Rachel Miller scowled at the restless spirit. The old cow
had done everything short of throwing her out the upstairs
window. Now, adding insult to injury, she'd increased the
static charge in the room, causing Rachel's hair to turn
into a halo of chocolate–colored cotton candy.
Awkwardly sweeping her hair into a poofy ponytail, she felt
her patience finally give. "Mrs. Famularo, I've asked you
six times to leave willingly."
Rachel slid the sleeves of her denim jacket back,
revealing the blue, tattooed sigil of the Order of Rescue
Mediums on her right wrist. She raised her right palm
toward the suddenly wide–eyed spirit.
"I'm done asking."
The old woman wasn't giving up, though. She knew what
that sigil meant––every spirit
did––yet she hiked her skirts, bared her teeth
and came rushing at Rachel with the intent to put her
through a wall.
Rachel felt the rush of power build in her, course
through the first of the sigil's five segments and pour on
toward the second. It happened in milliseconds, but it was
still too slow. Mrs. Famularo slammed into her like a
freight train, her fully manifested arms and torso
propelling them out the door, across the corridor and into
the wall. Winded from impact, Rachel still found the
strength to brace her arms against the old woman's
shoulders, just barely keeping her gnashing, foaming mouth
at bay. The spirit began to grind her needle–sharp
fingernails into Rachel's collarbone in an attempt to break
her concentration. Instead, though, Rachel swallowed her
screams, channeled her pain and anger inward and pushed her
abilities even harder.
Like a cool rush of water across her flesh, she felt the
power pour simultaneously into the third and fourth sigil
segments. Suddenly the entire hallway was filled with the
purest white light imaginable. Before either woman could
respond, there was an audible snap.
The strength ebbed out of Mrs. Famularo's hands. The old
woman's face took on a perplexed, then terrified
expression. Rachel didn't stop, urging the power into the
final portion of the sigil. The light became even brighter,
causing Mrs. Famularo to shield her eyes and cry out.
Rachel, her eyes barely narrowed to the light, sensed the
four invisible presences surrounding them before Mrs.
Famularo did.
Take it easy with her, okay? She doesn't mean to be like
this.
She never knew if all the presences inside the light
heard her mental words, but it didn't stop her from talking
to them. She felt one of the presences––the one
she associated with the fifth segment on the
sigil––close in and wrap itself around Mrs.
Famularo. Mrs. Famularo babbled, frail arms beseeching,
reaching for where the walls of her house should have been.
The presence curled around her arms, tucked them close to
her body and then––
They were gone.
Rachel swayed a moment as the pale blue wallpapered
corridor came back into view. She put a hand out and
touched the indentation her shoulders had left in the wall.
She could still sense one of the presences around her. This
one in particular––the presence linked to the
second segment of the sigil––always lingered.
"I'm okay. You can go now."
Still, it persisted. Some nights, when the extractions
were rough, Rachel swore this presence had an almost
maternal feel to it. Which was ridiculous, especially since
she'd been taught that the presences were not partial to
any one rescue medium. "I said I'm fine." She waved the
presence away. "Go take care of Mrs. Famularo. She needs
you more than I do."