Writing Study: Editing: Chapter 1

This is a draft of what a chapter 1 may be. If I go further I will definitely edit the later part of this chapter.

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Caroline shivers. The night is unseasonably warm, but she can't suppress a second shiver. She quickens her pace through the rows of gray tombstones. Their orderly rows make her feel like she is rushing past the teeth of some huge beast ready to devour her. Dew on the clipped grass chills her bare feet and dampens the peeling black polish on her toes. “I should not have taken this job, Bill.”

The ear-piece in her left ear transmits Bill's basso voice from the cellphone in her pocket. “Well, jobs haven't been coming, so you need it.”

Frustrated, Caroline brushes her hair behind her other ear. “Are you blaming me again for that apartment fire? I can't help that the clients didn't give us all the information we needed.”

“If you hadn't been rude to them, they might have.”

“Did they need to treat me like I was dirty? It's not like my curse is infectious.”

“And that's why they treat you like you're contagious. You treat it like a curse and not a gift.”

“You try living with it.”

“Like you said, not contagious, so you can't give it to me to live with it.”

“Har. Har. Well at least this graveyard isn't as old as some. No mausoleums. But there have been no taibhse níghe here in a while. Whatever's here has been here for a while, and... I think it's stalking me.”

“The request mentions that it's started to become active in the daytime.”

“What?! You didn't tell me that. I didn't prepare for that!” Looking around, Caroline mumbles, “I thought this felt wrong.” She turns to her right and sprints to the nearest fence.

“That matters?”

“Yes Bill, that matters! Déithe”

“Sorry.”

Taking deep even breaths to keep the oxygen flow steady, Caroline pants, “Read. The. Book. Or. I. Get. A. New. Agent.”

“Okay. Okay. I won't let it happen again.”

“Crap!” Caroline narrowly dodges a small grave marker that flies up from its place towards her head. She speeds up to avoid the next marker as it flies behind her. She tucks into a roll, getting her light cotton ceremonial shift and pantaloons wet with the dew, making them cling to her skin. Another marker flies over her. Caroline stops, crouches and dumps the contents of a small felt bag. She grabs one of the tiny cotton bundles tied with different colors of yarn. She yanks an athamé from its sheath and cuts a slice on her scarred left palm. She does not bother to untie the cotton bundle but slices it open with the small ritual blade, dropping the comfrey it contains into the blood welling in her palm.

Caroline jumps as far as she can from her crouched position. A fraction of a second later, another grave marker flies through the space where she was. She uses the athamé to slit her thin shift down to her belly, then places the handle in her mouth. With the fingers of her right hand she mixes the comfrey with her blood. Pushing her pantaloons down slightly, she spreads some of the mixture over her coccyx bone. She collects more of the mixture and spreads some on her exposed solar plexus. With one finger dabbed in the mixture, she puts a single dot of the mixture on the center of her forehead. Her first, third and sixth chakra now anointed, she snatches the athamé from her mouth and concentrates her will from her solar plexus to her root and intones “Tegere!”

The air in a sphere surrounding her shimmers. She grabs one of the bundles and runs towards the fence separating the cemetery from street outside. A large tombstone flies directly at her and shatters when it hits the sphere. Blue sparks cascade across its surface. Caroline stumbles slightly at the energy drain from the impact, but continues her flight towards the wall.

Behind her, air swirls around and picks up leaves and the dust of the destroyed tombstone. The dust collects into a roughly human torso, continuing to accelerate. A vague head on top of the torso is mishaped. Wells of black ooze into existence where the eyes would be. Huge jaws gape open, wide enough to swallow a melon whole. The wells draw in the little bit of light the night provides, while the mouth starts drawing air into the space where the head is.

The hair on Caroline's neck stands on end. She senses the manifestation and redoubles her effort to run. Despite this effort she feels it gaining on her. About fifty yards from the wall she wipes her palm on her pantaloons until it is clean and the cut is oozing blood. She slices open the other pouch and rubs the pigeon down feathers in the blood. Quickly she smears the mixture on the top of her head, her sternum, and over the blood on her solar plexus. She draws the power and holds it until she is just a few feet from the wall. "Giguud!"

Caroline flies into the air, barely passing over the wrought iron fence. Her pantaloons snag on a spike at the top and she spins in the air to land hard on the grass next to the sidewalk outside the cemetery. With a groan she stands up and walks to her car parked around the block.

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Caroline storms into the office. Anger all but pulses from her skin as she glares at Bill, passing his desk in the outer office. She throws open the door to her office and immediately moves to the book shelf and roughly sorts through the books. Not caring in her anger, she knocks books off the shelf to find the one she wants. Book in hand she stalks back into the outer office, slams the book onto Bill's desk and growls, “Read it.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

Frowning at the lanky red-head, she says “No. Don't sorry me, Read. The. Book.”

“All right. All right! I will. Jeeesh.”

She continues to stare at Bill until an uncomfortable look passes over his face. His eyes move down, and Caroline remembers the condition she is in. Her ceremonial shift is covered in mud and grass stains, and her pantaloons are missing where they ripped off of her when she did not quite levitate high enough to vault over the fence. She notices Bill start to flush and follows his eyes. She realizes that the cut she had made in her shift to reach her plexus chakra is gaping open and exposing her privates. In as cold a voice as she can muster she asks, “Enjoying the view?”

Bill snaps his eyes back up to her face. “I-I-I--”

Satisfied with the look of fear on Bill's face, she relents slightly. Opening the book to the page she wants, she looks back in his eyes. “Not another apology. Read. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Caroline re-enters her office, closing the door behind her. With a long silent sigh, she strips of the shift and opens the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulls a burgundy blouse, skimpy panties and tight jeans from the drawer. She takes her time dressing to let her anger bleed from her, and give Bill time to read.

She opens the door silently, and watches as Bill reads. His nearly-seven-foot frame barely fits in the chair, and he is almost as tall sitting as she is standing. She reflects on the fact that he has been a good agent, getting her many good jobs. He just needs to get his act together.

She notices Bill finish his reading and look up. Before he has a chance to, she speaks. “You act like a teenager, not someone in their thirties.” Walking to his desk she adds, “Shirking your reading, and ogling me after I barely escaped with my life. You owe me some pantaloons.”

“Yes, um. Sorry”

“I said stop apologizing. You have, and it is done. Let's move on. You finish the reading?”

“Yes.”

“What are the keys to tell that a ghost is a Ravenous?”

“um... none of the normal transitory ghosts are around, grave markers are moved around, fresh graves are disturbed and --”

Bill is at the point she wants to stress, so Caroline interrupts, “And?”

“And they are active during the day.”

Satisfied with the look on his face, she asks, “Will you take the book home and read the whole thing cover to cover? ”

“Yes.”

“Will I have to quiz you on it or will you just do it?”

Blushing a deep red, Bill responds, “Uh. No.”

“Good. See you tomorrow after you've collected my spell bag. Have the book read by the end of the week.” Convinced that Bill will shape up, Caroline leaves the office and climbs the stairs on the side of the building to her apartment above it. She quickly moves through the cluttered apartment without paying attention and moves directly to the wrought-iron spiral stairs to the roof.

She allows the anger to flow out of her as her eyes adjust to the moonless night. The privacy screen around the edges of her roof allow her to strip without fear of being seen. The freedom of being skyclad calms her and clears the last of her anger. She moves to the altar near the door and retrieves a censor filled with cinnamon and rosemary. Careful not to disturb it, she steps into the elaborate ritual circle. Awareness of the world around her seeps into her senses. The glow of life surrounds her in greater intensity than most would think from a city. She senses the life of many small creatures that hide from the sight of man and fill the spaces unseen. The simple innocent existence of this life overpowers the ugliness that comes from the desires of some humans.

Caroline sits at the circle's center and enters a meditative trance. With deep breaths she breaths in the smoke of the censor. Concentrating, she slows her heart rate and breathing. Her mind focuses on her heart. Slower. Her breaths are deep, filling her lungs completely.

Slower. Eyes closed she releases a long breath, then fills her lungs again.

Her heart beats twice

Slower.

Once.

She tugs, and her astral form steps from her body into the midnight realm.

Color flees her senses in a rush. Light ends. In this darkness she senses instead of sees. Movement is no longer a linear concept, but a matter of will. Time becomes a conscious effort of perception. Caroline purposefully lets time slip from her mind, putting it behind a door in her brain, forgotten until she needs it again. She expands her senses and looks for the threads.

The influence of the will of the living beings weave in and out of each other like threads in a chaotic web. They pull and twist each other as they weave around. Sometimes they touch, but just pass over each other. Sometimes they twist together, changing the path of one or both. Sometimes one thread will cut another, ending it. Sometimes they pass through each other without effect. The web of life is chaotic, yet beautiful.

Long years of watching the web allows Caroline to see patterns in it. She exerts her will and floats above the pattern. A strong push of will and the realm jumps. She appears near the cemetery. Fear washes over her as she perceives a hole in the web, and a tangled knot surrounding it. She stays clear of the hole and glides along the edge, studying the knots. She finds a strong thread tangling and clipping many others.

Movement at the edge of her perception draws her attention. The ravenous. She knows that she is even more vulnerable in the midnight realm. Another sharp focus of will and she jumps. Without the time to change her focus, she jumps down the thread she was studying. Cold enters her spirit when she stops moving. She stops in the midst of a cluster of ghosts. Fear causes her to lose focus on the door blocking her perception of time. In a panic she focuses on home.

The midnight realm pulls her farther in, as time start passing and her body feels the effect of her stopped heart. Discipline brings her mind into focus, and Caroline ignores the pull. She pulls on power to reinforce her will, and pushes herself back into her dying body. Back in her body she again draws on power. A small push and adrenaline surges through her system. Her heart jumps to a start and beats furiously, pumping blood through her system. Panting she hyperventilates to move more oxygen to her starved brain.

Caroline spends a few minutes getting her body back in normal running order. Her heart rate back to normal, she stands. She looks up to the new moon and considers her trip to the midnight realm.

"Why was there that cluster of ghosts? What is happening to stir them up? Maybe I should go talk to the detective tomorrow. Hrm. I think I need more sleep. I'm talking to myself again."