Chapter 4

FOUR

Willow

My whisper glides between the stacks, her fingers trailing over the spines of the theoretical physics books. She smiles at me, then darts through the bookshelf. For a brief moment, ink blurs before my eyes.

She's running now. Chemistry. Calculus. Italian. Renaissance Art. The French Revolution.

Standing, I fight against the dizziness. Is this another POTS episode? Seeing through my whisper's eyes? Or both? I brace my hands on my thighs and drop my head toward my knees. My heart pounds hard enough to feel it in my temples, and a roaring sound fills my ears.

I hit the ground, the pain in my ass jarring me out of my whisper's head. As if she's mad at me, she flickers back through the shelves with such force, one of the physics books tumbles to the ground.

Holy shit. She's…not just a ghost anymore.

One finger jabs me in the chest. It's not exactly solid. More like...the idea of a jab than an actual poke. But in the weeks she's been with me, she's never managed to affect the physical world. Until now.

"Go away!" I shout.

Five students halfway across the library stare at me. Anton rushes over to me, disapproval pinching his dark brows together. My whisper is gone.

"Willow, what the hell?" he hisses.

"Sorry." I accept the hand he offers to help me to my feet. "There was…uh…a wasp. I'm allergic."

"You look tired." He leads me back through the study area to the front of the library. "You haven't been yourself for weeks. You're looking over your shoulder all the time, you've missed the last three review sessions with Ruby, and now you're shouting in the library?"

My shoulders slump. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Then go home. Better yet, take the week off. I'll handle today's review session. Friday's too." The judgement in his tone is too much. Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

"Anton, I need to work. I'm sorry I yelled. The…wasp…scared me. I can handle Ruby's session. She's so close to finishing her dissertation. I want to see this through."

I hate the desperation in my voice. But I can't go home. My whisper will be there. She's always there. I don't sleep because she wakes me at least half a dozen times a night.

"No. As your department head, I can't let you continue to shirk your duties. Either take the week off, or I'll be forced to suspend you for the rest of the quarter." He shoves his hands into his pockets and won't look me in the eye.

Shit. Anton is a good guy. Not exactly a friend, but not an asshole either. And I put him in this position. Missing Ruby's review sessions…that was inexcusable. I have more than a hundred papers to grade, and I've been relying on last year's syllabi to make it through my lectures. How much longer before my students start to complain?

Guilt heats my cheeks but leaves the rest of me cold. "I'll take the week off," I say softly. "Please tell Ruby I'm sorry."

With nothing to do but go home—the last place I want to be—I turn off all the lights in my office, lock the door, and log on to my computer. I might be "on vacation," but my credentials still work. Every day, I've spent hours searching for some shred of information. Every search term has gone into a little notebook, color-coded, with Post-it flags to cross-reference anything interesting. But weeks of research hasn't yielded anything useful.

Seeing my own ghost

Ghostly doppelg?nger

Whisper ghost

I glance around, even though I know I'm alone. I'm about to break so many rules, I could be fired if anyone finds out what I'm doing. But the internet can't help me, so I open a Tor browser. The dark web is where secrets have secrets, and the unexplained is only the beginning. Maybe there, I'll find something.

Or I'll ruin my entire career.

At this point, do I care? No. I need answers—and a way to make my whisper vanish. For good.

Navigating this hidden—and forbidden—knowledge is like wandering through a labyrinth in the dark. Conspiracy theories abound. Everything from faking the moon landing—really? People are still going on about that one?—to blaming climate change on a vampire opening a rift to Hell.

Nothing about whispers. Or at least my whisper. Every search is a dead end. Until I stumble upon someone talking about the world of The Other.

ONegLovr: Dude. There are medical clinics that only treat the paranormal! I haven't had a proper dental exam in fifty years. If my maker hadn't been staked through the heart a week after turning me, I'd find a way to end him for not telling me about this!

His maker? Holy shit. This guy thinks he's an actual vampire. With a maker.

He must be a fan of Anne Rice. Or romance novels.

A dozen others pile on. By their screen names, they think they're witches, vampires, shifters, and even ghosts. I keep digging, even deeper, until I find an honest-to-God list of Other clinics. Including three within the San Francisco city limits.

This can't be real. Can it? If I weren't seeing a ghost every time I turned around—and one who looks just like me—I wouldn't put stock in anything I've just read. But with no other options, maybe I should suspend my disbelief?

By the time I log off, it's well after six, and my stomach feels hollow. But one of the clinics is on my way home. Dinner can wait. I need to see a doctor. Right now.

The pretty receptionist at DVS Urgent Care narrows her eyes at me. "Can I help you?"

"Uh…yes. I need to see a doctor." My voice cracks, and I sweep my gaze around the waiting room. Everyone here looks normal enough. A mother with two little boys who chase each other around the room, an older man with a cane next to his seat, and a security guard in a boring, tan uniform leaning against the far wall.

The woman pulls out a small, black box, flips a switch, and frowns. "There's another clinic across the street that might be a better fit for you. We…have a very long wait right now."

I turn, staring out the glass doors. The place across the street is affiliated with the local hospital. And they weren't on the list I pulled off the dark web.

"No, I need to see someone here," I insist. "Please." Leaning closer, I lower my voice. "I'm not…I'm…something else. I'm Other."

"You're not, dear." She shakes her head. "Not according to my scans."

"Well, your scanner must be broken." I snatch the device from her hand. "Oh, my God."

Ocular Transmutational Health Existence Reporter

O.T.H.E.R.?

"You have got to be kidding me. This is how you determine if someone should be seen here? This is a joke, right?"

Claws extend from her pale fingers, and she plucks the box from my palm so quickly, I see nothing but a black blur.

"No. It's not. If you were… other… this device would tell me. You need to leave. Now. If you don't, I'll have to get George to escort you out and wipe your memory of this entire encounter." She drops the black box back into her pocket, and out of the corner of my eye, George straightens.

"I'm seeing my own ghost!" My voice drops to a whisper, but with too harsh of an edge to hide my words from the others in the waiting room. "All the time. And sometimes, I am her! Please. Don't kick me out. Let me see a doctor. I can't sleep. I'm going to lose my job if I can't make this stop." Tears well in my eyes, and through the shimmer they lend to the room, I think her expression softens slightly.

The nurse sighs. "All right. I'll get you in with Dr. Nem. But if he doesn't find any evidence of other in you, he won't be as kind as George."

I force my shoulders back and meet her gaze. Her eyes aren't a normal human color. They're almost…purple. I wonder what she is. What all of these people are. But most of all, I wonder what I am.

"I don't care. I'll risk it."

Dr. Nem whirls around as a tray of medical equipment clatters to the floor. Shaking off the fog that came over me when he grabbed my head, his fingers digging into my temples, I leap off the exam table and dart through the door. I make it out of the clinic two steps ahead of George. The security guard is definitely not human. His eyes glow bright red, and are those…wings fluttering along his back? Shit.

The doctor tried to be kind—at first. But when I refused to believe my whisper was a figment of my imagination, his anger scared the shit out of me.

"You are as human as they come," Dr. Nem says. "This ghost you're seeing? It's all in your head."

"It's not! She can…do things. She knocked a book off the shelf in the library this afternoon!"

He narrows his eyes at me. The man is covered with a layer of short, brown fur. His ears stick out from the top of his head, and his flattened nose flares with his huff. "She needs to be disciplined for showing herself to you. After I wipe your memory, I'm calling the Bureau. She's broken at least half a dozen laws."

My whisper floats alongside me as we cross the street. "Is he right? Are you a ghost?"

She shakes her head and points to me.

"What the hell does that mean? God, if you can't talk, the least you could do is learn sign language or something."

With a harsh glare—or as harsh as she can manage since she's mostly translucent—she stamps her foot against the pavement, then disappears completely.

Great. Dr. Nem practically laughed in my face, then threatened me—and my whisper. Do I risk trying another clinic? Or is that a one-way ticket to getting my memory wiped?

I'm so exhausted, each step feels like I'm walking through quicksand. Or…what I always imagined quicksand to feel like.

Is quicksand even real?

That thought occupies me for so long, I almost miss the light and have to run across the street to catch the bus.

But I learned two things today. First, my whisper cares for me. At least a little. She stopped Dr. Nem from wiping my memory.

The second? She's definitely getting stronger.