Elatsoe

She trusted the wisdom of her parents and elders. Ellie had heard the dark and violent stories about human ghosts. They were rare and fleeting things that almost always left violence in their wake.

The thing was, she had never been able to understand why they were so terrible. Trevor loved his family and friends; how could death change that? How could anything from Trevor be cruel? It was inconceivable, and yet...

She withdrew her hand from the picture frame. Sometimes, the world was too mysterious for her liking; Ellie intended to change that someday.

Hopefully, it happened through a police investigation that led to an arrest that resulted in a successful trial by jury and a murder conviction. However, the justice system was imperfect. Many crimes remained unsolved, especially violence against Natives. Plus, Trevor’s death was so strange, magic might have been involved. That was a potential death blow against justice. Magic, as energy from another realm, corrupted and altered the fabric of reality. The defense for Abe Allerton could argue that any trace of magic at the crime scene negated his chance for a fair trial, since there was no way to trust the evidence beyond a reasonable doubt. Nine times out of ten, that argument worked for people with million-dollar lawyers. Strangely, it rarely worked for anyone else.

“What a view,” Al said, and he inhaled deeply. “Eugh. Bad idea. Can you smell that? Rotting fish, sewer discharge, rust. I hate how spoiled the world has become.” Al coughed, shuddering, and spat into the river. [...] “It’s the running water,” he explained. “Makes me sick. Don’t know why. Something curse-related.”

“Mom told me, ‘Don’t be like Icarus, Ellie. Caution is our friend.’ Because I was immature back then, I asked, ‘Aren’t we supposed to take risks?’”

“That’s a good question,” Jay said. “Not immature at all.”

“Mom thought I was being—in her words—obstinate,” Ellie said. [...] “What I’m trying say is: this summer, investigating my cousin’s murder, we might skirt the line between wise and unwise danger. It’s hard to know that you’re flying too high until the feathers start dropping.”

It took a while, but the Leech was finally dead. Ellie had finished Six-Great’s task.

It should have been a proud moment, but Ellie also felt profoundly sad. The Leech was the last of its kind. The monsters of her ancestors had been replaced by different threats. Invasive creatures, foreign curses, cruel magics, and alchemies. Vampires were the new big bloodsuckers.

Ellie couldn’t use the rings, however, because all portal travel had to be approved and facilitated by fairy folk, and fairies didn’t like “strangers.” Strangers, in their opinion, constituted anybody without familial ties to at least one interdimensional person, commonly known as “fae.” That wasn’t Ellie. Every time she had to pay for an expensive airline ticket or miss a field trip, her disdain for the otherworldly snobs increased. It seemed cruel that humanoids from a different realm could discriminate against her—and others—on her own homeland. The “fair” in “fairy” didn’t stand for justice, however, and they didn’t care about any rules but their own.

The lawn was speckled by white polka-dots, the heads of round mushrooms. Didn’t mushrooms usually sprout in moist environments? Exactly how much water did Dr. Allerton waste on his grass every day?

“Here,” Lenore said, handing Ellie a velvet-wrapped parcel. “He wanted you to have this.”

Gingerly, Ellie unwrapped Trevor’s Swiss Army knife. “He used to carry this during hikes,” she said. “Every hike. Even little ones in Grandma’s yard. Just in case.” She held it carefully. “I’ll always carry it, too.”

“That’s Trevor,” Lenore said. “Prepared for just about anything. It didn’t help him in the end.”

Few things were more personal than a smartphone, so it was probably interred with Trevor during his traditional burial. Sure, their ancient ancestors hadn’t owned pocket-size computers, but tradition accommodated the adaptable nature of humankind.

“The two made off with four hundred dollars, Marlboros, and ten bags of dried meat. I remember a news reporter saying, ‘They killed a man for just four hundred dollars.’ And I thought that the word ‘just’ was completely unnecessary. No amount of money would make the crime less heinous. I don’t care if there was four billion dollars in that register, Ellie.”

Despite all of the warnings Ellie had heard her whole life, the fact remained: waking up a human ghost was like getting struck by lightning. Extremely unlikely but dangerous enough that precautions had to be respected. When it came to attracting electricity during a thunderstorm, there were ways to improve the odds. Fly an aluminum kite. Stand under a tall tree. Wave a metal pole at the tumultuous clouds. Likewise, if somebody wanted to wake up a ghost, they could repeat the deceased’s name, disturb their burial ground, or otherwise meddle with the dead person’s body, possessions, home, or family.

“Nathaniel Grace learned a lesson from the fire. He made friends with other Pilgrims by hurting the people who frightened them more than he did.”

Page five continued, with a picture of a boxy building, “Nathaniel Grace made a hospital with the money he earned. He saved many lives.”

[...]

The final page displayed an anatomically accurate drawing of a leech. It belonged in a biology textbook, not a historical biography. Brett concluded: “Nathaniel Grace is a great American because he saved the lives of many people like presidents and war heroes. Without him, the country would not be the same and there would be no Willowbee. He founded the town to be a good home.”

If the US had also controlled an army of dead hounds, there’d probably be no Lipan left alive. It was difficult enough to survive their deadly magic, powers that weren’t the same as ghosts. Magic came from an alien place, and the use of too much corrupted the natural state of the Earth. That’s what scientists were reporting, anyway. [...] In fact, that year, the Intergovernmental Panel on Magic Use, which was backed by over two hundred scientists, published a warning that excessive magic posed an existential threat, one nobody understood completely and very few people seemed to take seriously.

Ellie’s ancestors had known—hundreds of years before any report by an intergovernmental group—the damage magic could cause.

“If I’m right,” Dan said, “you won’t need to stop waking ghosts, as long as you’re mindful of the difference between the dead and the living.” He wagged a finger at Ellie, as if lecturing a class of rowdy toddlers. “There is a difference. The dead should not seem like kin. When they do? They might devour you.”

“Be patient. Have faith.” Vivian put her arms around Lenore and Ellie and pulled them into a hug.

“Faith in what?” Lenore asked, and she sounded genuinely curious and a little bit spiteful. “Justice?”

“Family,” Vivian said. “It’s all we’ve ever had.”

“But you knew the story,” Vivian said. “Somebody told it to you?”

“Yeah. A teacher. I can’t remember which one. Could have been during English class a few years ago.”

“Did it help you learn about volume, density, and displacement?”

“Uh-huh. It’s hard to forget a story about Archimedes streaking through a city. The mental image alone is burned into my mind.”

“It helps my students, too,” she said. “That’s why some stories are particularly important. They’re more than entertainment. They’re knowledge.”

“Only one kind of monster uses guns,” Vivian said.

“He’s just one man.” Trevor leaned forward, rooted to the grave. “There are millions more who will continue to treat our family and land like garbage. Think of them like pests.”

“Pests...”

“Termites in your house. Locusts in your field. It doesn’t make any difference if you crush just one insect. The swarm will devour your home.”

Ellie always reasoned that Six-Great lived in a more violent era, one that transformed pacifists into warriors. Six-Great didn’t fight because she enjoyed it; she had to protect her family and friends from genocide.

There were still people to protect. That, Ellie now realized, would never change.

“Everything I do tonight will be for him. For justice.” The exorcist corpse’s head flopped to one side, as if trying to study Ellie with its cloudy eyes. “He loved you,” the emissary said. “He loved all his family.”

“I love Trevor,” she said. “Always will.”

“Someday, you’ll be reunited,” the emissary promised. “If you want that day to come sooner rather than later, interfere with my vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” she wondered. “Didn’t you say ‘justice’ a moment ago?”

“In this case, they’re the same.”

Vivian wondered if she’d made the right decision by bringing Ellie to the party. She admired her daughter’s courage. Of course she did! But the world presented too many opportunities for brave people to risk their lives. Wisdom helped reduce those risks; the inexperience of youth increased them.

“I am a neutral force,” Dr. Allerton said. “My healing balances my harm. Ellie, I tried to help you and your family. Did you know that I collected scholarship money for Trevor’s child? Well? Enough to pay for college! For grad school! You just wouldn’t let it go. Everything is a mess now.”

“Shut it,” Ellie said. “All the scholarships in the world can’t be a father to Gregory.”

How long would it take for the earth to heal? When would the sap on the metal-scarred tree harden into amber? It seemed odd that an act so violent and cruel could leave gemstones in its wake.

“I guess I should start from the beginning,” she said. “When I was a kid, my parents took me to the pound. That’s where I met a dog...”

She’d say his name and tell his story. Maybe, someday, he’d follow the words home.

“There’s a lot I want to learn,” Ellie said. “My mother, her mother, and my grandmother’s mother taught me about the way of our land, our dead, and our monsters, but the times have changed. I need college to prepare for the next Willowbee.”