"Oh, God," I said as the clouds closed in again, quickly obscuring the sight. "All the way down there? I know I'm going to get bitten."
Father Dominic had already started hurrying down the rest of the trail. Jesse, behind me, asked curiously, "Bitten by what, Susannah?"
"A snake, of course," I said, avoiding a root that had looked a bit snakelike in the beam from my flashlight.
"Snakes," Jesse said - and I could tell by his voice that he was restraining an urge to laugh, "don't come out at night."
This was news to me. "They don't?"
"Not usually. And particularly not on cold, wet nights like this. They like the sun."
Well, that was a relief. Still, I couldn't help wondering about ticks. Did ticks come out at night?
It seemed to take forever - and I was sure that I'd wake up with shin splints - but we eventually reached the bottom of the path, though the last fifty feet or so were so steep, I practically sprinted down them, and not on purpose, either.
There on the beach, the sound of the waves was much, much louder - loud enough to completely drown out the sound of our approach. The smell of salt was heavy in the air. I realized, as our feet sank into the wet sand - well, except for Jesse's - why it was I hadn't seen any gulls earlier in the evening: animals, including birds, don't like ghosts.
And there were a lot of ghosts on this particular beach.
They were singing. I am not kidding you. They were singing around their sulky little fire. You won't believe what they were singing, either. "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Seriously. They were on fifty-seven.
I tell you, if that's how I end up spending eternity when I die, I hope some mediator comes along and puts me out of my misery. I really do.
"Okay," I said, slipping off my gloves and jamming them in my pockets. "Jesse, you take the guys. I'll take the girls. Father D, you just make sure none of them make a run for the waves, all right? I've already been swimming once today, and believe me, that water's cold. I am not going in after them."
Father Dominic caught my arm as I started striding toward the firelit group.
"Susannah!" he cried, looking genuinely shocked. "Surely you can't … you aren't seriously suggesting that we - "
"Father D." I gawked up at him. "Earlier this afternoon, those jerks over there tried to drown me. Pardon me if I feel that sauntering up to them and asking them if they'd like to join us for root beer floats isn't such a good idea. Let's go kick some supernatural butt."
Father Dominic only clutched my arm tighter. "Susannah, how many times do I have to tell you? We are mediators. Our job is to intercede on behalf of troubled souls, not cause them more pain and grief by committing acts of violence upon them - "
"I'll tell you what," I said. "Jesse and I will hold them down while you do the interceding. Because, believe me, that's the only way they're going to listen. They aren't real communicative."
"Susannah," Father Dom said again.
But this time, he didn't get to finish whatever it was he was going to say. That's because all of a sudden, Jesse went, "Stay here, both of you, until I say it's all right to move."
And then he started striding across the beach toward the ghosts.
Huh. I guess he'd gotten sick of listening to the two of us arguing. Well, you couldn't really blame him.
Father Dominic looked worriedly after Jesse. "Oh, dear," he said. "You don't think he's going to do anything … rash, do you, Susannah?"
I sighed. Jesse never did anything rash.
"No," I said. "He's probably just going to try to talk to them. It's better this way, I guess. I mean, he's a ghost, they're ghosts … they've got a lot of stuff in common."
"Ah," Father Dominic said, nodding. "Yes, I see. Very wise. Very wise indeed."
The Angels were at seventeen bottles of beer on the wall by the time they noticed Jesse.
One of the boys swore quite colorfully, but before any of them had time to dematerialize, Jesse was speaking - and in such a low voice that Father D and I couldn't hear him above the sound of the waves. We could only watch as Jesse - glowing a little, the way ghosts tend to - spoke to them, and then, slowly, after a little while, lowered himself into the sand, still talking.
Father Dominic, watching the proceedings intently, murmured, "Excellent idea, sending Jesse in first."
I shrugged. "I guess."
I guess my disappointment that I'd missed out on what probably would have been a first class brawl must have shown, since Father D tore his gaze from the group around the campfire, and grinned down at me.
"With a little help from Jesse, we just might make a mediator of you yet," he said.
As if he had a clue as to how many ghosts I'd mediated out of existence before I'd ever even met either of them, I thought. But I didn't say it out loud.
"And how," Father Dominic asked quietly, "is your little friend Gina occupying herself while you're out tonight?"
"Oh," I said. "She's covering for me."
Father Dominic raised his eyebrows - and his voice - in surprised disapproval. "Covering for you? Your parents don't know you're here?"
"Oh, yeah, Father D," I said sarcastically. "I told my mom I was coming out to Big Sur to deal with the ghosts of some dead teenagers. Please."
He looked troubled. Being a priest, Father D frowns on dishonesty, particularly when it involves parents, whom his ilk are always encouraging us to honor and obey. But I figure if God really wanted me heeding that particular rule, He wouldn't have made me a mediator. The two things just don't mix, you know?
"But evidently," Father Dominic said, "you had no trouble telling Gina."
"I didn't, actually. Tell her, I mean. She kind of just … knows. I mean, once she and I went to this psychic, and …" My voice trailed off. Talking about Madame Zara reminded me of what Gina had told me, about the whole one single love of a lifetime thing. Was it true? I wondered. Could it possibly be true? I shivered, but this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.
"I see," Father Dominic said. "Interesting. You feel comfortable telling your friends about your extraordinary ability, but not your own mother."
We had had this argument before - recently, in fact - so I just rolled my eyes at him. "Friend," I corrected him. "Not friends. Gina knows. Nobody else. And she doesn't know all of it. She doesn't, for instance, know about Jesse."
Father Dominic glanced in the direction of the bonfire once again. Jesse appeared to be deeply engrossed in his conversation with Josh and the others. Their faces, orange in the firelight, were all turned in his direction, their gazes locked on him. It was strange they had built that fire. They couldn't feel it, any more than they could get drunk from the beer they'd tried to steal, or drown in the water they'd been under. I wondered why they had gone to the trouble. It had probably taken a lot of kinetic power to light it.
All four of them glowed with the same subtle light Jesse gave off - not enough to see by on a dark night like this, but enough to tell they weren't quite … well, human was the wrong word, because of course they were human. Or had been, anyway.
I guess the word I'm looking for is alive.
"Father D," I said, abruptly. "Do you believe in psychics? I mean, are they real? Like mediators?"
Father Dominic said, "I'm sure some of them are."
"Well," I went on in a rush before I could change my mind. "This psychic Gina and I went to once, she knew I was a mediator. I didn't tell her, or anything. She just knew. And she said this weird thing. At least, Gina says she did. I don't remember it. But according to Gina, she said I would only have one true love."
Father Dominic looked down at me. Was it my imagination, or did he look amused? "Were you planning on having a great many?"
"Well, not exactly," I said, a little embarrassed. You would have been, too. I mean, come on. The guy was a priest. "But it's kind of weird. This psychic - Madame Zara - she said a bunch of stuff about how I'd just have this one love, but that it would last for, like, my whole life." I swallowed. "Or maybe it was all eternity. I forget."