Ghost and Rabbit
The tiny flicker of a spirit meandered through the town of Three-Peaks, silent and unseen, and careful to avoid the attention of the bright or fell things that likewise roamed that penumbral world between life and death. No few of them would consume her without a thought, and some might out of deliberate malice. It had been nearly four hundred years since she had enjoyed strength enough to leave the shelter of her ring of stones and witness the lives of people again.
The world had changed in those years. Greatly. That wasn’t exactly a surprise, but the severity of it was disorienting. She was glad to have the opportunity to stretch her legs, as it were, unobserved, and to carefully watch and listen to the regular goings-on of everyday life in this age. The speech was familiar, but the accents were not. The architecture had become grander in scale and less inspiring at the same time. The clothing was...shocking on a number of levels. And absolutely everyone seemed incorrigibly addicted to the illusions cast on the surface of little crystals in their hands or larger versions mounted to at least one wall in practically every home and building.
In light of all this, perhaps the least shocking thing was that someone noticed her.
She was looking into the window of a shop, marveling at the assortment of packaged food and beverages just waiting to be picked up by passing customers, when she realized the young man standing near to her was not doing the same. He was looking at her. She even double-checked her other side just to be sure there was nothing of note going on in that direction. “You...can see me,” she declared at last to the Mouse staring at her through broad spectacles.
“Well, yeah,” the teenager answered, as if that should have been obvious, “You kind of stand out. How do you do that?”
The spirit tilted her head, and looked down at her ghostly form (her soul conformed somewhat to her own self-image even in the twilight realm). “I’m sorry, young sir, but I’m not quite sure what you mean.” Frankly, that he could see her at all was the odd part, though he seemed to think something more specific about her appearance was strange.
“Oh! Sorry, are you older than me? It’s hard for me to tell with Fennecs,” the Mouse apologized, her choice of words suggesting to him that she was probably older than he thought she looked. He crouched down to peer at her more closely. “I didn’t mean to stare. It’s a beautiful shade of blue,” he elaborated, moving a little closer and adjusting his glasses as though they might be the culprit in whatever he was seeing, “But how do you get that glow-effect? What brand is the dye? It’s awesome!”
The small Fennec ghost blinked her large eyes...then smiled slyly, and spun around on one foot to let him appreciate the effect briefly. “Isn’t it? I imagine your girlfriend would adore it, wouldn’t she?” the Fennec grinned.
The Mouse blushed. “Oh..uh...I don’t have a girlfriend, actually. But I don’t know any girl that wouldn’t love a look like that, especially around Harvest Eve. It’s a great effect for a ghost,” he complimented.
Pieces fell into place. That night was coming up, indeed. It was encouraging to her that people still observed it, apparently. “You don’t have one? I find that hard to believe for such a handsome young man,” she smiled again, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Well then, I have a proposal: meet me at the head of the trail outside the lodge that stands at the foot of Witch-Mountain. If you’ll help me perform a little ritual for Harvest Eve, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
He blinked at her several times, the blush spreading from his cheeks to his large ears. “Uh...I’m not sure I’m old enough to be—”
She cut him off with a laugh. Oh, the boy had no idea! “You look old enough for my tastes. And I look young enough to fool you at first glance, so we’ll be a fine match. What’s your name, young man?”
“D-Devon,” he answered, surprised by her laugh, and her reasoning. In truth, he was only fifteen and just into his first year of high-school...and definitely didn’t expect to find a girlfriend so soon, especially outside of school.
“Mmm...and do you have any other friends, Devon?” she continued smiling in a way that drew him in and made him forgetful of what he was saying.
“Sure. A few. Just no girlfriend,” he confessed.
“Excellent. My ritual calls for at least two besides you and me, so bring them along. I look forward to meeting them.” The little Fennec made a curtsey with her tail. “I am Organa. Organa Lightwillow. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Harvest Eve,” she assured him, turning to stroll off down the street toward the mountain, waving her tail teasingly at him as she went.
That had been a fortuitous expedition. The spirit had not expected to encounter anyone gifted with Sight, but that was all to her favor. The timing could hardly be better, too. At last...at long last...she might soon return to the lands of the living.
For three more days and nights she roamed the town, learning and waiting. You’d think after four hundred years that a mere seventy-two hours would be trivial, but those years would consume a lot of one’s patience as well. Despite her attempts to distract herself, these last few days were an agonizing wait.
She flitted to the head of the trail as soon as dawn broke that morning, and remained nearby for the entire day. The impatient spirit had hoped he would come in the morning. She was sure he would come by the afternoon. When he did not appear until nearly dark, she was frowning with impatience. He approached with three others: a tubby brown Bear, a bright-eyed Raccoon, and an exceptionally frowny Rabbit. This last one appeared to be a few years older than the other boys, wearing a deep black jacket with everything but his chin hidden inside the attached hood, and resting a sturdy club across his shoulders. By the way the others talked with each other, occasionally sharing anxious glances at him, he was not actually a part of their circle.
It mattered not to her, as long as he did not interfere. “I’m telling you guys,” Devon seemed to be trying to convince his friends he wasn’t dragging them out to the edge of town for a prank, “She’s this cute little Fennec girl, and she said she wanted help with a holiday ‘ritual’. Yeah, she’s probably going to jump-scare us or something, but if we tough it out...maybe she’ll keep the rest of her promise.”
“So we’re really out here on the off-chance of hooking you a girlfriend,” the Bear to his right rolled his eyes, “Glad to hear it said out loud. I don’t really mind, I guess...it’s just weird.”
“I know,” Devon nodded, a little embarrassed, before he spotted the Fennec in question sparkling in the fading dusk and waved to her, “Hey, there she is! We’re here!”
“I was starting to worry you’d forgotten me already,” Organa rebuked the Mouse in as gentle a tone as she could, eying his friends with a knowing smile. Both of them were looking further up the trail, searching among the bushes and trees, before arching dubious brows at Devon. “Your friends are about to scare you,” she warned.
“Uh, Dev,” the Raccoon started slowly, “Either your glasses are extra strong today, or you need them replaced. There’s no one out here.”
Devon gave him a stupefied look. “Hey! Don’t be rude! She’s...right...” He was gesturing at her with his hand when all the pieces seemed to come together in his head. They weren’t teasing about her being short. To clench the deal, Organa was floating several inches off the ground, her cold nose practically touching his, when he turned back toward her.
“Do you still like the effect?” she asked with a smug grin, “It is perfect for a ghost.” His chin threatened to unhinge from the rest of his skull, and she laughed...though not too cruelly. “Don’t worry! I was expecting this. That’s why I want you to perform the ritual: so that they can see and hear me, too! Oh, it’s been ages since I could talk to anyone! I have a lot of questions to ask, and I’m sure—”
“Dude, you just gonna stand there all day, or are we going somewhere?” the Bear asked, oblivious to his interruption, “Maybe she meant the part of the trail where the pavement stops? You could still call it a road up to this point.” He was trying hard to give the Mouse the benefit of the doubt, but his expression was not nearly as sympathetic as his voice.
Devon covered his face with his hands. “Uuuuh...you guys are not going to believe this...”
It was true. They didn’t believe him. At all. In fact, the Raccoon looked genuinely worried after his explanation. But they were good friends, and (however reluctantly) decided to humor him for as long as it didn’t seem dangerous. So Organa floated a little further along the trail with Devon following her, and his friends (and one quiet Rabbit) following him. Just out of sight of the Masked-Fox Lodge, she drifted off the trail, leading the nervous group a little into the woods to a clear spot among the trees. There, she directed Devon in sweeping a little spot clear of leaves and grass, and drawing out a series of strange characters in a rough circle.
It was about this time that his friends started to take him more seriously. Art was apparently not his best subject, and none of them had ever seen iconography like this. Leaning casually up against a tree off to one side, the Rabbit’s thoughts on the matter were hard to read. He’d maintained a fairly steady frown through the entire encounter.
As the last character was added to the ring, the air around the edges became hazy and distorted, carrying little droplets of starlight up from the ground for several feet like a magical heat-haze. Devon’s friends’ became a little slack-jawed at the effect.
“Now,” the little Fennec smiled at the Mouse, “All that’s left is to add a drop of blood to the ring. One for each person who desires to see me.”
Devon blinked, like he didn’t understand what she’d said. “...Blood?” he repeated hesitantly.
“Did you just say ‘blood’?” his Raccoon friend immediately took a step back, “Huh-uh. Magic and runes are one thing, but blood always means bad business. Dude, do you watch movies?”
“She says we put just a drop on one of the runes, and then we’ll be able to see and hear her,” Devon explained, though obviously squeamish at the thought himself. “But...uh...I don’t have anything that could—”
All ears went up at the sound of a soft click, and all eyes snapped to the Rabbit. He’d pulled a pocket-knife from the back pocket of his jeans, apparently, flicked it open and was now offering the handle to the anxious Mouse.
That proved more than the trio’s nerves could stand, and they went all-out sprinting for the trail. The Rabbit pulled the hood back from his face, sneering at them as they ran. “For fuck’s sake,” he huffed, “And I thought my class was full of pussies.”
Unseen, unheard, and unfelt by him, Organa was doing her ghostly best to kick him in the ankle. Her plan was all ruined. Harvest Eve would be well over by the time she managed to track down Devon again, much less convince him to attempt this ritual...or any other, more importantly. The partition between their world would grow thick and strong for another year. He might not even be able to see her come spring. All because this oaf, whoever he was, had spooked them more than a ghost!
Much to her surprise, the Rabbit stepped closer to the circle, examining the strange characters thoughtfully. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision, and ran the blade of the knife across the ball of his thumb, squeezing out a nice, full drop that he let fall into the shallow rut of one of the runes. What had been a haze erupted into a starlit aurora, rippling like a silk curtain in a gentle breeze. He whistled, sounding more impressed than he looked, and paced around it like he was trying to see something inside, but wasn’t quite sure he should touch it.
Organa strolled into the circle. Her small form became immediately visible to him, albeit a little distorted by the unsteady window through which he viewed her. “You...are not like the others,” Organa mused, giving him a curious smile through the veil, “You don’t look much older, but your bearing is completely different. What is your name?”
He squatted at the edge of the circle, as close as he could get without touching the distortion in the air, and gave her a curious look in return. “Oro. Are you that ghost he was going on about?”
Organa nodded slowly. “Organa. Do you not know fear?”
“Not this kind,” he answered with a simple sincerity that surprised her, “When I heard them talking about meeting some girl in the woods, I didn’t know whether to expect foul-play or just some senior’s idea of a prank. I only came along to make sure they didn’t hurt themselves, but I guess the kid was legit,” he shrugged. “So what was the plan after they activated this...whatever I’m looking at?”
“A tear in the veil between the material and spiritual realms,” Organa explained as clearly as she could, though it probably made no real sense to anyone not trained in the ways of magic, “And my goal is to fully and finally escape the prison of stone I have been trapped inside for roughly four hundred years.”
Oro quirked a dubious brow. “You look more like a kid than a lady...lady. How’s some half-pint teenager supposed to get you out anyway?”
Her smile turned sly, but that didn’t seem to phase him at all. “Oh, there is a very long and interesting story behind all that, but we don’t have time for half of it. Until I can tell it in full, the important bits are that I am in need of a champion, and a young and strapping male is most suitable for the task.” She also stood at the very edge of the circle closest to him, the tip of her nose disappearing at it touched the partition between their worlds. “Will you be my champion? I offered to be that young man’s girlfriend, and will happily be the same to you.”
The Rabbit scoffed. “Not interested. You got nothing on the girl I want...not even a pulse. What does this ‘champion’ need to do, though? Can’t be too hard if any teenager will do, and I’ve got nothing better going on tonight.”
She tilted her head, intrigued by this Rabbit, who snubbed reward while extending aid, and stepped forward where his peers fled in terror. Even in her day, the latter reaction would have been much more common...and sensible. “Freeing me from my prison and being my champion are two very different tasks, though one person can accomplish both. Which are you offering to fulfill?”
He frowned like she’d insulted him. “The one with less commitment. I’m not big on prisons. I might consider the other when you tell me what you mean by ‘champion’, and why you need one.”
Organa chuckled to herself. He might be surprised which of the two really required more commitment. But she would not disillusion him just yet. He was offering, and she was in need. “Very well. But you will not be able to see or hear me once I leave this circle, so in order to guide you I will need you to carry me.”
He arched a suspicious brow. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
“In your left eye,” she said, surprising him by reaching out with a finger and poking him right in said eye.
“Fuck!” he snarled, taking a step back and pressing his palm against his face, “That burns!”
“My apologies,” her voice rang in his left ear, though he couldn’t find her when he turned that direction...or any direction, for that matter. The “tear” she’d been standing in was likewise empty. “Quickly, Oro: this way,” she urged, though he couldn’t tell which way she was trying to indicate, “That burning sensation is your soul attempting to purge me...and you have a very strong one. I cannot stay here long.”
Swinging his stinging eyes around him, in one particular direction Oro found a trail of light leading off into the woods. “That’s it,” the voice in his ear coaxed.
“Erg, I already regret agreeing to this,” the Rabbit snarled, blinking in a futile effort to get his eyes to agree with one another, and began jogging off along the spectral trail. It wove through the woods along the side of the mountain, worked its way above and behind the Masked-Fox Lodge, and wound around the other side almost to within sight of some residential neighborhoods. Almost. If there was any upside to following this ghost-path through the woods in the middle of the night, it was that it at least chose a reasonably clear route and illuminated the ground beneath his feet well enough to prevent him from tripping.
Eventually the trail terminated at a ring of large standing stones surrounding a little clearing in the forest. In the middle of the stones was a small, burnt-out husk of an old hut, now barely more than a rough collection of logs holding each other up. “Augh!” Oro groaned again as the pain in his eye flared up.
“Ahhh,” Organa sighed, as if in relief, as she stepped away from the Rabbit and strolled casually toward the hut, “Welcome to my home,” she smiled over her shoulder.
“Your decor could use some updating,” Oro growled, rubbing his eye as his sight gradually corrected itself. Each of the large stones had a single, large rune carved on the face that turned toward the center, illuminating the entire area in a dull blue light. “So this is where you died? House fire?” he guessed just based on the remains of the hut.
“No,” the Fennec corrected, “This is where I lived, and where my spirit has remained, within the shelter of the stones,” she gestured toward the ring around the area. “Although I did die in a fire. Good guess.”
“Thanks,” he grunted, sounding anything but complimented, “So what now?” He’d honestly expected to be asked to bury a body or retrieve some personal token or something, but if this wasn’t where she died and clearly nothing but the shell of her home remained, he wasn’t sure what else to look for.
“Now you just have to remember this place,” she shrugged, turning back toward him, “And decide which role you really want to play on my behalf: hero or champion?”
“Neither of those is a good label for me,” the Rabbit grunted, “And I’m about one more non-answer away from telling you to go fuck yourself and heading home. Whatever I decide, what do I have to do?”
The Fennec pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “You are remarkable, but not all in flattering ways,” she sighed, then gestured once more to the luminous stones around the hut, “These stones are both my shelter and cage. The further I stray from them, the weaker I become, and more vulnerable to other spirits. It’s only recently that I’ve have become strong enough to roam as far as town. In order to be free,” she met his eyes squarely, and somberly, “I require the life-force of other creatures to increase my strength. With enough, I can return to the world of the living, and walk as you walk once again. It has been a long and arduous process to get this far. You can hasten it by bringing me living sacrifices to feed on.” She paused here to let that sink in.
The Rabbit quirked a brow. “You mean animals, or are we getting into demon-cult shit here?”
In truth, she was surprised he possessed wits enough to ask about the finer points. She half expected him to run off like those other teenagers had at this point. “Animals will suffice, but it will take a great many. Self-awareness is coincidental with a strong life-force. A butcher’s work for a month, or a single—”
“Fuck that,” he cut her off before she could get too into the weeds, “I’m not down for murder, and there’s only so much chopping heads off chickens I could do before I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Sorry, lady, but you’re stuck.” His face said he genuinely regretted leading her on, but he was adamant about where his lines were drawn.
That hardly surprised her. “I suspected as much,” she shrugged, “Which is why I first asked you to be my champion.”
“And what does that involve?” the Rabbit huffed, plopping down on his tail in the dirt as if expecting this to take a while. Or maybe his feet were tired after the jog up here.
“Less frequent, more intense work,” she admitted, “You would be my eyes and ears in the world, and occasionally my chariot, allowing me to leave my ring with greater safety. I would also call on you to defend me if I am in danger.”
“Body-guard, huh?” Oro grunted, resting his chin on his fist, “That’s more up my alley, at least. You won’t be riding around in my eye all the time, will you?”
She shook her head quickly. “Oh no. More than an hour or two in there and you are certain to purge me, and quite possibly destroy me. I’m not trying to flatter you when I say your soul is strong. No, there is a much more comfortable means for my champion to carry me.” She tilted her head inquisitively. “Are you...willing? To be my champion?”
He gave her a hard, narrow look. “Depends. I feel bad for you being trapped here after I said I’d help, but I’m no charity worker, especially when the job declares up-front that it’s dangerous. So, what have you got for me?”
Organa chuckled. “Not unwise, nor unreasonable. But surely you realize I am utterly lacking in coin, and you’ve already refused companionship. What else do you imagine I might have to offer?”
“Cut the innocent act,” the Rabbit grunted, “You’ve survived in this weird life for four hundred years. You know rituals and runes and even how to resurrect yourself. When you say you died in a fire, I’m tempted to think it also involved a stake. That makes you less than trustworthy, if the stories are to be believed.” Her shocked look told him he’d hit at least a few nails right on the head, and he snorted in amusement. “Well I’m not sure I believe all the stories, knowing the kinds of tales that go around school about me...but I did do things to earn having stories told. So let’s just say I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself, one way or the other, and I suspect you know a thing or two that could be valuable even after centuries. A potion recipe. Some long-lost medicine. Which bridge the trolls hide their treasure under. Something.”
Her look gradually turned from shock to approval, and she nodded her head slowly. “Shrewd. You are a surprising young man, and I find it hard to believe coin is what you actually need, much less want. I have stated my goals clearly. Tell me now: what do you desire?”
His amusement devolved into a sneer. “Yeah, well, things change in four hundred years. I’m actually pretty hard-up for cash, and bad at most things that earn it. What I want is an honest way to make a living, so I can honestly propose to the girl I like. A brute thug is not the man she deserves, and the kind of life he’d bring contains only misery.”
“Hmhm...yes, much changes over the centuries, but not the pride of men, it seems,” she smiled broadly, “Well then...yes, I know a way an honest and brave man can make a king’s fortune for himself. But it is absolutely something only my champion could do.”
“No murder,” he growled, still suspicious, “Not even ‘just intimidation’. And no stealing.”
“No no,” she assured him, hands spread in a gesture of openness, “Like I said: a way for an honest man, but only my champion. So...will you be that champion?” She extended her hand toward him, even though he would not be able to clasp it even if he tried.
Oro thought about it for a long minute, weighing the possibilities (and probably his trust in her). At last he shrugged. “Fine. I’ll keep you safe from...whatever it is you’re afraid of. Do I get a plasma beam or something?”
Organa’s head tilted. “A...what?” she asked, perplexed.
“Nevermind. What do I do?” he huffed, realizing he shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t get cultural references...even fairly old ones.
“Nothing much,” she smiled, pointing to the nearest standing stone, “Chip a piece off that stone. Small, but large enough to engrave a character on.”
Oro quirked a brow at the rock. “I didn’t bring a chisel, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did. So crude work had better be good enough,” he warned, getting back to his feet and picking up his bat.
The Fennec resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I would expect nothing else from you at this stage.”
The Rabbit seemed content with that, tapping his bat against the old, weathered stone to gauge how solid it was and where best to attempt to chip it. Eventually he settled on a spur along one corner, just wide enough to wedge a blade behind and showing faint crack lines already. “This is gonna wreck the hell out of my knife,” he grumbled as he opened the pocketknife and carefully worked the blade into the crack he’d chosen. He then tapped the handle with his bat until a small, thin sliver popped off the main stone like a loose scale.
“Okay, show me the lines,” he grunted, taking a seat with his back against the stone and the scale and his knife in his hands. Organa, immune to the blade and partially transparent anyway, let him follow her finger across the face with the tip of his knife, scratching a small pattern more than engraving it. Once the gist of it was drawn, he deepened the etching as much as his abused pocketknife would allow, being careful not to crack the whole thing in two in the process. “Good enough?” he asked, letting her see his crude handiwork once he was pretty sure he was about to break it.
The Fennec nodded, her eyes shining with excitement. “More than enough. All that remains is binding the oath.”
Oro closed his fist around the little stone, pointing one finger at her spectral nose. “You’re hiring me. We’re not getting married. Right?”
Organa laughed. “Indeed, though in this line of work the distinction can get blurry sometimes. You will swear to come to my call whenever I may summon you, to guard my person and my property with your strength, and do all in your power to see to my safety in all that I do, even at cost of your own life. I will swear to reward you from my bounties for your labors, at a minimum to provide for your essential needs in my security, and honor your kin when your duties are well discharged...though we both will hope I don’t have to make good on that part,” she chuckled, seeing his eyes gloss over at some of the verbiage. “In short: You will keep me safe, and I will pay you for it, with bonuses depending on the threat, and have you buried if you die. Your last bonus will be given to your family. Understood?”
“Yeeaah,” he gave her a dubious look, “Let’s do hold off on that last one as long as possible.”
“Agreed,” she smiled, motioning for him to open his hand. He did so, offering her the little rune-scratched stone, and she laid her spectral hand atop it. “So swearing, we are sealed, your life to my life, my profit to your profit, until all duty is discharged or undone.” The little scratches he’d made in the stone flared, and Organa’s form seemed to liquify and be drawn into the rough lines. “Ahhh,” her voice sighed from the stone, “Much more comfortable.”
The Rabbit quirked a brow. “That’s it? You ride around in this thing wherever I carry it?”
“More or less,” she confirmed, “You might think of it as an extension of my ring. Between those wards, your arms, and being obscured by your life-force, I am tolerably safe in traveling. Better yet, while the stone is against your skin, I can see through your eyes and hear through your ears. Find some twine and make a necklace of it for convenience,” Organa suggested.
“Fine,” Oro grunted, giving the stone a little toss in the air before stuffing it (along with his now-cold hands) in the pocket of his hoodie, “So when do I start getting paid, and how much?”
Her voice, now coming from his head more than the pebble in his pocket, chuckled in amusement. “Patience, my champion. No retainer receives his wages on the first day...unless he worked out a surprisingly good contract, or was preceded by great reputation. But I do have high hopes for you, and you will not be disappointed with the rewards for living up to them, I promise.”
The Rabbit sighed, already beginning to think he’d just made a mistake. “Promises don’t fill empty stomachs. And now I’m hungry, so we’re going back to the Hope house. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow to start looking around.” He hoped the silence in his ears was an indication she had no objections to that.
“Welcome home!” came a heartfelt greeting from the kitchen as he slipped through the door. The house smelled like warm caramel and baked apples. Nayeli poked her head around the corner to see who had arrived, and gave him a suspicious grin. “Been out harassing the trick-or-treaters? You could’ve just stayed home and terrified them from the porch. I wouldn’t mind being spared candy-duty for an hour or so,” she teased, returning to the kitchen to shove a bag of popcorn in the microwave. “The caramel apples should be cool enough to bite now, if you want one. Could I talk you into watching a horror movie with me? Mom’s going to be working all night again, and I can’t handle watching those alone in the dark.”
“Keep the lights on, then,” he rolled his eyes, but followed her into the kitchen and snagged three of the six apples off the tray before plunking himself down on the couch.
“That breaks the spirit of the night,” she winked, collecting the popcorn and flicking the light-switch before joining him in one of the family’s annual traditions. While she was selecting a movie from the streaming service, Oro discreetly pulled the stone out of the pocket of his hoodie and tucked it into the long sleeve of the tee-shirt underneath, trusting the snug elastic cuff to keep it contained. Organa had said the stone needed to be against his skin for her to see and hear through him, and she might as well begin bringing her cultural references up to speed right now. His only concern was that she would try to talk to him during the movie, while he was dead-set on ignoring her. Devon’s friends had been concerned about his mental health. Oro didn’t intend to give Nayeli more reasons than she already had to question his.
The ghost in the stone remained silent throughout the movie, either rapt in fascination or conscientious of his concern. The only interruptions were the occasional trick-or-treater, and those stopped coming after the first half-hour of the movie. Oro nearly fell asleep, and probably would have if Nayeli didn’t occasionally fall victim to a jump-scare, which in turn made Oro jump as she flinched against him. He (kind of) understood why she would endure this as a chance to spend time with Mrs. Hope (who had no problem watching horror shows of any kind), but could not imagine why she would subject herself to it any other time.
“Ugh, I am going to have such nightmares tonight,” the Lioness rolled her eyes at herself as she and Oro cleaned up the couch of the popcorn she’d managed to spill, and got the living room ship-shape for Mrs. Hope to come home to in the morning, then bid each other goodnight and retired to their respective rooms.
“...I am both curious and concerned about a host of things,” the ghost in the stone advised him as soon as he was in the privacy of his room, “Starting with the public perception of magic and its users. That ‘movie’ was less accurate than the fairy-tales people in my day told their children.”
“Congratulations,” the Rabbit grumbled, flopping onto his bed without so much as undressing, “You’re smarter than far too many modern adults. It’s supposed to be exciting, for entertainment, not historically accurate. You had plays back then, right? Same concept, smaller stage, bigger budget, better actors.”
“Uh-huh...,” her voice was dubious on at least one of those points, but couldn’t be bothered to press it just now, “Centuries of culture-shift aside, was that your sister or your woman?”
“Neither...yet,” Oro growled, “The Hopes are kind people letting me stay with them. That’s all.”
His tone told her to tread carefully on this topic if she wanted answers, which intrigued her all the more, and she could guess easily enough that Nayeli was probably the girl he’d mentioned before. The one he wanted to earn an “honest living” for. “I see,” the ghost cooed, “And what is her mother doing, that she expects to be out until after sunup?”
Oro sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the blank ceiling of his mostly empty room. Besides the bed, an empty bookcase stood across from an equally empty desk as the only furniture in the room, and the walls were bare of all except a single picture. Even that was a sketch, not a photo, taped together after clearly being torn in two, and tacked to the wall rather than framed. It was clearly a guest’s room, rather than his, to her eyes. “She’s a bartender at a local place, at least until about one in the morning. After that, if she’s ‘lucky’, she’s someone’s bed-warmer until morning, which is where she makes the better money. Mrs. Hope is soft on the eyes and a smooth talker, so she gets that job more often than not.”
Her work clearly bothered him, and while Organa thought she might know why, it seemed strange to her that a prostitute could work so openly in such a small town. Yet another major and unexpected shift in her cultural framework, and she wasn’t sure how much his ire might be justified. “Well, I’m the last person to look down on a woman for making ends meet any way she can,” the ghost offered neutrally, “Especially given I haven’t heard even a word about a man in the house besides you. When I last lived, this arrangement would have been scandalous at best, yet even this is tame compared to another house I’ve already witnessed...”
Oro snorted, and didn’t even ask who else she’d gone peeping on. “Families are fucked now,” he told her bluntly, “Nobody’s surprised by almost any ‘arrangement’. Half the kids only have one stable parent, half of the other half wish they only had one, and all the kids with just one wish they had both or none at all.”
Another subject to tread carefully around. He kept it off his face, but the mix of bitterness and wrath in his voice thickened with each word. “...I see,” she repeated cautiously.
“Yeah, and you’ll see a lot more tomorrow,” he grumbled, stretching out his arm to flick off the light, “Anyway, us mortals gotta sleep. You can ask the rest of your twenty questions in the morning.”
He could not see what lay curled in the shadows of his room, dark in a way that mortal eyes would not perceive no matter how much light shone into them. But his very breath was feeding violent and vengeful spirits, nesting in the corners and crannies around the walls and beneath the furniture. She must be careful not to extend herself beyond the confines of the stone here, or she was certain to be devoured. In spite of her long years as a spirit, and even longer life before that, Organa questioned whether she had been wise to choose this boy...or if she’d gotten in over her head.
