated, eyeing Victor’s outstretched hand as though it might transmute at any second into a nest of vipers. As the most recently deceased member of the chaser council, the one for whom physical life was still an actual memory and not some loop in the collective chaser soup, he vividly remembered snakes and rats and roaches.
    “What about me?” Karina asked.
    “You’re welcome to come, too,” Victor said. “But this little trip remains among us.”
    Charlie grasped Victor’s outstretched hand, and held out