Hello lovely folks,
It's me again. Halloween got to me and I came up with another series. This storyline is based on a supernatural/ghost-hunting AU and there will be a lot of world-building as the series continues.
This was inspired by Supernatural TV, the X-files, a teeny bit of The Sandman and a silver of Merlin. So you might spot similarities, lore and (Not stolen, ahem, burrowed) names.
As for the warnings, the death of a child is mentioned in the middle of the first chapter, but it's not graphic I will add appropriate warnings in ANs if and when they become applicable.
There will be a lot of unanswered questions at the end of this story. It's intentional. You will get all the questions answered in future stories. I promise!
A big thank you goes out to my beta, NursingShcoolGrad, for proofreading the fic and sharing your wonderful insights with me. You're awesome.
That's it for now. Hope you all will enjoy the story!
Prologue
Agent No. Twenty-One.
Ah, the Day Off at last!
Except, Cailleach is not entirely free of work today. She has to find a replacement for slot twenty-one. It is something she has to occasionally do when one of her agents passes over after their years of service. It's been a while since she has last done this.
The one who left has been around for a long time, a lot longer than an average human should have been. Not that it makes any difference to Callie - time is not a concept she really takes notice of as it flows around her, constantly changing the multiple worlds and the precarious harmony they all maintain in their ever-evolving existences.
She has been around since the beginning of, well, everything. And she knows that she will continue to be around for a lot longer yet.
A World Guardian's work is never done until their world ceases to exist.
Hers is nowhere near expiring just yet.
Anyway, Adrianne has been one of her best, of course. Callie fondly remembers the time she made the decision, A Call of Choice, as it is called in the Old Rules. Adrianne, a descendant from a strong line of witches, had been the first in twelve generations to display an affinity towards Callie's line of work, and she had not wasted any time recruiting the thirteen-year-old girl for the job almost two centuries ago.
It does not surprise Callie that Adrianne had managed to hold onto her job the longest among her brethren. She had done a fantastic job too, until her Shield's most unexpected and quite perplexing end. The grief and despair of the sudden loss have now driven her to seek permission to chase after her other half.
Callie understood and sent her on her way with her blessings.
Now that Adrianne is gone, there's a vacancy in her team, so to speak. And, it is imperative that she fills the spot before All Hallows Day ends. She won't be free to roam her pool of recruits for another whole year yet if she doesn't.
She breathes in a lungful of chilly autumn air and looks around the quaint little town called Bayport where she has been drawn today for her Search. The air around her has a tinge of salt in it, and if she concentrates, she can hear the waves crashing against the rocky promontory around the horse-shoe-shaped cove of Barmat Bay.
There is a faint ripple in her heart, tugging her towards her next Chosen. If the sense of dissonance that engulfs her, somewhat agitating her own Power, is anything to go by, her Chosen is on the verge of discovering something profound about themselves.
She lets the familiar colourful and bright seasonal decorations fly past her as she makes her way towards her destination. She cannot spend any time lingering and watching the silly carved pumpkins, the swinging skeletons, spiderwebs and other imaginative collections of various supposedly fear-inducing adornments in the streets and yards as she would usually do during her yearly strolls on her Day Off.
There shall be children and adults alike, running around, screaming and laughing and playing in silly get-ups and costumes, and for some inexplicable reason, begging for sweet treats. Trick or Treating - a vague memory informs her that this is customary in some regions of this world during these days, as she views the increasingly strange decor and wild chaotic entertainment.
Unfortunately, today she cannot afford to walk among them, enjoying the bright and lively auras the festivities bring to life.
She prefers to walk in the old countries sometimes when the fancy strikes her, where the old customs and beliefs still hold the true meaning of the Samhain. She loves walking along the dark gravel paths of the quiet villages, where the people still light a candle to guide the lost departed, leave a little offering of their first harvest for Her in gratitude and say a heartfelt prayer for the ones under Her care.
Alas, she wishes she were amongst the people who understood her instead of working on the only day she gets to freely roam this strange little world.
The nagging feeling gets insistent as she closes the distance to her potential Chosen. They may have been able to draw her in with the power they are spilling out in abundance, but she shall be the one to ultimately decide whether they are worthy of the task she had for them, or whether they are allowed to hang on to the power they are managing to wield.
Her destination reveals itself to be an abandoned building, an isolated warehouse of some sort, at the edge of the small town, conveniently located away from the rest of the town's population. The building is in a state of degradation; its roof half collapsed, its walls cracked and missing more than a few chunks of concrete and wooden planks in places. Except for the faint light cast by the waning quarter moon, the entire run-down building is shrouded in the complete darkness of the weary shadows. It is squatting precariously on the extreme edge of a tall cliff that looks over the rougher part of the ocean. There are no other sounds except for the crashing waves below and the constant heavy winds, which seem to have played a large part in this establishment's current despairing state.
The double doors open of their own accord to grant her entry, revealing an even darker interior. There is no seasonal flair to be found there in this cold, damp, and silent desolation. In lieu of joyful decorations, there are fresh blood stains all over the floor and the crumbling walls, ironically more suited for the commonly accepted aspects of the Day. She can also see the bodies scattered all over the littered and cracked floors - silent, unmoving and empty vessels - devoid of the souls they had once borne.
Death of the humans hardly makes an impression. She sees them in their true forms every day as she performs her function. Beneath all the flesh they wear in great pride and a sense of accomplishment, lies the true nature of their souls.
Some shine from within, she knows. Beautiful, fierce lights of their souls are sometimes even enough to make her avert her gaze - but they do not linger a second more than they have to before their angels take them over to the higher planes where they belong.
Those are the good ones.
The bad ones she could tell by the pitch black darkness of their souls - slimy, rotting things residing inside the polished and varnished bodies that betray nothing of their true natures - even as they continue to spread their disease among the living until they are done with the time they've been granted to roam this world. They don't get to linger after the end either. They have their own minders waiting in the wings to drag them to the Deeps to be punished for their sins for all of eternity.
Or give them a chance to atone for their wrong-doings if they prove themselves salvageable.
Neither of these groups concerns her.
No. Hers are the ones who slip through the fingers of their shepherds. May it be the good or the bad, some always manage to find a way to avoid facing the next natural step of their cycle with dignity and hold onto this world. Even after they have expired. They are full of reasons, and excuses for staying behind. And, most of the time, volatile in the extremes of their emotions and determination when confronted.
They do not belong in this world.
It is her task to gather these wayward, expired souls into her domain and keep them there, away from this world until such time they gain enough understanding of themselves to accept that they need to move on, higher or lower, depending on their own realisations.
For She is the Guardian of the Lost, the Keeper of Spirits and the Caretaker of the Veil. She is the Collector of the escaped souls.
With one last passing glance over the bodies, Callie glides over the carnage towards the back corner of the building, where she can feel the strengthening call of the source of her fascination.
She is an old soul herself, one of the oldest in fact, and even she finds herself curiously taken aback by the scene that unfolds before her.
It is never good when there are children involved.
There are three of them here, surrounded by a whirlwind of furious ghosts.
The small girl is the closest, lying on the cold floor only a mere three feet away from her. Callie is not quite versed in inferring the ages of the humans, but she is fairly certain the little girl is only probably half a decade old. Her long black hair surrounds her still body and her eyes are closed. Her pale skin has a sheen of greyness that contrasts with the dark stains marring her light-coloured clothes. Callie does not need the unnatural stillness of the child, the blood or the pungent coppery scent in the air to tell her that the girl child has expired.
The silent, quivering and transparent soul, crouching next to what used to be her body, staring vacantly ahead, does it all by herself.
Then there is the boy child, further at the back. His body, almost battered and destroyed as the girl's, lies next to the wall. He's also dark-haired, pale and bleeding out of numerous wounds as his heart keeps beating weakly, yet valiantly in a mission to keep the body alive as long as possible.
Then there are the souls.
Today is the Day the veil between her world and this is at its weakest. The most motivated, cunning and rebellious ones always escape from Cailleach's hold on days like today to wreak havoc in this world before they are caught by her agents and dragged back to her domain. Even she has to get her hands dirty in the field on the Samhain.
She does not consider that aspect of her function as work though. It is part of the Day's thrill. She revels in the exhilaration of chasing and hunting for the lost spirits.
There are eight of them altogether. Some are very new, belonging to the cooling bodies scattered in the front part of the building. They have already managed to stay behind, defying the Call from their Minders. Their deaths have been sudden and violent. The stronger their emotions are in their final moments, the more volatile and enraged their spirits are the moment they detach and emerge. These heightened emotions lend them that extra bit of strength to resist the Culling of their Angels or the Reapers. Eventually, when that strength wanes enough for them to face the reality, they have already missed their chance of a peaceful transition. Then, these stranded souls become something that lingers between worlds, lost and purposeless and restless, until Cailleach or her agents find them and send them to the limbo where they can reach the next destination themselves…If and when they get it together to work on their own redemption, that is.
Out of the eight restless spirits, three are ancient, which means they are experienced in dodging Cailleach and her agents. She can feel their presence glancing off against her senses. Her power sings through her veins, calling on her entirety to pull them all in and swing them on their merry way back to where they belong, where they should have been all along.
The ghosts, for their part, are so elated at the innocent and ever-weakening offering in their midst, that they do not take notice of her at first. They are so very focused on the dying child. They are all fighting, and howling and swirling in a wild vortex of chaos and greed, to get to the body that is on the verge of losing its soul, determined in their quest to Remain.
They are all competing among themselves for a chance to grab this suddenly available, fresh vessel; to rip away the reluctant soul and take its place, to possess the child's body and become him. To finally steal a life so that they could continue to linger in this world they are so very afraid to leave behind.
That is not how it works. But they are far too gone in their own mad schemes to realise otherwise.
However, what's stopping her from taking swift action against the soon-to-be prisoners of her realm, is the third child.
He is so thin, frail and dirty. He is also smaller than the two dark-haired children, telling Callie that he's even younger than them. His blond hair is a matted mess covered in twigs and leaves. His clothes are torn and mud-stained as if he lives in the wild, when compared to the clothing and general presentable status - minus the blood stains, of course - of the other two children.
He also has the most brilliantly shining blue eyes Callie has ever seen in her long existence. Those wide, terrified eyes on the too-pale face find her in the doorway with such precision, Callie feels something stir deep within her heart in response.
"Help me," the boy pleads. He's kneeling with his little hands closed protectively over the dying boy's chest, holding onto the fading lifeforce with such determination, to Callie's otherworldly sight, he blazes like a small sun in this dark hovel.
"They cannot take him," he pleads again, his blue eyes never leaving her gaze. She takes a moment to marvel at this little creature's ability to gaze upon her so openly, so brazenly, without being helplessly lost in the immensity of her old, powerful soul.
"It is not his time yet," he declares. Despite the tears streaking down his dirty cheeks and the sobs he is only barely holding back, he is confident in his assessment. "They are not allowed, never this," he says, so earnest and naive. "Besides, he's still alive."
She lets a small smile play on her lips as she focuses on the slow rise and fall of the dying boy's chest. The two tiny hands over his chest are clutching onto the boy's shirt with all their might. The whirlwind of enraged spirits howl around them both, getting even more agitated with each passing moment. To their utter detriment, they cannot seem to reach past a certain distance, as if an invisible barrier has encircled the boys, keeping them safe from the unwanted body snatchers.
She sees past the injured flesh of the boys and into their souls, and she gasps softly in surprise.
The little, blue-eyed charmer has somehow plucked a strand of his own soul to bind the prone boy's soul to his own body, holding onto him with everything that he is. The soul of the other boy, for its part, is hanging onto the body with all its might as well, using the gift of the other soul strand to anchor itself.
"Oh, little one," she croons, and her voice, made of thousand winds, breezes through the room to wrap around the two boys, strengthening the invisible shield around them. "You are breaking a hundred rules to do exactly the right thing."
The boy stares with a frown marring his face. The hold he has on the other boy never wavers, despite his confusion.
"Binding a soul is against the rules," she tries to explain. She is not good at human interactions, let alone consoling a child. Dealing with the Spirits is her function. "And, yet, the child isn't dead. He is still whole." She lets her statement end in a conundrum. The child is wrong, yet he isn't. He is somewhere in between. Just like her domain.
She smiles again at him before turning her attention to the spirits. They have become aware of her presence the moment she has spoken. They are now howling against the walls and ceiling of the rundown building, firmly entrapped by her power, unable to flee their doom now that they are within her grasp.
"Ripping off a living soul from a body is definitely against the rules," she tells the room in general, her tone nonchalant, but the power lacing her words sends ripples through the damp cold atmosphere, making the reluctant souls scream in agony. "And you have absolutely no excuse."
One careless wave of her left hand is all that it takes to dissolve them all, and she knows that they all will reappear in her world, where they belong, to sit and think hard about all the things they have done wrong during their time in this world.
The purging of the souls has an immediate effect on the surroundings. The silence that falls around them is a blissful relief compared to the horrifying howling and screaming that have been threatening to make their ears bleed. The unnatural chill fades away as well, not enough to warm up the room, but enough that the small, blue-eyed boy stops blowing plumes of breath every time he shakily exhales. The suffocating aura of terror and despair vanishes along with the ghosts, leaving only a curious sense of expectation lingering in the room around them.
"Thank you," the boy nods solemnly and sort of collapses on top of the unresponsive boy, finally out of whatever strength reserves that's been keeping him somewhat upright on his knees.
Cailleach has the feeling that this boy does not know what has happened, what he has done or even who she is. But, all the same, the instinct-driven creature has done everything in his considerable power to do what he knows is the right thing in his heart.
He has broken rules, violated the codes of nature and defied the laws of the Old. Yet, he has saved a living body from being stolen, a soul from being torn apart and spirits from gaining control.
All the wrongs and all the rights.
A perilous walk between the lines.
To save another from worse plights,
His weary heart within him shines.
He is exactly who she needs to take the responsibility of a Guide of the Lost Spirits, she decides. He shall live and he shall learn. He has the innate determination, strength and power to fulfil his calling. And by the looks of it, he has already chosen a Shield for himself as well.
Above all, she knows that he shall do the job to the best of his ability while staying true to his heart and inner sense of justice. His soul flares with that rare shine of inner goodness, morality and virtue of an old soul already. He shall be a hope-filled ray of sunshine to the lost in this world.
There shall be a hard road ahead for this unusual pair. But together, they shall abide by their calling.
She drops to a knee near the blue-eyed child. He looks up at her wearily, his eyes dull with exhaustion and probably pain. She does not know and is not overly concerned. The danger has passed and they shall continue to live past this day.
"I am Cailleach, but you may call me Callie," she tells him and he blinks, silently mouthing her name. "You have become one of my Chosen Shepherds. You shall answer when I call for your services."
"I have?" The boy blinks again, trying hard to understand. "How?"
"That does not matter, little one," she says softly and is rewarded with a tiny, tired smile. "All that matters is you are mine now," then she cocks her head at the dark-haired boy who is still prone on the ground. But he's sleeping peacefully, his heartbeat strong and his life force fully restored. "Just as he is yours."
The little boy looks down and stares solemnly at the other boy before nodding once firmly. "I will do my best to keep him safe," he promises with the sincerity of a pure and unsullied soul. Then he looks up and notices something behind Cailleach, acquiring another frown on his pale little face. "Um, what will happen to her?"
Cailleach turns her gaze and sees the spirit of the little girl. She is still there, her gaze fixed on the boy on the floor, and it dawns on Cailleach that the two dark-haired children are quite identical to each other. She does not quite know the significance of this little fact to humans.
"She shall leave with me," she announces as she straightens back to her full height. The child spirit slips her ghostly hand into Cailleach's without a word.
"Please take care of her," the blue-eyed boy implores. "Frank would want her to be safe too, wherever you are taking her…"
"I always do, little one," Cailleach lets her words wrap around the boy in comfort as she fades back to her own world, the little spirit safely in her embrace. "That's my job after all."