Riordan could see Duane biting back his urge to question the wisdom of that. The benefits of having that mental solace outweighed his concern for Riordan’s wellbeing in the end and Duane headed off with a nod to speak to the other ghosts. Riordan was pretty sure it was only the peace aura that was keeping the mess of them from descending into panic and lashing out at each other for lack of other targets. Having personal space would make a huge difference for supporting the peace.

 

It didn’t take long for Duane’s message to spread through the crowd. Riordan could see it rippling through the group like a wave. Someone would say something, the people near them would look towards Riordan nervously, and then they would move closer to the center of the space with a mix of alacrity and trepidation. He decided not to dwell on how those looks made him feel right now. He just couldn’t handle processing yet another thing.

 

Once the edges of the glade cleared, Riordan closed his eyes and switched to perceiving the space with his magical senses. It felt different. He couldn’t pin down what had changed at first. A wall of trees encircled a glade filled with ghosts and anchored by a spirit tree, just as he had left it. He could feel the flipside still, its access filtered through the spiritual loop that went through Riordan’s soul.

 

Then it hit him. The glade hadn’t changed. He had. His magical sensing gave him all the information it usually did, but there was a sense of depth to it that hadn’t existed before. It made everything around him feel more real. More completely itself. He couldn’t pin the sensation down into words.

 

Whatever it was, it unnerved Riordan. He hated the idea that all of the mess he’d tangled himself in had changed something so inherent as his magical sensing. Losing his exile mark already shifted his identity in unsettling ways. This shook him. He shoved it away, putting it in the increasingly crowded corner of his mind for “things to think about later.”

 

Riordan focused on his task at hand. The first thing he needed was more space to work with. Space itself was an illusion in this realm, merely a sign of local intent and influence. With the tree slowly establishing itself here and the wall acting as a concrete border, influence was easier to both concentrate and spread. A flex of will pushed the wall outward in all directions.

 

The ease with which the fabric of the spirit realm responded to Riordan highlighted another change to his magic. He ignored it. With an enlarged glade, Riordan considered his options. He wanted to make houses or the like, but man-made structures would have been at odds with the nature-based domain they were building. He could tell it wouldn’t mesh as well and would likely have other unintended consequences. He considered his options.

 

As nice as houses would have been, they didn’t eat or sleep here. What they really needed was privacy screens and comfort. If he considered that he could only use natural elements to build that image, that left him with garden-like effects. The spirit tree rejected other trees being too close to it, but bushes and vines were fine, as were changes in topography.

 

Without realizing it, Riordan began shaping the glade garden. A hill rose to one side, an off-shoot of the defensive creek running as a rill down a series of waterfalls. Soft moss covered the outer edges, mixed with wild flowers and small harmless undergrowth. Screening bushes twisted through, dotted with small ornamental Japanese maples and willow trees near the outer edges. Paths led between the spaces, all connecting back to the central clearing with the tree of light, large enough to hold all the ghosts at once without being crowded. The twinkling starlight orbs lit the sheltered alcoves with soft light.

 

Riordan opened his eyes. He sat on a circle of soft moss surrounded by flowers and mushrooms. Colorful stones made a circular meditation labyrinth around his seat, mixing with vines and more moss. Part of the water cascaded in a waterfall across the space, filling it with the relaxing sound of falling water, before curving around the edge of the labyrinth. Bushes provided privacy, butting right up against the outer defense forest wall.

 

His stomach twisted at the sight. This set-up looked intentional and like it could be part of some shaman working, except he had made it without any such intention at all. Control spiraled further and further from his grasp.

 

Nope, he wasn’t going to think about this either. There was literally nothing Riordan could answer on that one by thinking. Thinking would only create new terrible theories for how magically fucked Riordan was becoming. He clung to the hope that things would return to more normal if the killing tree ritual could be unraveled and promised himself he’d ask the shaman about all of this if he got a chance.

 

For now, the patch of moss where he sat was soft and large enough for him to curl up on comfortably. He might not be able to sleep here either, but Riordan determinedly shut his eyes and tried not to think about anything at all. Someone came to check on him not long after, Duane by the feel of him, but did not disturb Riordan.

 

Gods, he was so tired.

 

---

 

Waking back up in the real world was equally as unsatisfying as the not-sleep Riordan had snatched in the spirit realm. He felt physically rested but mentally drained. That drain was likely to get worse before it got better. He tucked his nose under a paw in rejection of consciousness.

 

The sound of footsteps alerted Riordan to what had actually woken him. His door was open and he could glimpse someone standing just inside the room from his vantage in his under-bed blanket burrow. Riordan so did not want to deal with people. He scooted further into his blankets.

 

“Riordan?” a voice called out quietly. Riordan recognized it as Norris, that old raspy but warm voice very distinctive to hear.

 

Riordan growled softly in return. The sound was not friendly, but not full of rampant aggression like his actual warning growls. It was the best he could manage at the moment. Norris startled at the noise, taking a step back towards the door. Then the old man slowly and stiffly got down on his knees to peer under the bed. Riordan felt bad immediately at making the old man do that when his joints were clearly bothering him.

 

“Ah, there you are,” Norris sounded more cheerful now that he’d located his missing guest. “Bed not to your liking? Or did you just feel safer sleeping as-- Well, what are you? Will you come out so I can get a proper look at you?”

 

Riordan pressed his claws into the wooden floor and growled again. He couldn’t tell if Norris was speaking to him like a child because he was non-verbal as a non-pack animal form or because everyone started looking like a child to someone as old as Norris. He could tell that the man didn’t mean anything bad by it and well, he had been the only one to treat Riordan with empathy after the rest of the group last night had fucked off to deal with the death mage shit without Riordan. House-grandpa seemed to be his job, but that didn’t discount that Norris had clearly gotten that role because he was good with vulnerable people.

 

Fuck, he hated how he fell into that category. The desire to not be weak in front of this man was enough to make Riordan slink out from under the bed, though he emerged from the side away from the door and then peeked around at where Norris still knelt.

 

“A badger.” Norris blurted once Riordan became visible. His voice and expression gave Riordan the impression that he was pleasantly surprised by Riordan’s animal form. Given how many shifters subscribed to the theory that animal form influenced personality, Riordan had to wonder what conclusions Norris was drawing from this. The old man continued, “At least, a variation of one, I think. You are sleeker and have fewer white stripes than the badgers I’m used to.”

 

Riordan confirmed this assessment with a cautious nod. Laughter from the bed made him jump, whipping around to lean his front paws on the edge of the mattress and check who was there. He felt a little silly when he realized it was Daniel, still keeping Riordan company like he’d so needed.

 

Is that really necessary? Riordan thought at his friend with narrowed eyes.

 

“Definitely,” Daniel replied. “You should see your faces. Norris looks ready to adopt you and brush your fur and take you for lovely long walkies.”

 

I will bite you.

 

“Try me, dude. Pretty sure you still haven’t figured out how to touch me on this side.”

 

“Oh,” Norris’ exclamation broke their exchange and both Daniel and Riordan turned towards him. The old man was looking between Riordan and what had to be an empty bed to him. “Is one of your ghosts here?”

 

Riordan nodded to that as well. He really should shift back, but he just didn’t want to yet. He needed the simplicity of his animal form for a bit. He felt safer and the world felt more manageable when he was like this.

 

“Is he one of the ones from last night? Daniel, perhaps?” Norris asked, pausing for Riordan’s confirmation before turning back to the bed and saying, “Good evening, Daniel. I came to get Riordan for dinner. You are welcome to join us as well, of course.”

 

He was looking about a foot to the side of where Daniel actually sat, but Riordan could see how much that effort meant to Daniel. His existence was such a tenuous thing to the physical world, only anchored by Riordan. To have someone treat him like a person despite being unable to directly interact had to mean the world to the bereft ghost right now.

 

“I like him,” Daniel said, pointing at Norris. “You better let him brush your fur now. Grandpa Norris here would be a good pet papa.”

 

Riordan refused to dignify that with a response, rolling his whole head in lieu of being able to roll his eyes. He dropped down from the edge of the bed and scooted around to nudge at Norris in a clear message of “let’s get out of here.”

 

Norris laughed and worked his way back to standing with a hand on the bed and a soft pained groan. Getting old must suck. Still, he was spritely enough as he led the way to the hall. Partway down, Norris froze and then looked down at Riordan more closely.

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to need to ask you to either shift to human or to let me clean up your animal form before I can let you into the kitchen. I really try to keep that space clean if I have time to be picky and I spent enough time this morning cleaning up after the first batch of dirt you tracked in.”

 

“Oh my god,” Daniel burst out, “He really does want to brush your fur!”

 

The combination of ghostly teasing and common sense was enough for Riordan to make a decision. He drew from his well, allowing his human side to step forward. Feeling large and awkward in his human shape, Riordan rose from crouching on the hallway floor and stretched, fingertips brushing the ceiling. He only wore the sweatpants and long sleeved t-shirt, his feet bare, but that was good for now. Riordan appreciated how the longer sleeves hid the ritual rope on his arm. He couldn’t take more stares for his weird magical state after the ghosts goggled at his spiritual terrarium during his sleep.

 

Norris gave Riordan a once over and nodded. “You clean up well, though I’ll have to see if I can find more appropriate clothes for you. Light gray isn’t a good color with your skin tone. Makes you look all washed out and tired. You need something with a bit of color to pull out those golden tones. Much better than my pasty pale pink skin.”

 

That assessment washed over Riordan like another language. He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of it. The last thing he expected from Norris was fashion advice and compliments on his skin color. “...What?” Riordan replied dumbly.

 

Norris didn’t seem put off by Riordan’s flat response. Daniel was laughing again, which did Riordan good to hear, even if the humor was at his expense. Norris nodded as if Riordan had said something wise. “Yes, better colors and I’ll get your actual size. Though I should probably buy it loose since you’ll clearly bulk up some more with proper feeding.”

 

Nope. Riordan still couldn’t make sense of that. He looked at the old man like one of them had clearly lost their mind. Riordan just wasn’t sure which one that was.

 

“Did you sleep well?” Norris continued, finally starting down the hallway of doors towards the kitchen area again.

 

With how befuddled this conversation was making Riordan, his reply slipped out before he could really think about it. “I don’t sleep anymore.”