I stared at Anhur, his words ricocheting through my mind. What do you mean by that? You're alive? My throat tightened as the memory resurfaced—the blood, the pain.
"What do you mean by that?" I repeated numbly.
"You are not dead," Miranda said flatly, like she was pointing out something obvious.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked again, my voice rising.
Anhur's face dropped, a mix of disbelief and irritation crossing his features. "Really?" he muttered. He glanced at Miranda. "I think she's in shock."
Miranda shrugged. "It happens."
Anhur chuckled, a sound that was dry and humorless. "A ghost in shock. That's… funny."
The sharpness of his tone jolted me out of my daze. My memories rushed back in vivid detail—the cold steel against my throat, the warmth of my own blood pooling beneath me. My throat had been slit. I was sure of it.
"You're lying," I said, my voice trembling. "I saw the blood… I felt myself die."
Miranda sighed, rubbing her temples like she was dealing with an unruly child. "He's not lying," she said. "If you were actually dead, you wouldn't have this much control over your energy—or your form. If you were a vengeful ghost, you'd be stuck in a loop, reliving your death endlessly."
Her words swirled in my mind, refusing to settle. "What does that mean?" I whispered.
Before Miranda could respond, Anhur's golden eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening like a blade. "Where is your body?" he demanded. "We need to find it before someone takes or cremates it. If your body's intact, it means you're tethered. That glow earlier? That wasn't just spirit energy—it was raw magic."
"I…" My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was trapped in the space between disbelief and something resembling hope.
Miranda raised a hand, silencing me with a pointed look. "Think for a second," she said, her tone clipped. "How many ghosts do you see wandering the streets? You're not dead—you're in some kind of spirit-adjacent form. If you were truly a ghost, that exorcism would've worked. Instead, you fought back, instinctively pulling power from somewhere. Probably your body. What does that tell you?"
It didn't make sense. It couldn't. But if I wasn't fully dead, then Malik hadn't just taken Henry from me—he'd trapped me in this horrible liminal state. My voice dropped to a whisper. "He's still out there. Malik. He killed Henry. He killed me—or tried to. And he's going to do it again."
Anhur's eyes narrowed, the glow of his tattoos intensifying for a moment. "Malik?" he repeated, his tone sharp with something that sounded like recognition. "What does he look like?"
I took a steadying breath, forcing myself to describe him. "Tall. Afro-Latino. Charismatic, in a dangerous kind of way. Green eyes. Tattoos all over his body—one of a skull smoking stood out. When I was dying, his tattoos started glowing green… kind of like your tattoos."
Anhur's face went pale, his expression tightening into something unreadable. "What else?" he pressed, his voice low and urgent. "Did he say anything? Did he mention anyone?"
"No," I stammered. "He didn't… but those tattoos—"
"Green glow," Anhur murmured, cutting me off. His jaw tightened as if he were piecing something together. He turned to Miranda, his tone grave. "Did he use bokor magic?"
I shook my head. "No… at least, I didn't see him use any magic. Just those tattoos."
Anhur seemed unsatisfied. He ran a hand over his face, his tattoos flaring brighter. "What about his voice?" he asked, his tone sharper now. "Was it… distorted? Did it echo?"
I hesitated, thinking back to the moment Malik had attacked. "No. His voice was normal, but… commanding. He didn't seem afraid of anything."
Anhur's jaw clenched tighter, and he turned away, muttering under his breath. "It can't be him. He's supposed to be gone." He spun back to face me, his expression fierce. "Where do you live?"
"2743 Baker Drive," I replied, my confusion mounting.
Before I could say more, Anhur's body flickered. Flickered. For a split second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Then, in a burst of golden light, he vanished—leaving behind only the faint hum of displaced air.
"What the—" I started, but Miranda held up a hand.
"He's moving," she said calmly. "At a speed your eyes can't follow."
"Speed? What do you mean, speed?" My heart raced as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Miranda tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You didn't think he walked everywhere, did you? That glow in his tattoos? It's not just for show. Anhur's connection to the Veil gives him powers beyond what you can imagine. He can traverse distances faster than light. If he left like that, it means something's wrong—and he's heading to your house."
My stomach sank. "Why my house?"
Miranda's expression turned serious. "Because if Malik is tied to your death, your home might hold the key to whatever he's after. And Anhur isn't going to wait around for us to figure it out."
The air in the room felt heavier without Anhur's presence, his absence leaving an uncomfortable void. Miranda stepped closer, her earlier irritation replaced with something almost like empathy. "We need to figure out what Malik is after. Nobody tries to kill a banshee unless they want something very specific."
"And what's that?" I asked, though dread clawed at my chest.
Miranda glanced at the spot where Anhur had stood moments ago, then back at me. "Your voice," she said softly.
Anhur's earlier words echoed in my mind, sharp and unrelenting. "Banshees are harbingers of death. Your wail doesn't just announce it—it can manipulate it. If Malik is after your power, he's trying to control death… or cheat it."
The weight of his words settled over me like a shroud. "But why would he go after Henry?" I asked, my voice breaking. "He wasn't a part of this."
"Wasn't he?" Miranda asked, arching an eyebrow. "Think, banshee. If Malik went to this much trouble to hurt you, Henry must've been connected in some way. Maybe he knew something. Maybe he was trying to protect you."
The thought twisted in my gut. Henry had been kind, loving, ordinary—or so I'd thought. "If he was protecting me," I whispered, "then Malik killed him because he knew something important. Something worth silencing."
The faint hum and bright light of energy stirred the air again. Anhur appeared in the center of the room, his tattoos glowing so brightly they seemed to cast shadows.
His expression was grim. "Your house has been compromised," he said, his voice as sharp as a blade. "Malik was there."