When I arrived in Thunder Bay, these things were certain:
One: I killed ghosts.
Two: I did so alone.
Three: My target was Cas in the Attic.
Four: Cas was a murderer because he chose to be.
Five: I was going to kill Cas.
Now, everything's been turned on its head. Instead of finishing the job quickly and moving on, I've somehow made a friend. Oh, and the murderous ghost? Well, right now he's very much alive (I mean dead. I mean undead. I mean- oh, you know what I mean!) and walking down the street, out of the attic and talking to said friend about what's changed in the world over the last five years.
"Yeah, phones are huge these days," Thomas is saying, "we'll need things to drag 'em round on in a few years." To anyone observing from the sidelines, we look like three ordinary teenagers. Not a ghost, a witch, and a ghost hunter. But if you look a bit closer at this apparently average scene, you'll see that the taller boy should be freezing, with a thin t-shirt and no coat, and that the girl has something sharp and shiny clenched in her right hand, the tip pointed at the boy, ready to cut through him. And you'll realise that both the others can clearly see the knife.
And you'll be so unnerved by how relaxed they look about it.
"Anna," says Cas suddenly, making me jump, "are you okay? It's just that you haven't said anything since we left the house."
"I'm fine, I-"
"She's thinking about how normal we look to anyone who's not paying attention, but if they looked carefully, they'd freak out," Thomas says. "Anna, you could hide that knife of yours a bit more? It's just, well, I don't want to get arrested because of you. No offence or anything."
"Will you stop doing that?" I snap. "Get out of my head!" Next to me, Cas's shoulders are shaking. I'm about to ask if he's okay when I realise- he's trying not to laugh.
"Something funny?" I ask icily. "I'm glad the idea of him sifting through my thoughts is so amusing to you."
"You know I can't just sift-"
"Oh, be quiet." I frown. "Where are we actually going?"
"My grandfather's house. He knows some stuff about Obeah; he's into voodoo and all that crap."
"Another witch?" I complain.
"Yeah, basically." Ugh. Living people. Ghosts are so much easier to understand. Speaking of...
"You were a ghost hunter?" I ask Cas.
"Yeah," he replies shortly.
"What was it like?"
"Probably the same as it is for you. Move from town to town, kill the local Casper, move on. And make sure normal people stay out the way."
"And what did your mother think of that?" I need to stop asking questions, but I can't. I've never met another ghost hunter. I wasn't even sure they existed.
"She... didn't like it, but she understood." He stares off into the distance. Definitely time for me to close my mouth.
But silence never got anyone anywhere.
"And your dad? Was he a ghost hunter too? I'm sure that's what the Obeahman said." Thomas' eyes widen and he shakes his head at me. A little late for a warning now, though.
"Yeah," Cas' voice is tight but controlled. His fists clench. "The Obeahman got him too. I was seven. I'd been working up to killing that bastard since I was fourteen."
"Only he got you first." Now it's Thomas who needs to learn to seal his lips.
"Anyway," I say quickly, before Cas has a chance to react, "I started ghost hunting when I was twelve." Oh. Not exactly a change of subject. Between me and Thomas, we could be in the running for the 'Bad Conversationalist of the Year' award. "That was five years ago. The athame just turned up outside my door. Oh! I suppose that must be where it was sent when-" shut up, Anna! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Cas knows.
Thankfully, he pretends to ignore that last part. "Who was your first kill?" He's talking about my first ghost. But I want to tell him about the humans who died at my hand. I think he'll understand. He's killed people too, although certainly not by choice. But he has done it.
"Their names were Malvina and Elias," I begin slowly.
"How'd you find out about them?" Cas asks. Thomas is frowning at me. I told him about the first ghost I disposed of, an average, run-off-the-mill hit-and-run victim who had taken to appearing in front of middle aged, male drivers and forcing them off the road. I had to hitch hike to get to her. Not the most sensible idea for a girl who wasn't even thirteen yet, but I'm still here.
"They had a daughter," I tell him, careful not to mention my name. "Well, Elias wasn't her father. He was her stepfather. The Stepmonster, she called him. He- actually both of them were pure evil. She was twelve when they died."
"Same age as you."
"Yes. I... knew her, quite well, actually. Anyway, I was at their house, and when they appeared, there was a fight. I thought they were going to kill me. I remember Malvina kicking me, over and over, and she threatened to make Elias... well. There's a reason he was called the Stepmonster. But in the end, I stabbed them both." Thomas looks confused. Cas shakes his head.
"What happened to the daughter?"
"She left. Started travelling around, going wherever there was work. It didn't matter that she was twelve. She could take care of herself. I'm still in touch with her. She found some relatives, some old aunts who moved to Canada from Finland a while ago, and now they're dotted about the country. She stays with them, if she's in town." Thomas gasps, just loud enough to be audible. He's worked it out, then. He knows. But Cas doesn't know I'm staying with my great aunt Lucinda. He doesn't know where my family is originally from, though my accent still holds a note of Finnish. He nods, taking the story in.
"What's her name?" I look him straight in the eye.
"Anna."
