Chapter 8

Ralph floated right through the wall of the store facing the street, directly through Marty and Wanda, who had knelt in the middle of the deserted road.

Her eyes widened when she saw what they were looking at.

There lay a dog, a fluffy tan and white furbaby no bigger than her two fists combined, eyes closed, its side bleeding profusely.

No, no, no! The poor thing had been hit.

A stab of anger speared her at the carelessness of some people.

Ralph, too, knelt beside the small dog, the impact of the blow it had suffered traveling to her own body the moment she placed her hand on its warm fur.

Instantly, she grimaced, clenching her teeth to stave off the pain as Marty shot upward and took off, running down the street at the speed of light.

"You'd better hope I don't catch you, motherfucker! I'm gonna rip your damn throat out!" she hollered as she became a blur, her legs racing so fast the movement almost didn't look real.

But Ralph couldn't focus on Marty's superpowers; her eyes were on the small furbaby, who was in a great deal of pain. It whimpered, opening its soulful brown eyes, looking right at her as though begging for help.

"Oh!" She cried out, falling forward, placing a hand on her side as a stabbing pain sliced through her.

Wanda reached for her, her hand disappearing through Ralph's arm like tendrils of smoke. "Ralph, honey, what's happening? Are you okay? How can I help?"

But she shook her head, the need, this weirdly intense need almost making her physically ill, twisted her into a knot.

"I have to help her!" Somehow, she knew the dog was female, and she had to help.

Placing her hands on the dog again, Ralph realized she actually felt its fur beneath her fingertips, springy and soft.

She sat back as though she'd been burned. How was that possible? She understood Shamus's touch was due to his paranormal abilities, but when she'd tried to pet Blanche, she hadn't felt a thing.

Yet, her fingertips felt every inch of this darling girl's traumatized body.

Fix it, a voice urgently whispered in her head, insistent and nagging. Hurry, before it's too late. We don't have all day!

Jamming a finger in her ear, she looked around to see where the voice had come from.

What the…was the voice going to miss its flight if she didn't hurry?

Put your listening ears on. It's time, Raphaela!

How many times had she said that to her students?

You said it a lot. Follow your own instructions, lady!

"But…how?" she murmured, stroking the dog, cupping the muzzle that burrowed into her hand.

Shamus was suddenly beside her, his hand on her shoulder. "Can you tell me what's happening, Ralph?" he asked, concern rife in his tone.

She shook her head. She didn't know. She only knew she had to fix it. She must fix it. Leaning forward, she scooped the tiny dog into her arms, pulling her close, and began to rock her, despite the searing pain in her side.

Yes. That's it. Fix it.

The dog weakly lifted her head, whimpering. Ralph held her closer, forgetting her own pain and focusing on the tiny furbaby's face. "Sweet girl, hang on. Please. It's not time yet. It's not time yet…"

As crazy as those words sounded to her ears, as crazy as they felt coming from her lips, she knew they were the right words.

She. Knew.

It was obvious the dog was suffering. Somehow, she knew this tiny dog saw the Rainbow Bridge. Suddenly, Ralph had a clear vision of…

She gasped. There really was a Rainbow Bridge!

Her chest went tight at how beautiful the sight was…

Yet, Ralph knew what she said was true. It wasn't time for her to go.

But why?

The dog began to struggle, her tiny legs thrusting against Ralph. Above the dog's body, a tendril of smoke appeared, shifting, changing shape until it took the form of the very dog in her arms.

Catch her, Raphaela. Catch her! the voice whispered.

Ralph blinked, looking up as the shape rose toward the dark night sky. Like a ton of bricks, some gut instinct, some deep intuition, hit her right between the eyes. That instinct told her the shape was the soul of the dog.

She reached up with a hand that had a will of its own and snatched at the air, gripping the wisps of smoke, fully expecting them to disappear like Wanda's hand had against her own.

Instead, she managed to hold the form in her hand, pulling it to her and whispering, "No, sweet baby. It's not your time. Stay here with me. I'll fix it."

But the puppy continued to push against her hand, trying to break free.

"Ralph?" Shamus called out, sounding distant and muted

She wasn't listening to anyone but the spirit of this dog. Ralph heard her thoughts, clear as a ringing bell.

Hurts…tired. So tired… No more… Please…

Cupping the dog's head, her wet fur now cold, Ralph shook her head again, rocking her. "No, angel. Not today. They're not ready for you. But I promise I'll make it better. I know it hurts. I know you're exhausted from living on the streets. I know you've been hungry and cold, with no one to love you, but if you'll only hang on, your life is going to be so amazing, precious baby. It's not time for the Rainbow Bridge. Hang on," she whispered fiercely.

As she held the dog, feeling her fear, the tremble in her tiny body, tears began to well behind Ralph's eyes, but they wouldn't fall.

Well done, Raphaela. Well done, the voice praised.

Nina dropped down beside her on the cold pavement, snow had begun to fall, sticking to her beautifully shiny dark hair. She reached over and placed a hand on the dog's belly, her gaze filled with concern and sympathy.

"What the hell do you mean it's not her time and you'll fix it, Glow Stick? Tell me how I can help."

She looked at Nina, cocking her head. With clear confidence in her voice, Ralph said, "She's not meant to leave this plane yet. It's not her time."

Wanda looked at her as the snow fell and the moon glowed, giving the halfsie's form a beautiful halo effect. "How do you know?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ralph rose to her feet, the dog cuddled in her arms as she stroked her sweet face. "I don't know. I don't… I just do. We have to get her to a vet. Right now. She's suffering. I can feel it."

Marty zoomed back into the picture in a flash of blonde hair and limbs, kicking up snow, her cheeks pink.

Nina cracked her knuckles and rocked her head side to side. "Didja catch that fuck? Because if not, I'll hunt him down by smell and chew my way through his intestinal tract."

Marty took a deep breath, bending forward at the waist to catch her breath. "I did, and I also found a very nice police officer walking his beat, who kindly arrested him for drunk driving after that puppy killer somehow swerved up onto the sidewalk and almost ran him over. Go figure…"

Wanda stood, too, wiping at Marty's jacket, where grease spots stood out against the pale blue fabric. She pointed at her near-shredded boots. "You stopped him by grabbing his bumper, didn't you?"

Marty nodded with a smile and a wink. "I did. Dragged me for at least a half mile. I just couldn't get a good grip with the ice and snow, and I think I broke a nail, but I got that son-of-a-bitch. And I told the officer he hit a tiny puppy and left it for dead. From the state of his driving skills, and all the bobbing and weaving he'd been doing, it was obvious he'd been drinking. Now he's on his way to the clink."

Wanda scooped her up in a hug and kissed her cheek. "You beast, you! Way to go! I'm so proud."

Marty untangled herself from Wanda and looked to the dog in Ralph's arms. "How's the poor baby?"

Ralph ran her cheek along the top of the dog's head, relishing the fact that she could feel her fur. "We need to get her to an emergency vet ASAP. She's bleeding and in pain, but don't worry, she won't die."

Marty blinked, condensation puffing from her mouth in clouds of filmy white. "How can you know that?"

Ralph didn't know a lot. Not about gut instincts, anyway. She was always questioning every tiny decision she made—her entire life had been spent like that. But this bold statement, so unlike her? She knew she was right.

"I just do. I just know. Now someone needs to take her from me, because I'm pretty sure a transparent lady with a hole in her chest, walking into an emergency vet, isn't going to be received well. We really need to hurry and get this angel some help."

Ralph handed the dog to Shamus, who was grinning as he took her, tucking her against his chest. "I should have known…" he murmured as they all got in the car.

"Should have known what?" Nina asked as she peeled out, following the GPS's directions to the nearest emergency vet.

He looked at Ralph as though he'd found the secret to life—which wasn't really going to help her now. "I know what kind of ghost Raphaela is."

Nina hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. "Fucking speak up, Ghost Hunter! Spit it the hell out!"

"Can I get a drumroll, Wanda?" he teased.

Complying, Wanda slapped the dashboard with her fingertips, grinning.

"A psychopomp!" he revealed.

You could have heard a pin drop inside the car as everyone processed that revelation, silently rolled the strange word on their tongues.

What in all of the Ghost of Christmas Past was a psychopomp?

* * *

Ralph hovered over a seat in Nina's glossy, high-tech kitchen, with its sleek counters and a wall oven only Archibald used, her head feeling light, her nerves on edge.

They'd taken the tiny dog to the emergency vet and named her Gloria, for Gloria Gaynor, the vocalist of the song "I Will Survive"—because, she was, indeed, going to survive.

Despite all the blood, Gloria's injuries weren't fatal. Turned out, she had a couple of broken ribs, which explained the searing sympathy pain Ralph had experienced, and her leg had also been pretty mangled by the car, but she was going to make it.

The vet advised an amputation, for which all the women offered to pay, but Shamus stepped in and took care of everything.

He said Dale needed a friend, and Gloria was it. Thankfully, she was resting nicely and could be ready to join Shamus's pack in as little as two days.

Now, as Ralph parsed all that had passed tonight, she couldn't wrap her head around the category of ghost Shamus claimed was her destiny.

Psychopomp. It didn't even sound real.

And she was feeling miserable to boot. Didn't common ailments go the way of the dinosaur when you were a ghost? Yet, she felt positively green around the gills.

When she finally spoke, her voice sounded rough. "So, let me get this straight. I'm a psychopomp who hasn't come into her powers yet? How on earth do you know that, and what's taking my powers so long to get here?"

Shamus had taken off his knit cap and his leather jacket, and even as poorly as she felt, she couldn't ignore how handsome he was. Or how ripply his abs underneath that T-shirt.

"I know because you were able to catch Gloria's spirit before it went off to the Great Beyond. You knew where she was supposed to be, Ralph. You were confident her life would be good if she stayed. I've only seen that done by psychopomps."

"You saw that?" she asked, her mouth beginning to water. How odd.

He smiled with a wink. "I did, because I can see ghosts, remember?"

Wanda rubbed her eyes, then cupped her chin as she leaned her elbow on the table. "She knew it wasn't Gloria's time and was able to prevent her from crossing by grabbing her spirit? That's absolutely incredible, Ralph."

Nina tapped the table. "So what does this mean for Glow Stick?"

"It means we've found her purpose, and it's a really great one. It's a real honor, according to all the ghosts I know, Ralph. It means you've led a good life and this is your reward."

"Reward?" she repeated. How did the afterlife think it was a reward to see an animal suffer? "Explain. Please."

"Maybe reward is the wrong word. Being a psychopomp means you're a bit like a grim reaper, except your only obligation is to help people who've lived good lives. The cream of the crop—and the innocent, like Gloria. It's a very prestigious position in the afterlife, with all sorts of privileges."

"Do grim reapers only help bad people?"

"Not bad people, per se. Though, sometimes they do deal with the scum of the Earth. The absolute bottom of the barrel. In this position, you'll never have to guide a bad guy into the afterlife. Your only job is to ensure good souls make it to the right place in the afterlife."

Marty nodded, her expression somber. "We have a grim reaper friend. She does deal with some really horrible people. We've heard the stories."

"You have a friend who's a grim reaper," Ralph said, her tone wooden. She didn't know why that surprised her, but she was feeling tired and maybe a little crabby.

Marty smiled and popped a coconut cookie Arch had freshly made for them into her mouth. "We do. Her name's Rocky, and she's the sweetest. Though, she only deals in human souls. Not paranormals. Well, except me. She was supposed to take me to the afterlife. Long story for another time."

Ralph's mouth fell open, unable to process any more paranormal oddities. Not today. "Thanks for the distinction." She knew her words dripped sarcasm, but she felt petty and tired and very unlike herself.

Nina frowned at her. "Hey, don't be such a rude shit. Rocky's an amazing kid, and she might be able to help your transparent ass. You know, tips on how to cross your next soul?"

Closing her eyes because the room was beginning to spin, Ralph apologized. "I'm sorry, Marty. You're right. I'm being incredibly thickheaded right now. Please, Shamus, go on."

"The kind of people you'll take to the afterlife are exceptional. They're kind and selfless. Good, giving people."

"Which is why Marty got a grim reaper, "Nina snarked on a cackle, to the tune of Marty flipping her off.

"So where was my psychopomp? If I earned this alleged honor, and I qualify to be a psychopomp as a result, why wasn't I ushered in?"

Shamus sighed with a shake of his head. "That's where the hitch in my giddy-up comes in. I can't explain why no one has come to collect you, Ralph. I don't know why no one has explained to you what's happening. I've only met one or two of your kind, but they always had a guide to lead them into their duties."

"But you're sure she's a fucking psycho whatever?" Nina asked.

"Psychopomp," Wanda corrected with a sympathetic smile in Ralph's direction. "Don't be willfully obtuse, Vampire."

Shamus gave Nina a playful nudge. "I'm sure. I'm more than sure. Someone should have retrieved Ralph and acquainted her with her new position. I don't understand what's gone wrong."

"So why the fuck don't you talk to your afterlife cronies and figure it out?"

Marty rolled her eyes, pulling her hair up into a knot of blonde cascades on the top of her head. "Because it's not like the afterlife's on social media, Nina. He can't just send them a private message on Facebook and say, "Hey, whassup?'"

Nina gave Marty the finger. "Fuck off, Blondie. You know what I mean."

"Marty's right. I don't have a direct line to the afterlife. They show up when they show up, and I can see them. That's it. They're actually a lot like toddlers in that respect. Unpredictable, difficult, evasive."

Ralph swallowed, bile in her throat rising up, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. "So I just stay like this—forever? I stay invisible, floating aimlessly with a stash of fairy dust so people can see me? With no guidance? No instruction?"

She leaned forward, looking for the silver lining her optimism always provided, but she had to admit, her glass-half-full attitude was poor at best.

Wanda tilted her head, her eyes warm. "You didn't need much guidance with Gloria, Ralph. You knew exactly what to do. You were amazing. Maybe whoever's in charge of psychopomps thinks you're a shoe-in and you don't need any guidance."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but if what Shamus says is true, and I'm supposed to guide the good people of the world to their destinies, what if someone's destiny is death? How do I get to the afterlife to deliver the package? Do they have a map? Will the voice in my head guide me all the time, because it was getting a little impatient there for a minute."

"The voice in your head?" Shamus asked. "What voice?"

She pointed to her head. "There was a voice, telling me what to do with Gloria. Isn't there supposed to be a voice inside my head?"

"If there was a voice, then I'm sure it was supposed to be there, honey," Wanda reassured her.

Panic was beginning to settle in, square in the pit of her stomach as her knees shook and her mind raced. "That's a very Rose Nylund thing to say, Wanda, and normally I'd agree with you. But somehow, I don't think it's that easy."

Nina snickered. "Rose, like from The Golden Girls, Rose?"

Ralph let her cheeks puff out. "Sorry. It's a habit. I compare people's personalities to The Golden Girls. I mean no disrespect, Wanda. I really love Rose."

Nina tipped her head back and barked a laugh. "When I was getting up at all hours of the day to feed Charlie, I used to watch GG reruns. Loved those fucking broads, especially Sophia. Congrats, Ralph. No one's ever nailed Wanda's ‘yippy-skippy, it's all gonna be fucking fine' better. She def has Rose properties with shades of Dorothy."

"Wait a minute. Nina's definitely Sophia. Wanda's Rose with shades of Dorothy…but who am I?" Marty asked.

In unison, everyone yelled, "Blanche!" Then they all began to laugh—even Marty.

Despite how miserable she felt, Ralph laughed, too. "Yep, you do remind me of Blanche. You're flirty and fun, and you love fashion and jewelry."

Marty batted her eyes and twirled a stray strand of blonde hair. "I do declare," she said in an attempt at a southern accent.

That made them all laugh again.

When the laughter subsided, Shamus reached over and gripped her hand. "We have options, Ralph. We have other ways to find out what's going on in the afterlife."

"How?" she whispered, the swell of nausea in her stomach rising and falling.

He smiled like a Cheshire cat, giving her hand a squeeze. "A séance."

That was the last thing she remembered hearing before darkness consumed her.

Oh…and she also remembered how nice Shamus's hand felt, enveloping hers.

Pathetic.

She was pa-the-tic.