Moon and Flame: A Companion Novel to Ghost Walk: Ghost Walk, #2

By Kay Solo

Four years before Maaya Sahni and Adelaide Sol joined forces to take on the greatest threat of the century, they lived on opposite sides of the world fighting very different battles.

For Maaya, despite struggling to get by on the streets of Sark with the constant companionship of hunger and fear, there is nothing she hates more in the world than ghosts. Born with the ability to see them in a town that still kills people for perceived witchcraft, she blames their mischief for her woes and refuses all of their attempts at friendship — until one ghost in particular won't leave her alone.

Adelaide is born into a family that seems to care more for its reputation than its children. Her parents have already decided her career for her, hoping to make her the new face of their family business, but she struggles with the strict routines and lessons they've planned for her. Unable to find the answers she seeks from others, she decides to take matters into her own hands. Aided by a crew of strangers with questionable histories and powers she's struggling to control, she sets off to discover herself and find acceptance.

Despite the distance between them, both girls take on equally thrilling challenges, make new friends, and learn invaluable lessons about themselves as they struggle to make their way in an unforgiving world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kay Solo
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201138325

Book preview

YEAR I

1

MAAYA

OCTOBER

Maaya Sahni wasn’t strictly opposed to begging. It caused her less guilt than stealing did, and she was willing to put up with it at least for a little while; shame was no match for the pains of hunger.

The shame never lasted long anyway. It was often quickly replaced with anger and bitterness. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t have parents. Whoever had decided to bring her into this world had evidently decided it was better to let an infant fend for herself in Sark’s poor excuse for an orphanage system than actually take care of her. Maaya hadn’t asked for this.

And so she begged. When she’d started, things had been easy. She’d left the orphanage at the age of eleven, and no one passing on the street could resist helping a hungry young girl.

In the two years since, however, she saw how quickly the generosity of Sark’s citizens began to fade in place of irritation. Begging was becoming harder and harder, and even though her small stature made her look younger than she really was, she still heard murmurs about how she should get a job if she wanted to eat so badly. As if a thirteen-year-old girl was capable of finding steady work that wasn’t paid under the table—those jobs were usually especially dangerous for women anyway. But then, Maaya knew most of the townspeople were hypocrites anyway. The more they went on about personal responsibility and hard work and making their own way, the more likely she was to see them asking others for help whenever they needed it, or making use of the very same systems they railed against when they saw people they didn’t like using it.

There was also the small matter of the reputation she’d begun to develop around her part of town. People passed her strange glances when they thought she couldn’t see, and whispered about how she talked to herself in dark alleyways. Some sympathetically suggested she was mad, which Maaya quickly learned had nothing to do with anger; they just thought there was something wrong with her. Others outright suggested she spoke to spirits and other ridiculous things.

The trouble was… the last group of people wasn’t completely wrong. Maaya could see ghosts. She always could. Before she’d learned to start pretending she couldn’t, it had gotten her in trouble multiple times at the orphanage. That wasn’t her fault, either. Once a ghost found out she could see them, they would not leave her alone. It was hard for Maaya to pretend nothing was going on when a ghost was quite literally screaming into her ear to try to capture her attention. One evening years prior when she had been seated at dinner with the rest of the girls in the orphanage—all one hundred of them—she finally lost her patience and threw back her chair, demanding that the ghost stop yelling because it was hurting her ears and because it was an awfully rude thing to do anyway.

The ghost, to his credit, had apologized and left. The other girls and supervisors, however, were not so understanding. These outbursts were at least part of the reason Maaya was no longer welcome in the orphanage, and though it had been two years since, Maaya was still bitter. If anything, every night on the street since then had only succeeded in increasing that bitterness—especially whenever a ghost decided to enter her field of view and remind her why she was out on the street rather than indoors in a proper bed after a warm meal. To remind her of her curse.

It was late in the morning, and Maaya sat on the side of the street near the market, asking anyone who passed by for something for breakfast. Her long black hair was a mess despite her best attempts to tame it, and the clothes she wore were starting to show their age. She tried everything she could to look unintimidating and to put on a polite face, but it did her little good. Most people pretended they didn’t see her, and those who did simply grimaced.

She’d been waiting for three hours now, and her stomach growled in protest. It had never taken her this long to find a morning meal before. What a rotten start to her thirteenth birthday this was.

Maaya tried to distract herself by watching the people passing by. She had seen most of them before. Sark was a small town, and people tended to stick to their own small districts. Here in the small market street, the same people came to buy breakfast every morning, or, if the season was good, buy fruits and vegetables to bring home after their long days at work. It was hard to come by fresh produce these days; the stagnant economy that caused most farmers to leave for better prospects made freshly grown anything a rarity. Maaya had tried an apple once, and it was one of the best things she’d ever had in her life. She often wondered if any of the other cities and towns in her home country of Selenthia were faring any better—if in fact any existed. She’d never been outside the town’s walls to find out, and never heard any news from outside.

As she stared hungrily at one of the carts carrying a small number of bright red apples, she heard a voice immediately to her left.

I could get one of them for you, if you’d like.

Maaya turned sharply. She hadn’t heard anyone sneak up on her—but then, a split second too late, she saw how she had been taken by surprise.

The ghost of a man who looked to be in his mid-forties sat cross-legged beside her, following her gaze to the apple cart. Maaya quickly turned her head away, but it was already too late.

No use pretending with me, kid. Word gets round. I know you can see us.

Go away, Maaya murmured softly, hugging her knees to her chest and lowering her gaze.

Now what’ve I done to deserve a greeting like that?

I’m not supposed to talk to you, Maaya whispered urgently.

Why not?

I’m not even supposed to see you.

Why not?

Because no one else can! Maaya fumed. She finally glared up at him only to find him grinning. And you’re all troublemakers.

Well now, that’s not fair. How would you know that about me? I don’t think you’ve seen me a day before in your life.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t talk to you. If anyone sees me— Maaya broke off quickly as someone passed her on the sidewalk on their way to the market, slowing down just long enough to pass her a strange glance. See? Maaya continued quietly when he was out of earshot.

Not my fault they act like that. People should be more accepting.

For many long minutes it was silent. Maaya hoped against hope that the ghost would go away, but he stayed resolutely by her side, looking not at all bothered.

Maaya was infuriated by the unfairness of it all. Here these ghosts were, bothering her at their malicious leisure and pleasure, and she couldn’t do a thing about it. They pushed her until she lost her temper, and when she pointed her finger at those had caused her trouble, of course, no one could see them. They were free to do as they pleased.

There were surely ghosts who minded their own business, but she’d never heard stories about those. It was always haunted house this or possessed artifact that. She’d seen them do it, and they had a merry damned time of it, too. At first they’d frightened her, but now they only got in her way. This was what ghosts did. Even the ones who didn’t thrive on chaos still caused her trouble just by existing, which wasn’t fair, because they shouldn’t exist. No one could just die properly.

Once or twice she’d had an actual pleasant encounter with ghosts, which made her question her bitterness, but only for a moment. Then she remembered the stares and comments she got and how much danger she was constantly in because of them. She could be growing up normally if it weren’t for them. Maybe she’d have a family by now. Or friends.

Maaya resisted the urge to let her anger get the better of her at the ghost’s presence. If he was going to stay, she might as well distract herself from her hunger with conversation.

Why do you haunt houses? she asked quietly.

Me?

Any of you.

I can’t speak for all of us. Besides, what’s haunting mean, anyhow? All I do is stay in my house just like I did when I was alive. If other people are bothered by it, maybe they should leave. I was there first.

You stay in the house you lived in?

Yeah. Most of us who ‘haunt’ do.

It’s not your house anymore. Other people live there now.

Well I didn’t give them permission to, did I?

It doesn’t matter. You’re dead.

I lose my rights to my possessions and property because I’m dead? Ridiculous.

Where are other people supposed to live then?

They can build new houses.

Did you build the house you lived in?

Nah. Great grandfather bought it new. Passed it down through the family. I never married, though, so I lost it.

And your family never haunted you?

Of course not! I’m not even sure any of them stuck around. Anyway, that’s why you be nice to your loved ones in this life so they don’t give you trouble from the next. The living never want to be the ones in their circles to die first, but gods save you if you’re the last one alive and you went and riled up all your friends before they passed. What’s your family like?

I haven’t got any, Maaya said irritably. Not only was she being harassed by a ghost, but the ghost was prying into her personal life.

Ah, shame, the ghost replied. Suppose that’s why you’re here. What happened to them? Dead? Moved away? Abandoned you, perhaps? Seems common enough here.

I don’t want to talk anymore.

Just curious. Family’s important, you know. Did you run away? You could still make up with them. No bond stronger than family, that’s what my father always used to—

Stop. Stop talking, Maaya whimpered, holding her hands to her ears and closing her eyes.

She was getting overwhelmed. The ghost wasn’t hurting her, but harassment didn’t have to be painful. As he spoke, he drowned out the other noises on the street; it was like trying to listen to someone through the muddled ringing of a severe headache. His words ran together with the words of everyone who’d spoken quietly behind her back, all the concerned and fearful mentions of madness, insinuations, and accusations. Everyone thought she was crazy. In times like this, even she started to think she was. It all mixed together, creating an amalgamation of anxiety, anger, terror, and the almost uncontrollable desire to run away—combined, of course, with the understanding that she couldn’t publicly show any of this at all lest she just make everything worse.

—don’t have to be related by blood, either. Sometimes you’re given families, sometimes you find them, but it’s all the same in the end as long as you love—

"Get away from me, Maaya said sharply, much louder than she’d intended. She was painfully aware of the stares this outburst attracted from those nearby, and even more aware of how alone she was. There was no blaming this on a bystander. Already out in the open, she decided to finish. You think someone like me has a family to go back to? I don’t even have a roof over my head at night or anything to eat. And I might be able to find friends if you would stop bothering me and making me look crazy in front of the only people I could be friends with."

The living, you mean, the ghost said slowly.

Yes, Maaya replied firmly.

I see. For a moment, Maaya thought she detected the slightest hint of hurt in his voice. You could be friends with us too, you know. No rule against that.

You don’t know our rules, Maaya shot back venomously.

She stared around warily. Some people had moved beyond staring at her in confusion to pretending with all their might that she didn’t exist, but others shared looks that clearly said someone should do something about her.

She knew she had to go. If the town police came and found her talking to thin air, going to jail would be the best possible outcome. Sark was a suspicious and superstitious town and didn’t take kindly to anything outside the norm, to the point where burning people who strayed from it was deemed an acceptable reaction.

Maaya stalked away angrily. There would be no breakfast today.

Happy birthday to me.

2

ADELAIDE

OCTOBER

At sixteen, Adelaide Sol was the busiest girl she knew.

Every weekday at six in the morning she would wake up, get dressed and attempt to brush her long wavy amber hair, rush downstairs for breakfast, and then begin her day’s private lessons before she’d so much as had a chance to rub the sleep from her eyes. First was literature, then finance, then history, then geology—the only subject Adelaide liked—then geography, and then lunch. After that came business, then marketing, then steamsmithing, then mathematics. Adelaide’s parents had decided that it was never too early to get their children prepared to take over the family business—which Adelaide understood to be investments in lucrative sectors as well as the contracted transportation of high-quality and rare goods—and she often wondered if they expected her to take things over by the time she was eighteen. They certainly seemed to want her to have everything else in life accomplished by then.

Her family was proud of their name, the Latin word for sun, and they were very well-respected and accomplished, according to them. Her father in particular spoke of the power their name gave them and the reputation it had earned over the centuries, saying it shone above others as a beacon of prosperity. Adelaide nodded politely while thinking it was all quite insufferable. Whatever she thought, however, the circumstances of her birth gave her the responsibility of a legacy, and even though that was certainly not her choice, it was now what was she was obligated to do.

By the time her formal lessons ended, it was late in the afternoon, and her brain felt like mush between her ears. She was a good student by her own reckoning; she studied hard and threw herself into her work to the point where she had nothing of a social life to speak of, letting it take over even her once-precious weekend time.

Being a good student, however, didn’t mean that she performed well academically. In Adelaide’s case, the opposite seemed to be true. One of her tutors in particular, a man named Valter Östberg, frequently got on her case about her marks no matter how hard Adelaide tried, and she had come to dread seeing him every day.

She could never dwell on this for too long, however, because the end of each day was her favorite. The evenings were dedicated to her practice of libris, and she had never had as much fun with anything else in her life.

Without bothering to tell her parents goodbye, even if it was only for a few hours, Adelaide skipped outside and down the front path toward the main road where a large horse-drawn carriage sat waiting. The man sitting up top waved as Adelaide approached, not bothering to jump down to open the door for her as he might anyone else. A moment later, Adelaide quickly climbed up top herself, sitting herself next to him without too much effort. She was tall, like the rest of her family, and at sixteen she was already at eye level with most grown men.

You know, if you’re just going to sit up here with me every time, we might as well just ride horseback all the way there, the man chuckled, making sure Adelaide was secure in her seat before commanding the horses to move.

I could do that on my own, Asmund. I just like your company. And the ride. It’s nice not to have to think about something for ten minutes every day, Adelaide said, not quite managing to conceal her exhaustion and irritation.

Your family knows how to not waste time, that’s for sure, Asmund grunted.

I would call all of this a waste. Trying to get me to learn steamsmithing or history, or anything, really, is a waste of my time and their money.

Asmund laughed.

They’ve got enough so as not to be bothered. You’ll have to try a lot harder to make them think money’s being wasted. How many things have they bought you for hobbies you don’t keep up with anymore?

Whose side are you on? Adelaide asked, folding her arms and glowering. Asmund patted her shoulder.

Trust me, if I thought it’d do any good to sit down Felix and Cajsa and give them a talking to about opening up their thick skulls for a minute, I might just do it. But it wouldn’t, and we both know that.

They might listen to another adult. Maybe not one they’re already trying to find a married partner for.

Ha! The thought that the prime manifestation of old money in Krethus would listen to a carriage driver. No, I’m still getting used to the fact they remember my name now that I’ve been a family friend for a few decades now. Anyhow, are you on patrol this weekend? I’ve heard rumors the elites are shifting around again; lots of ghost activity in the north, not that I keep my ear to the ground or anything.

That’s the plan right now. Sanna wants any excuse to take me out on rounds, Adelaide explained. She says the only way I can improve much more now is by getting out in the world, not practicing on a field.

"Sounds about right. Not that I know the slightest thing about how libris works, but I know what impresses me. You’ll been doing solo rounds to keep Krethus safe before you know it, and every morning we common folk wake up we’ll say, ‘It’s all thanks to the elite Adelaide Sol we’ve survived to breakfast today.’"

Oh, stop, Adelaide muttered, averting her gaze. This is what my parents have me training to do.

And you love it, too. Don’t get all surly and pretending you hate your magic, now, Asmund continued, his tone full of mirth.

"I don’t! I guess I should be thankful my parents let me have one thing I actually like," Adelaide sighed.

The ride didn’t take them long, and before she knew it, she was looking up at the large gymnasium she so often traveled to for practice. She had a positive association with the building, even if she didn’t like the fact that there were so many people inside. There was a benefit to all the private tutors her parents had hired for her and her siblings: she didn’t have to talk to anyone.

I’ll be back in two hours as always; good luck! Asmund called as Adelaide started inside. In the time it took her to decide whether or not this was a statement that required a response, Asmund had already started off down the road. She already felt less comfortable; Asmund was one of maybe three people she felt comfortable talking to.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts before starting inside. Communicating was hard enough without an entire day’s worth of lessons to muddle her mind.

She smiled politely at the woman behind the front desk, still uncertain after all this time what she was actually supposed to say, but this didn’t seem to be a problem. The woman greeted her, friendly as always, and said her tutor was waiting for her out on the tracks behind the gym. Adelaide uttered a quiet Thank you that she only barely heard herself, then continued toward the back.

Adelaide’s libris tutor was a young woman in her late twenties, a few inches shorter than Adelaide with straight waist-length brown hair she always kept in a tight ponytail. Today she looked as lively and full of energy as ever; as one of Krethus’ libris elites, one of only a small few who could use the magic at all and one of fewer still who could use it to an almost incomparable degree, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was a wonderful teacher and role model, and though Adelaide was confident she would have liked libris either way, Sanna Dahlgren’s guiding hand only helped matters.

The woman looked up as Adelaide approached and flashed her a grin.

Afternoon! Ready to wear yourself out?

Always, Adelaide agreed. Sanna’s smile and good mood was infectious, and she had already all but forgotten her day leading up to that point. Asmund said there’s something happening up north; are we still going on patrol this weekend?

We wouldn’t miss it. If anything, the fact there’s so much attention up north means it’s even more important you come with me. As much as some think there’s method to the ghosts’ madness, I don’t think there’s any point trying to predict their movements. By the time the others get up there, the ghosts will be back down here again.

You think that’s on purpose? So they can be wherever the elites aren’t? Adelaide asked as she reached into her pocket for her deck of libris cards.

Nope. I don’t think they have any consciousness or will. The problems we’ve got logistically are due to overthinking everything. I keep telling everyone to stay as spread out as possible to cover the widest area most effectively, but nooo, Sanna’s too young to understand how this works, the woman chuckled.

That doesn’t seem very funny.

It is if you condition yourself to laugh every time you’re full of hatred, Sanna answered brightly. Now, I’m going to push you hard today since it’s only mid-week; I want you to have enough time to recover before we head out.

That’s okay with me. The more tired I am the sooner I’ll fall asleep and that means less time with my parents.

They on your case again?

Not for a few weeks now.

Ah, they’re overdue, Sanna said, a knowing look in her eye, and Adelaide laughed. Well, we’ll forget about them for now. Let’s start with some stretches to limber up before we get to using cards. With me, now...

Not much was known about libris other than the fact that very few people in the world could use it. There were only a few dozen at the very most in the entire country of Krethus, at least that she knew of. Adelaide was one of those people, and upon recognizing that their daughter had this ability, her parents had wasted no time pushing her into the spotlight.

Libris was a sort of magic, if Adelaide had to put words to it, though she didn’t feel it was entirely accurate. The art of libris seemed to work off of a person’s already existing abilities. It could make one stronger or faster or heal a person’s injuries, but only as long as the person’s body could handle it. Running a mile was still running a mile either way, and no matter how quickly it was done, a person would feel equally winded at the end. It also granted the user control over elements like fire and water, which came in handy for a variety of reasons, but it was similarly taxing on a person’s endurance.

There was one more thing it could do, which was arguably the art’s most powerful function, and it was this specific skill that Adelaide was being trained to master: by the power of the user’s own blood, it gave them the ability to seal away the dead that still walked the earth.

For years growing up, Adelaide had kept the fact that she could see ghosts a secret. She was already aware that she didn’t quite fit in, and was also aware that hardly anyone else could see ghosts, so she knew better than to admit to being able to see things that weren’t there.

But then she saw people like her in the news. Her parents talked about them at dinner. The elites, some were called, and they helped keep Krethus safe. From what, Adelaide wasn’t certain; sure, ghosts could be mischievous, but nothing she’d call threatening. But she’d heard the reverence in their tones, these people who couldn’t see ghosts but believed in them anyway, and thought it was finally safe to tell someone. And so, one night at dinner years ago, she’d shared her secret.

The response was everything she’d hoped for. If anything, it was even more. After they had quickly established that Adelaide was not, in fact, joking, her parents had descended on her with expressions of utter joy—and, she thought, a hint of relief. The very next morning she was whisked off to a nearby major city to see if she displayed any proclivity for libris, and after enduring a long series of tests, she found that she did.

She remembered thinking her parents just might faint from this news, though she didn’t quite understand why at the time. She had been able to see ghosts her whole life, and while she recognized its rarity, she didn’t understand everyone’s excitement. Really, she thought, she just saw a few more people than most others normally did. The powers that libris granted her were also useful, but she didn’t understand the need to use them against ghosts. Sealing them away seemed an awfully cruel thing to do unless they asked for it.

And then, weeks later, Adelaide learned everything in a way she’d never forget.

It was several hours into the evening when Felix Sol received an urgent message from one of his contacts. There had been an attack in the provincial capital, and whoever was behind it was heading toward Unshala. Felix roused his family as quickly as he could and ordered them into the company of several men and women wearing dark cloaks that bore a strange insignia in the shape of what looked like a fish’s fin. Adelaide had never seen them before, but they took Adelaide, her little sister Marit, and their mother Cajsa out of the house and into a waiting carriage. It wasn’t Asmund driving, and this made Adelaide uncomfortable, but she said nothing.

As the carriage sped quickly through the hills, Adelaide spotted a sudden white glow from the windows. She glanced out and saw one of the most frightening sights she would ever remember. A group of strange ghosts she had never seen before, all tall, identical, and faceless, moved slowly toward a nearby neighborhood. She heard screams, saw great flashes of red light and bursts of sparks like fireworks, and was certain she saw the elemental work of libris, far more advanced than anything she’d ever encountered before.

Don’t look at them! Cajsa had hissed, pulling her daughter away from the window.

It was the first time she’d seen the ghosts, and the first time she felt the death they caused. Her older brother Oskar, who had been working a late night in the capital when the attack occurred, never came home. His body had never been found.

After that, her libris tutor had decided it was time for Adelaide to speed ahead and learn to use blood cards, the only card that had the ability to seal away spirits from the living world. The only known weapon against the strange faceless ghosts she had seen that night.

For a time, Adelaide refused, despite the pleading and yelling of her family. She didn’t want to touch the magic. Her brother was dead. What else could she do but shut down? Learning and mourning were not activities to be undertaken simultaneously.

But as weeks passed and her grief gave way to anger, she found a spark of vengeance within her. It hadn’t just been Oskar. It had been nearly everyone with him in the building that night, and dozens more. There had been libris elites stationed nearby to handle the attacks, but two of them had been killed as well. And despite the fact that Adelaide had never seen them before, she learned that these attacks had been happening for the past hundred years. She had been horrified to learn of the scope of the attacks, to learn how her country had been devastated over the past century. The attacks had resulted in millions of deaths, all people whose bodies were never recovered. Her parents begrudgingly told her everything they had tried to shield her from until she was old enough to handle it—if anyone was ever old enough to handle such a thing—and were visibly worried that the news might solidify their daughter’s refusal of libris.

To their surprise, Adelaide had picked up her beginner’s pack of libris cards that very moment and strode out the door to practice. She practiced hard all afternoon to the point of exhaustion. She vaguely remembered her father carrying her to bed, and when she cracked her eyes open to look at him as he lay her gently down in her bed, she remembered the look of pride on his face.

Adelaide shook her head. It didn’t feel right that she had such memories already, being only sixteen years old, but here she was. As one of the few in Krethus who could harness this magic, she had the power to fight and to defend her home and its people. She would avenge her brother and all the other lives that were lost, and prevent any from being lost ever again.

All right, I think we’re about as stretched as we’re going to be, Sanna said, letting out a satisfied sigh as she got to her feet. Adelaide followed, her body feeling the mild aches of challenging stretches and the increased sense of strength and flexibility that followed. Let’s get right to it. Green card on, give me some laps and see how fast you can go.

Adelaide applied a green card to her thigh, and the paper burned away as the markings upon it quickly spread over her limbs, hovering just slightly over her skin in the form of brightly glowing lines. They were jagged and rough while Sanna’s were smoother and more fluid; as Sanna had explained, no one truly chose their libris patterns, and Adelaide had been dismayed to realize that when she let her mind wander, the image that inevitably came up resembled that of a sun. Her family had seized on this with gusto, which Adelaide had both expected and dreaded.

Without hesitation, Adelaide started forward, the power of libris giving her enough speed to round the entire track in less than thirty seconds. Its power prevented her from feeling the effects of fatigue or the burn in her muscles, and she knew that would ramp up quickly, so she pushed herself to run as fast as she could to get it over with. She felt almost like she was gliding across the ground, feeling none of the pounding of her shoes against the pavement as she ran.

She had taken several laps before Sanna held up her hand. Adelaide jogged over and let her magic fade; instantly, she was out of breath and the muscles in her legs burned. She might have doubled over in pain and shock from this sudden switch if she weren’t already used to it. Sanna had spent weeks pushing her to her absolute limit with the express purpose of showing her what it felt like if she went too far, and while she had built plenty of strength and stamina during the process, it was still difficult every time.

Not bad, not bad. You aren’t getting much faster, but your strength more than makes up for that. Take five and then we’ll get back to it.

Adelaide nodded, unable to speak. She thought suddenly that Sanna was the only person she would endure this type of training for. She wasn’t opposed to exercise, but this was more difficult than anything she’d ever done. Her parents had tried to get her to do similar things even before she’d discovered she could use libris, and she fought hard against it. Now, however, she was enjoying herself. She relished the pain of sore muscles, enjoyed being out of breath, and proudly displayed her cuts and bruises. These were tangible signs of improvement equal to the effort she was putting in, which was not something she could say about many other things.

Training continued for another two hours, getting progressively more intense as it went. Adelaide was required to use multiple cards at once and focus on multitasking, using different skills simultaneously or switching them out as the situation demanded. A libris elite needed to be adaptable, swift, and quick on their feet. Though they had such power at their fingertips, their method of operation was to get in, get the job done quick, then get out. The longer they remained, the more danger they put themselves in. As Sanna had explained, most of their training wasn’t about how to seal the ghosts—it was about how to stay alive to fight long enough to do so.

Finally, Sanna called an ending to training. Adelaide let her magic flicker and fade away, and this time she did collapse, falling to her knees as her legs no longer had the strength to keep her upright. Her throat and lungs felt like they were burning, her muscles trembled from overuse, and her mind felt foggy from two hours of adapting quickly to each situation Sanna had given her. It was hard to remain so acutely aware for such a long period of time.

Here you go. You did good, Sanna said with a smile as she handed Adelaide a water bottle. Adelaide took it gratefully and began to drink slowly. I’m seeing so much improvement from where you started. You have a lot of potential, especially when it comes to your strength and elements. You’re still not quite as fast as I’d like to see, though, so we’ll have to work on that another time.

Adelaide only nodded again in return, but she managed a grin. She knew she would be sore for days yet, but that every time she did this, she became stronger. Soon enough she’d be taking on the ghosts on her own, playing her part as one of Krethus’ only defenders.

When Adelaide finally found her voice, hoarse as it was, she spoke up.

I don’t know why I’m not getting faster. Is there something I should be doing that I’m not?

I’m not sure, Sanna answered thoughtfully. "To be frank, a lot of this is trial and error since we know so little about libris. You may have hit your limit, which is fine! Or there are other things we can do. For me, strength was the hardest. I just could never get that right. Sometimes I sit and try for some new cards, thinking I might unlock something else, but no luck so far. This magic is finicky and it will affect everyone differently."

Will I be able to fight the ghosts if I don’t get faster? Adelaide asked concernedly.

"Oh, absolutely. You’re still easily quick enough, and you know how to use it well. Besides, some of your other magic is downright impressive. You’re probably one of the strongest libris users I know, and that’s definitely not bad for a sixteen-year-old girl. Maybe you can’t outrun most of us, but you could floor most of us in any fight."

Just my luck. What am I going to do with strength? I can’t exactly punch the ghosts.

There are plenty of uses. Say a building has collapsed and you need to lift rubble to find survivors. Or maybe you need to carry an injured teammate, or several teammates, to safety. Maybe you need to break down a barrier to open up a path for people to escape. There are so many things you can do with all your skills; you just need to be creative sometimes. You’ll pick it up, Sanna said encouragingly.

After a few more minutes of rest, Adelaide felt strong enough to stand. After a quick goodbye and hug with Sanna, she made her way back into the gymnasium. As she pushed open the front door, the woman at the desk called, Thanks for coming by!

You too, Adelaide responded, then caught herself. Er...

After a pause that felt like an eternity, she pushed open the door and left as quickly as she could. Luckily, Asmund was already waiting, and Adelaide wasted no time climbing up to the top seat to join him.

Good lesson? Asmund asked as he got the horses moving. You look exhausted.

Yeah. Yeah, good lesson, Adelaide said shortly.

Asmund eyed her suspiciously.

You all right?

Yep. Just enjoying my total lack of communication skills, there’s a surprise for you, Adelaide continued, staring straight ahead. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than the safety and comfort of her warm bed at home.

You seem to be doing fine with me.

I know you. And I know Sanna. But everyone else...

Are also, strangely enough, people.

"And also strangers. It’s hard."

I don’t think people are your problem. Ever think about practicing?

Practicing talking to people? And embarrass myself even more?

Yeah, and the first few times I practiced my letters or did my maths, I’d get things wrong. But you know what happened after? I got better.

You’ve apparently never seen me in class, Adelaide grumbled.

The ride home seemed longer than the one she had taken earlier, and when the carriage finally stopped outside her family’s large home, she was already halfway to her feet. However, she froze when she noticed her father standing expectantly in the open doorway, his arms folded.

Ouch. Another lecture already? It hasn’t been that long since the last one, Asmund said, quietly enough to keep his voice from carrying.

I guess so. Let’s see what my tutors complained about today, Adelaide replied evenly, even as her heart pounded in her chest with anticipation. You wouldn’t be willing to keep going and take me away somewhere and hide me, would you?

Oh, yeah, sure! What could go wrong kidnapping the eldest daughter of the Sol family? If I was lucky, I’d get the military after me. If I was unlucky, which seems more likely, the Blackfins would be knocking on my door by the night’s end.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask, Adelaide sighed.

She stepped down from the carriage, then watched it as it went, refusing to move until it was out of sight. She took every little delay she could, even if part of her knew it would be better to go face her father and get it over with. Another thing she never seemed to learn no matter how often it happened, she thought.

Finally, when she could wait no longer, she grimaced and trudged toward the door where her father stood waiting.

3

MAAYA

OCTOBER

Maaya was awoken just before dawn the next morning by a severe pain in her stomach. It started off dull and throbbing, something she might have been able to ignore, but then came the sharp piercing pains that almost made her open her eyes to see if she was actually being stabbed. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had attempted it.

As she lay curled on the ground against a large abandoned building, however, the rumbling in her stomach told her this pain was the result of something a little harder to treat than a knife wound.

Hunger.

She groaned quietly and curled up tighter, trying to will the pain away. Sometimes it lasted minutes, sometimes hours before it finally let her be, though it had a tendency to linger in the background and make sure she knew it was watching at all times. Not only had she not managed breakfast the day before, but lunch and dinner hadn’t been successful, either. To go a whole day without a meal wasn’t rare for her, but that meant the pain wasn’t, either. Further, every day without food made the next day harder. Begging was hard enough when she wasn’t doubled over with pain or too weak or dizzy to go far.

Maaya wondered if there might be any correlation between her lack of luck and her outburst the previous morning. The thought filled her with irritation, but she didn’t have the strength to fight it. It wasn’t fair. Not only had the ghost ruined her chances for a meal, but he hadn’t even had the decency to bring her some food after he’d done so. So much for wanting to be friends. But then, ghosts just weren’t troublemakers when it came to the physical world. Anyone else who had the ability to see them would find them just as much emotionally manipulative and cruel. Not that there was anyone else.

So consumed was she by this irritation that she didn’t notice the figure approaching her until they were tapping her on the shoulder.

Maaya gasped and sat up, prepared to defend herself, and the sudden movement caused a fresh wave of pain to sear through her. She gritted her teeth and stared up at the figure, but then she relaxed.

A young boy knelt in front of her, his unkempt brown hair falling over his hazel eyes. He was thin but strong, made for life on the streets. The boy was a little older and more experienced than Maaya, and had been kind enough to teach her a little of what he knew—enough to keep her mostly safe, anyway. He was dressed in similarly old and worn clothes, though from the looks of him, Maaya thought, he’d been luckier on the food front recently.

As if reading her mind, he reached into the tattered brown bag hanging over his shoulder and pulled out a half a loaf of bread and an apple. He handed them to her, and she took them, her eyes widening in surprise.

I know hunger pains when I see them, the boy explained simply with a wink.

Thanks, Hari. You have no idea how much I need this, Maaya said gratefully. Without waiting for a response, she tore into the bread, trying as hard as she could to chew and eat slowly. Eating too fast would only make the pain worse in the short term.

I do, though. We look for each other out here, you know? I haven’t forgotten the time you saved me from that couple who got me stealing. Beginner’s mistake, I know, but it’s not one I’ll make again. Plus, you looked pretty miserable over here.

I was too asleep to be miserable until the pain woke me up.

Yeah, well, that’s how it goes. Mind if I join you? Hari asked.

If you can find space, Maaya said, gesturing to the empty wall that spread out far in both directions.

Hari sat down easily beside her, took the other half of the loaf out of his bag, and began eating, though by his slow and deliberate pace, Maaya could tell he didn’t really need to. Hari was an acquaintance—someone she might almost call a friend if she saw him more than a few times every few months—but they weren’t close enough for idle chatter. He wanted something.

Sure enough, after about a minute, he spoke.

Also, I was thinking.

That comes in handy.

There’s a house that’s closer to where you usually hang out. Some well-off guy lives there. Word is he’s got himself a new job that keeps him away from home for longer than normal. I was thinking you might want to check it out.

Thanks for letting me know. What’s in it for you?

I was thinking... half? I’ve got a good source of food right now, and I was thinking that I could offer a little security in exchange for half of whatever you can carry out of there.

Why not do it yourself and take it all?

Breaking into that house requires some... finesse. You know, that thing I have none of. It’s out in the open and doesn’t look very accessible. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’re great with this kind of thing.

Maaya stopped chewing to think. It was an honest proposition; Hari wouldn’t come to her trying to cheat her. This was simply the way things worked.

I need a little more information. Where is it? When’s he usually away?

A few streets outside Corridor C. I can show you the place later. I don’t know exactly when he’s gone; from what I’ve heard, he sometimes works nights, but I don’t know which ones. That’s your job to figure out.

Naturally.

What do you think? Hari asked hopefully.

I don’t suppose anyone knows of a better place to sleep than cobblestones, Maaya asked, stretching painfully.

Talk to Bindhiya; she might have something for you. You really should check more often. It can’t be good for your back to sleep like this all the time, Hari said concernedly.

I don’t want to be a bother, Maaya said dismissively, though there was more to it than that. The deeply impoverished of Sark tried to look out for each other and shared a great disdain for the way they were treated by everyone else, but their unity wasn’t strong enough to withstand the danger of a bad reputation. If someone was considered too much trouble, those with the resources to help would turn their backs. Invisibility was a virtue in a world with so many other threats; they didn’t need any from within. And the rumors about Maaya dabbling in witchcraft and speaking with spirits definitely would not grant her any favor.

You, my friend, are hopeless, Hari chuckled, then got nimbly to his feet and held out his hand. Maaya took it, then stored the rest of her food away; she was still hungry, but she had to make it last. Consider it, at least?

I think I can manage that.

That’s the spirit! Let’s get moving; the sun will rise soon, and I’d like to show you the place before people start waking up.

All things considered, it was not the worst possible job Maaya could have taken. The community of Corridor C was rich enough to warrant constant police patrols—in the whole town, only Corridors B and A were wealthier—but the target’s house was just far away enough to avoid the common foot patrols. Further, while its main entrance faced the street, it had another entrance on the side that went into a dark alley from which trash was usually collected. What’s more, the alley was narrow enough that Maaya might be able to scale it to gain access to an upper window, which was more likely to be unlocked than the side door. She would have to try this; she had never mastered lock picking.

Then again, it wasn’t as though she had tried very hard. Stealing had always made her uncomfortable, so she’d never had much incentive to try to get better at it. She was only doing this so she could survive, not to make a profit.

For a whole week she returned to the same place every day, pretending to rest or sleep or be walking nearby as she watched the house. As far as she could tell, the house had only one occupant: a middle-aged man who worked somewhere in the direction of the town center. Most days he came and went at the same times, but on Friday night he didn’t return; it wasn’t until the middle of the morning on Saturday that he finally came home, looking exhausted.

Maaya wished she had more time to scope the house out; maybe that wasn’t his regular schedule. Maybe it was just a fluke. But Hari had visited her twice to check on her progress, and it was clear he was hoping she’d get started soon. What’s more, whatever source of food he’d found would not benefit her until after she’d successfully given Hari his share, which meant it was in her own best interest to move quickly, too. She didn’t like it, but with her acquaintance and her stomach both against her, she decided to make her move.

As evening fell on Friday, Maaya made her way back slowly toward the house. She kept her head down but stayed in plain sight, doing her best to look tired and to give others the impression that she was off to find a place to sleep for the night. It was an oddly paradoxical thing about being poor; the more visible she made herself, the less likely people were to take any notice of her.

A few streetlamps were lit, leaving the street otherwise pleasantly dark. The alley especially was almost completely black, with the exception of the narrow beams of light that escaped around the curtains of the house next door. Maaya would have to avoid that as best she could, even though she had never seen anyone open it.

She studied the house as she stood nearby, trying to look busy. There were no lights on inside, all the curtains were drawn, and there was no sign that anyone was there. She assumed the owner was at work, though the real question was whether or not he was coming home.

As the hours passed, foot traffic on the street dwindled to nearly nothing. When one of the few foot patrols of the night passed, Maaya began shuffling bits of a newspaper she had found in a nearby trash bin; she couldn’t read, but the officer didn’t need to know that.

The officer passed without so much as a glance, and Maaya thought with some bitterness that it was likely the ubiquity of poverty that made him so immune to the sight of it—and which also gave her the advantage of invisibility. What a world she lived in.

Still, hours after dark as it was, the house’s owner had not yet come home. He would surely have come home by now if he was going to at all, Maaya thought, but she couldn’t do anything just yet. There were still a few stragglers on their way home from late shifts at work or early shifts at a bar.

Finally, the street was empty. Maaya tensed, staring hard, focusing on any movement that might show up in her peripheral vision. When a full minute passed and no one showed up, Maaya moved.

She leapt over the short fence in front of the house without a sound and passed into the alleyway. She paused again here, both to listen for any indication that she might have been detected and to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. As they did, she saw the alley was still mostly clean, just as she had seen it during daylight, but that there were a few bottles here and there that would definitely give her away if she weren’t careful.

She memorized where they were, then tried to open the side door. Sure enough, it was locked tight. This was no surprise, though with all Maaya had been through recently, she thought she was owed some luck.

Her next step was to scale the wall and climb into the upstairs window. This would be much more difficult. She was too short to push her back against the wall using her feet as leverage on the opposing wall, so she’d have to push herself up with both her hands and feet and then grab hold of the window’s ledge. She took a moment to give silent thanks that she had been able to find food that afternoon; without its energy, she wouldn’t have the strength to do this.

Taking care to avoid the bottles, she placed her hands against the wall and began walking her feet up the opposite wall, her knees bent. The stucco finish rubbed painfully against her palms, but there was no other option. Slowly, carefully, silently, she began to make her way up the wall. Her muscles were already starting to protest, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that this would be the most difficult part of the process.

Finally, just when she thought she might lose her strength and fall, she came within reach of the ledge. She grabbed it immediately, hanging on with both hands. Light and small as she was, this was a much easier task, though her arms still needed respite. She pushed herself up with effort, then pulled at the bottom of the window.

It didn’t move.

Maaya’s eyes widened with fear. The window was locked. She hadn’t even considered this a possibility. She knew she definitely couldn’t break the window; that would be far too much noise. She also didn’t want to drop back down to the ground and risk injury.

Panicking, she tugged at the window again—and this time it did move. It slid slightly to the left, moving inside its frame rather than opening out from the bottom like she was used to. Maaya didn’t hesitate; she pulled the window as far as she could, and then, with the last of her strength, pulled herself into the house.

She lay on the floor of the dark room, gasping for breath as her muscles burned angrily. If even a few more seconds had passed, she knew she would have fallen, and would have had to call off the whole endeavor even if she miraculously made it out unhurt.

Luckily, it seemed the house truly was empty. She heard no anxious footsteps coming to investigate the source of the noise, and it was comfortably dark all around. Maaya slowly got to her feet, then closed the window behind her. She had never seen one like it. Rich people had all the interesting things.

Comfortably on her feet once again, she started to move, going through what she knew about places like this in her mind. Houses like these usually had basements, so that was three floors to look through. The houses in the actual corridor had small back yards, but these were built closer together, which meant fewer avenues of escape. The man lived alone and was getting old, so there was likely only a single bedroom on the first floor; beyond that she could expect a study and storage rooms. This was good news—rich men who lived alone had more valuables than those with families, and more rooms to put them in. Either that or libraries. She hoped there wouldn’t be any libraries. Books fetched little money when she distributed her spoils to people who generally weren’t privileged enough to know how to read.

The room she was in looked like it hadn’t been used in years, and mostly contained old dusty furniture, though Maaya did spot a shoulder-sling bag hanging from a nearby coat rack. That would come in handy.

Two other rooms on the top floor were mostly empty as well, and Maaya was starting to wonder if there was actually anything of value in the house when she stepped into the last room. Her eyes lit up. Here was a closet with a few expensive looking coats, and to the right was a dresser that contained a few bracelets, bangles, necklaces, and other pieces of jewelry. There weren’t many, and they weren’t the highest quality she’d ever seen, but Hari would be overjoyed.

She tried to fight the guilt that ate at her as she put them carefully into the bag. Maybe they belonged to a family member who had moved away or who was no longer alive. Maybe they had been gifts. They were likely kept for sentimental reasons, even if they were pushed away in an old dresser on a floor the man probably couldn’t walk up to anymore.

Maaya tore herself away before she could put the jewelry back. She hated this, she really, truly hated this, but she had to survive. It wasn’t fair that someone should lose their possessions, but it also wasn’t fair that so many people starved on the streets while others had enough resources to have a three-story house to themselves filled with valuable objects they hardly ever used or looked at. She guessed it would be a long while before the man realized the jewelry had even been stolen—if he ever did.

Even though this was not the man’s fault in any respect, the thought of this unfairness incensed her enough to momentarily push aside her guilt, and she used this to leave the room before it could creep back.

She crept to the first floor, then began her search anew. Sure enough, she saw a bedroom, extravagantly furnished, what looked like a study, and... oh, gods. A library. I knew it.

She turned on her heel and made to start toward the kitchen when she saw a flash of light. A moment later, she caught a glimpse of something she disliked even more than a library.

The ghost of an old man floated slowly into the other end of the hall, peering into the sitting room as though he were about to find himself a seat and read the newspaper over a cup of coffee. Maaya froze, thinking about where she could hide, but there was nowhere she could go fast enough to avoid being spotted.

And then he saw her.

His eyebrows raised in slight surprise, and then he began to float toward her.

Well, well. What have we here? he asked softly, sounding more curious than malicious.

I, er... sorry, Maaya said instinctively, unsure of why exactly she was apologizing. It wasn’t like she was breaking into his house.

The ghost stopped.

What...? Can you... see me? he asked slowly.

Yes, Maaya said simply, even as her brain fought to add, unfortunately.

My word! How remarkable. You must be the first in... oh, I don’t know how many years now. But if I may... what are you doing in my great-grandson’s house?

Maaya opened her mouth, but no words came out. She valued honesty, but didn’t think that telling the truth to this particular man—apparently a relative of the one whose house she had come to rob—would be a great idea.

However, he seemed to guess.

What have you taken from him?

Maaya stepped back defensively.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to ruin him. I just want to eat.

Thievery is unbecoming.

"This life is unbecoming, Maaya said venomously. I don’t need you judging me. This is already hard enough as it is. I could ask you why you’re haunting your great-grandson’s house."

This is the home of my family, the ghost shrugged. Right now he’s the only one left, and it looks like the family name will die when he does. I loved all of them so much. You know, he used to have a wife and four children. This house was filled with light and life once. I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere else, especially when I found out his youngest daughter could see me.

She... she could? Maaya asked, her voice losing its edge. She hadn’t intended to get involved in a conversation, but the idea of someone else in the world