Chapter 13 #2
Mike was an early bird, so Gwen usually spent most nights in her old bedroom to avoid disturbing him.
The moment I opened the door, I was reminded of just how well I knew her.
Gwendolyn sat curled up in a large illuminated armchair, drawing something on her tablet.
“I thought you'd already gone to sleep,” she said, setting the tablet aside. “You always go to bed earlier than the rest of us.”
Before bed, we'd exchanged a few words, so she already knew what had happened at the hospital.
“I can't sleep,” I admitted. “But I think I know how we can find out what really happened at my parents' house.”
Immediately, Gwen straightened.
“I'm listening.”
She rolled her chair closer.
Holding up the hoodie I'd stolen from the chair in my room, I smiled.
“How about I explain on the way?”
Gwendolyn didn't hesitate.
Not even for a second.
She stood, threw a light-blue hoodie over her shoulders, and headed straight for the door.
No questions.
No complaints.
No reminders that it was one in the morning.
Just trust.
That was exactly why I adored her.
******
“So you think the spirits might've seen what happened here?” Gwendolyn asked, keeping her eyes on the road leading toward my parents' house.
“It's one of my theories.” I shrugged.
Bringing Gwen with me was a risk.
Especially now.
But keeping this from her would've meant I didn't trust her.
And I did.
Not only with my secrets.
I trusted her to protect herself, too.
“It just didn't occur to me right away,” I admitted.
“It's actually a good idea,” Gwen said. “Considering you can see all spirits at night.”
That part was true.
For some reason, my gift always sharpened after dark.
During the day, I could only see a handful of spirits.
At night, the world belonged to them.
Rinar—an old spirit acquaintance I hadn't spoken to in years—once explained that souls connected to the cycle of life could sometimes be seen during daylight if they remained trapped in the astral world.
The rest emerged only after sunset.
And there were far more of them than most people could ever imagine.
As we turned into the neighborhood where my parents' house stood, I spotted it immediately.
The Greynori estate had always been famous for its garden.
Three gardeners maintained it year-round so the entire neighborhood would envy it.
Tonight, tiny flashes of light flickered among the trees.
Momos.
Of course.
They were drawn to places overflowing with abundance.
In my parents' case, that abundance had always been money.
Gwen parked Dwayne's car at the curb, and we headed toward the backyard.
The closer we got, the more Momos appeared among the hedges and flowerbeds.
Little glowing shapes drifted through the darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
Momos couldn't speak.
They communicated through expressions made of light—large glowing eyes and curved smiles that appeared and vanished across their featureless bodies.
Most people would've found them adorable.
I knew better.
Spirits rarely gathered in large numbers without a reason.
The spirits I was looking for were called Raars.
They were something like house spirits, except Raars lived in groups of ten or fifteen at a time.
And they were frighteningly intelligent.
Their entire existence revolved around learning.
Books.
Conversations.
Labels on jars.
Forgotten notes tucked into drawers.
They wanted to know everything.
Raars adored reading.
In fact, they didn't even need to open a book to know what was written inside. One glance at the cover was enough for the entire story to unfold within their minds.
They didn't even need to open a book to understand it.
When I was a child, hiding in my parents' library, the Raars used to read to me for hours.
Sometimes a few of them would curl up on the shelves in my room, retelling stories they'd discovered that day.
The second the ruined backyard came into view—still untouched by anyone—I forced myself not to look at the pool.
Not at the red water.
Not at the bloody streaks smeared across the wall.
Instead, I searched for the Raars.
Unlike most spirits, they were easy to recognize.
Raars were flat.
Almost two-dimensional.
They looked like living stickers floating through the air, with tiny childlike bodies and star-shaped heads.
And every star was different.
Different color.
Different shade.
According to the Raars themselves, no two stars had ever been identical.
“What were they called again?” Gwen asked, crossing her arms. “Raars?”
Unlike me, she studied the destruction greedily, as though she could pull answers directly from the wreckage itself.
“Can you see them?”
“Not yet.”
Then something moved in the reflection of the glass patio doors.
I froze.
Two tiny star-shaped figures were pressed against the glass.
Watching us.
Watching me.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Apparently, they didn't recognize me.
I hadn't been back here since I was eighteen.
Had I really changed that much?
I lifted my hand and waved, trying to call them closer.
Nothing.
Not even a twitch.
I raised a brow.
The two little stars continued staring at me from behind the glass as if I were the stranger here.
“I think they assume we're just more strangers breaking into the house,” I sighed.
Then both tiny stars suddenly darted away from the glass and vanished deeper into the darkness.
“They ran off,” I informed Gwen.
“To hell with them. There's some kind of clue here.”
Gwen crouched beside the pool.
The mere thought of looking into it again made my stomach twist.
“Either someone in your family suddenly developed a passion for dark aesthetics...”
She leaned closer.
“...or something very bad happened here.”
“How are you so calm around all this?” I asked, pinching my nose shut in a pointless attempt to block out the coppery smell of blood.
Moving closer, I crouched beside her.
“When I was little, I wanted to become an investigator.”
Gwen pointed toward something dark resting at the bottom of the pool.
At first glance, it looked like a medallion.