Boundary Born (Boundary Magic Book 3) - Melissa F. Olson Page 0,95

were remnants.

Once I recognized them, it hit me that they were everywhere. Mostly they stuck to the paths, floating along between the lights, but every now and then I saw a wisp of light wandering around in the darkness like it was trying to find its friends. I realized that if I really focused on one of them I could make out more details: clothes, hair length, that kind of thing. Most of them were wretched-looking: visibly sick, frozen in fear, or obviously injured. A few even had nooses dangling from their necks. Some of them just seemed confused and lost, like they didn’t realize they were dead, and that was even sadder than the others.

But why were they all here? If they were the remnants of the people who were buried beneath my feet, why were they here instead of where they’d actually died?

The draugr. I had the sudden feeling that Lysander was the answer to both questions. Hugh Mark, the first remnant I’d met at the Boulderado, had been drawn to me. As an active boundary witch, I represented the connection between life and death; how could he not want to talk to me? Wraiths, like the ones I’d encountered in the sculpture park, were stronger and meaner, which was why Lysander had needed Sophia to trap them in crystals. But remnants were just weak psychic imprints, and these fluttering, bewildered moths had finally found a flame.

I was a little relieved—without Emil and his crystals, I doubted Lysander would have any wraiths along tonight. But the number of remnants floating around the Gardens was still completely unnerving. I swallowed hard. I would just have to ignore them.

Stepping onto the path, I focused on choosing a direction to search. Where would Lysander be? My original plan had been to locate him by calling him from Emil’s phone, which would have the added benefit of distracting him—hopefully enough for me to hit him with the shotgun. But now that I was standing here, threading my way through hundred-and-fifty-year-old ghosts, I understood just how big the property was. There were any number of buildings with their own basements and hidey-holes, not to mention twenty-some acres of foliage. The task of finding one person on such a huge property seemed ridiculous. I would only get one shot at calling him on Emil’s phone before he got suspicious. I needed to narrow down the search area somehow. With no better ideas, I pulled the Smith & Wesson, picked a direction, and began inching along the path with the weapon at my side.

I tried to give the drifting remnants a wide berth, but as much as I tried to maneuver around them, it was like being stuck in a pool of jellyfish. You would avoid bumping into one, only to careen into two more. Each time one passed through me, I had a brief flash of an image: the blast of gunfire, hospital sheets, a crowd looking up at me from below. Then the remnant would reach the other side of me, and I’d be left feeling desolate, cold, and hollowed-out. Each time this happened I felt as if it were taking a piece away from me. Soon I was fighting against a rising panic at the thought of so many of them. How much more could I take before I curled up in a ball and gave up?

At last I spotted a small map stand just ahead, and I rushed toward it gratefully. The light from the solar torches wasn’t bright enough for me to see the image, so I risked pulling out Emil’s phone and turning on the screen. Bending so my face was as close to the stand as possible, I scanned the map carefully and determined that I was in something called the Crossroads Garden, which seemed as likely a place as any for the most powerful boundary witch in history. Since he wasn’t here, though, I kept scanning. How would a super-witch kill a little time in a botanic garden? No pun intended. I ran a finger down the list of exhibit titles, hoping something would jump out at me.

And then something did. My eyes nearly skipped right over the words, and I had to go back and reread them to make sure. I smiled to myself. Yeah, if I were Lysander, I’d probably find it amusing to lurk near that particular exhibit. I looked up, oriented myself away from the remnants, and stole along the path toward one