“Hang on,” I objected. “If I blocked out my ability to see ghosts, how come I saw the remnants last night?”
Simon’s brow furrowed, and I could practically see him fitting pieces against each other in his mind, trying to get them to fall into place. “Wraiths happen when someone’s death leaves a serious imprint on the magical spectrum, like a psychic scar. Halloween is when that echo is the strongest,” he said. “It’s so strong, in fact, that a lot of foundings who have just a hint of witchblood, but have never activated their powers, can see the wraiths on Halloween.”
“That’s where all the stories come from,” Lily supplied. She was still noshing on carrot sticks, as though we were discussing a favorite sitcom instead of freaking ghosts. “Why humans fear graveyards at night.”
I tried to process all of that. “So you’re suggesting that because wraiths are stronger than ordinary ghosts, they were able to penetrate the magical . . . fence, or whatever, that I built in my mind when I was thirteen. Does that pretty much sum things up?” Simon nodded, and Lily rolled her eyes toward her brother, shrugging as if to say It’s his theory, not mine.
“No offense, Simon,” I said, “but that sounds goddamned ridiculous.”
His face clouded over with annoyance. “More ridiculous than chatting with your dead sister?” he asked, his voice rising. “Or sucking the life out of all the fish in a lake? How about bringing the dead back to life?”
I flinched, and Lily elbowed her brother hard. “Ow,” he protested. I glanced at the young restaurant staff, but they were all preoccupied with their headsets. “What was that for?” Simon complained.
“That was not tactful.”
He gave her a wide-eyed look. “You’re lecturing me on tact?”
“No, he’s right,” I murmured. Much as I didn’t like to think about it, I had done those things, and the idea that I’d built my own psychic wall wasn’t any less likely.
There was an awkward pause. Simon got up laboriously to refill his soda, and Lily went to fill her own plastic Nalgene bottle. Either one of them could have gotten both drinks, but I understood that they were giving me a moment to process Simon’s theory.
And I needed it. Every time I thought I had a handle on what I could do, the rules seemed to change. It was driving me nuts. I couldn’t get a grip on what I was, much less who that made me.
Charlie, I told myself firmly. The most important thing in my life was protecting Charlie, which meant doing whatever Maven wanted. And right now, she wanted me to tear down a wall I’d built in my mind. That wasn’t so bad, right?
When Simon and Lily sat back down, I glanced around the restaurant. The two students had departed, so we were alone except for a pack of busy, distracted employees. “Okay,” I said quietly, “if you’re right, and I built a mental wall when I was a kid, how do I take it down now?”
“I don’t think it’s a wall,” Simon contended. “I think it’s more like scar tissue. You were a kid; you thought remnants were scary, so you . . . well, deadened part of your boundary powers, no pun intended, so you wouldn’t see them anymore. I don’t mean you did it consciously or intentionally—more like your mind did it to protect you.”
I considered that for a moment. I’d had to see a VA shrink after my return from Iraq, and he’d used more or less the same words to explain why I couldn’t remember my last couple of days in Iraq. My brain had built a barrier to protect me. “Okay,” I said, accepting the idea, “assuming you’re right, how do I get rid of the scar tissue?”
Simon and Lily looked at each other thoughtfully, and I could practically see them doing sibling telepathy. Whenever they did that, I felt a new pang of grief for my sister.
“Check with Mom?” Lily suggested.
Simon nodded and pulled out his phone. I worked on my calzone as he ran the situation past Hazel. There was some nodding and a few uh-huhs before he finally hung up. “She has one idea, but it’s kind of a long shot.”
Something on his face must have tipped off his sister, because Lily said doubtfully, “She didn’t suggest Sybil’s friend?”
“Sybil doesn’t have friends,” he replied. “But if you mean Sybil’s thaumaturge acquaintance, then yeah, that’s what Mom’s thinking.”
Lily chewed her lower lip. “It’s probably not going to work, though.”
“Guys?” I waved my hand. “Right here. What are you talking about?”
“Sorry,” they said in unison. Simon went on, “Our older sister Sybil knows a thaumaturge witch in Las Vegas . . .”
“A witch who specializes in healing, the way you specialize in death,” Lily added helpfully.
I winced at the phrasing, but it wasn’t like she was wrong. “So you’re thinking she can heal the scar tissue?” I asked.
“If you were human, maybe,” Lily answered, shooting her brother a look. “But her magic shouldn’t work against your magic.”
“She might not be able to heal the scar tissue,” Simon reasoned, “but she can probably communicate with it.” Lily and I both gave him wide-eyed looks. He shrugged. “From what I understand, she doesn’t just give you a potion or do a spell, like some witches—”
“Sybil included,” Lily put in.
“She sort of communicates with your body on a subconscious level,” Simon went on, starting to look a little excited. “Honestly, I think it’s fascinating, and I’ve been hoping to meet her. This could be just the reason.”