Mark felt like a truant student, sneaking out before his teachers could catch him. The analogy might be too pertinent, given it was his teacher he most wanted to ignore his antics tonight. At least being awake late at night was normal for him, being a nocturnal creature at heart. The night felt safe, hiding and sheltering him, rather than oppressive.

Of course, that always meant mornings sucked. At least no one would come looking for him too early if this ended up taking a while.

His partner-in-crime, Daniel, hovered alongside Mark as he drove along empty roads. Mark’s personal car was tiny, which was why he seldom used it for anything official, but the ghost literally took up no space. A box sat in the passenger seat full of magical supplies, mostly herbs and dishes, for the night ahead.

Mark didn’t park near the cabin. That was a crime scene and was likely watched. He didn't want to mess up that evidence. He felt bad enough messing up the scene at the tree, but he knew the agents had already been over that location and the reports covered most of what they could learn about that scene. Also, getting there required help.

Part of Mark hoped the tree wouldn’t let them in tonight. He could feel like he’d tried, but also free to pursue other options. This option consumed his attention, driving him with the possibilities that only an active greater spirit could grant. And the costs of such bargains.

Neither of them spoke on the trip over. Mark’s parking spot required a walk through the woods to reach the tree’s clearing. Mark hefted his box, partially shifted to enhance his senses, and began quietly picking his way through the dark forest. He could hear the shuffling of the night time creatures, smelling them in the distance. 

He was glad his animal was an herbivore and none of the animals smelled good to him. He empathized with the wild animals too much to want to consider them food. Mark’s human side ate meat, but he craved it far less than those with omnivorous or carnivorous animal sides. The forest itself smelled appealing and he wished he’d brought a chewing stick to satisfy his urge to chew bark. It was a nervous tick, soothing but most bark wasn’t exactly good for the human body.

Daniel floated along beside him in silence for a few minutes before asking, “Are you sure we’re not lost?”

“Very sure,” Mark replied. “Can’t you feel the tree spirit?”

“Sure, but when I follow that feeling, I just end up in the spirit realm side. Not exactly helpful in finding the physical place.” Daniel turned towards Mark. “Can you feel it?”

Mark shook his head. Daniel squinted at Mark, reminding him that ghosts didn’t automatically get nightvision. He said, “No, its shield blocks my sensing. I can feel the lingering mess of magic near the cabin. Besides, Frankie would spank me if I got lost in the woods that easily.”

“I could have done without that image,” Daniel complained, but Mark thought he was hiding amusement. “I thought the agents cleaned up the cabin?”

“Sure, but there is a lingering density of magic near there from all the casting and such. It’ll normalize over time and isn’t an issue unless it’s too aligned, which this isn’t, so they just left that,” Mark explained, hefting his box a little higher and picking his way through the dark forest. “It’s a small beacon for now, if you know what to look for.”

Daniel hummed thoughtfully at that. Quiet settled between them. Mark kept walking. He tried not to think too hard. He felt stuck between overthinking and not thinking this through, but thinking in circles hadn’t helped either.

Worried or not, they arrived at the edge of the tree’s barrier. Mark himself only noticed when he realized that he had shifted in relation to the cabin without realizing it. He stopped, setting his box down.

“-rk, Mark, Mark!” Daniel popped up beside him. “Damn it, he can’t hear me!”

Daniel paced, waving his arms, and Mark waved to him, cutting the ghost off before he could fully panic. “I can hear you now.”

The ghost spun towards him. “Fuck, that’s a relief. I thought the seeing-me bit had faded at the worst possible time.”

“I think I was just lost in the edge of the tree’s obfuscation. My mind just checked out.” Mark frowned, realizing they had a problem. “Last time, Riordan had us hold hands to get through, because the barrier makes you see or hear things that aren’t there. We… can’t do that.”

Which was a polite way of saying he couldn’t touch a ghost without making that ghost feel bad.

Daniel’s face fell. His translucent features appeared positively heartbroken. Mark instantly felt guilty. He started rambling out loud, searching for a solution.

“Okay, so touch is out. That means we need to figure out how to make a verbal or visual connection that persists in the effect. Assuming that it doesn’t affect you. It doesn’t affect you, right?” Mark paused for confirmation.

“I don’t feel anything. Well, I’m not afraid of the dark here,” Daniel blushed, which was interesting in grayscale, and ran a hand through his hair. “I know it’s dumb to be afraid of the dark spooky forest when I’m the ghost, but…”

“But you were a normal human until recently and that is a perfectly normal worry,” Mark reassured him firmly.

Daniel flashed him a smile. “Thanks. Anyway, it’s maybe more peaceful and safe feeling here, but mostly I just noticed you take a sudden turn and then you didn’t answer when I asked why you did that. I was kinda freaking out after that.”

Well, at least Daniel wasn’t going to be worrying about his own distractions during this. Mark took the small blessing and focused on the problem at hand. “Try touching me,” Mark asked.

Daniel frowned. “I can’t--”

“I know you can’t actually touch me. Maybe just… overlap with me or something. We need a connection. Try it?”

Daniel reached out for Mark as if he was going to lay a reassuring hand on Mark’s shoulder. The touch never came, only a chill that seeped into Mark’s muscles and bone. He reminded himself that sensation indicated presence and connection. The cold was physical and it was Daniel. He closed his eyes, focusing on letting the cold in, feeling for patterns.

The chill grew strongest at his skin, frostiness radiating outwards, but spikes of cold stabbed inwards from there. No, not spikes. Fingers. The coldest bits of the sensation maintained the form of Daniel’s hand. Daniel was touching him. Just not in the way a physical person might.

Not everything Mark could sense was physical. He worked with spirits, though mostly he worked with his own spirit, both animal and human. He’d started working on summoning spirits to ask for temporary contracts, but only with supervision. And he’d seen Frankie and Lucinda working with spirits. A ghost wasn’t all that different, even if their origins were different.

Right? Mark realized he’d never question what a ghost was. Or what it was made of, really. Spirits were knots of magic that gained sentience and concept. Ghosts were the souls of the dead, but what were souls? Imprinted magic? Some other type of energy?

That was a dangerous mental rabbit hole. Mark opened his eyes, looking at Daniel. The ghost bit his lip in worry, but kept his hand steady where it pierced Mark’s shoulder.

“I can feel that,” Mark informed Daniel. “It’s temperature and maybe a bit of pressure, but it’s physical sensation. Try to use that to guide me? Like, move the cold spot if I get off track?”

“So we’re playing follow-the-leader by the ghost equivalent of sticking my cold hands up your shirt?” Daniel teased, finding some of his equilibrium again now that they had a potential solution

“Basically, yes,” Mark nodded.

“Well, never let it be said I turned down the chance to touch a truly gorgeous man,” Daniel said, sighing melodramatically. Then he slid his hand off Mark’s shoulder, tracing the cold touch down his arm and around to Mark’s back. The ghost stepped around the shaman, flirty and grinning all at once.

Mark blushed at the compliment and the touching but let Daniel have his fun. It broke the seriousness of the mood. He stooped long enough to grab his box again before glancing over his shoulder at Daniel. “So how are we doing this?”

“I figured I’d walk behind you, keeping my hands on your back and then sliding up to touch your shoulder if I need you to turn a bit in either direction,” Daniel said, placing his hands in the small of Mark’s back. The fact that it was “in” and not “on” still weirded Mark out, but he wasn’t going to call attention to it.

“Ready?”

“Ready as pie. Go ahead, sweetheart,” Daniel said. The crooning tone almost covered the anxious quaver underneath.

Mark oriented himself in relation to the cabin and where he knew the tree to be physically and then began slowly walking. He didn’t notice any change and then the cold spot on his back slid up towards his right shoulder. He paused, turning right until the cold spot slid back down, and then started again. This pattern continued for what he thought was ten or twenty steps, but Mark couldn’t be sure with the perception warping going on.

Then Mark heard a whisper. The murmuring sound was on the edge of hearing. His ears ached, trying to pick out words but failing. Another whisper joined the first, speaking with it, sometimes overlapping and sometimes not. Then another and another. The voices grew in volume, but became a jumbled mess. Mark could hear bits of words, but not enough to string together. 

The only word he could hear clearly was his name, repeated in the many voices.

Focusing on the feeling of coldness became more difficult. The voices drew him. Mark glanced about, looking for the speakers, but saw only shadows. He’d let his partial shift slip and the night surrounded him. It wrapped around him, whispering, and Mark realized that the night itself was alive. The air or the concept. He couldn’t think clearly. Couldn’t…

The cold spot on his back shifted rapidly. Mark tried to compensate, but got distracted. Was that motion? Something glowing in the dark? Beautiful lights. Serene. He slowed.

The cold on his back got more insistent, waving up and down on the upper right of his back. That meant something. Something. But what? He almost had it, but then the lights danced, weaving in and out of the trees. Ethereal. Beautiful.

Mark watched, fully entranced, no longer walking. His muscles grew lax, the box in his grip slowly slipping. He barely noticed.

And then cold slammed into his brain like Mark had just guzzled a slushie and followed it up with a double-scoop ice cream cone. 

He yelped, jolting forward and juggling the box. The cold flowed around his head, covering his eyes. The cold burned and Mark reflexively closed his eyes to protect them. The cold moved again, sliding back down along his neck. Mark opened his eyes. The cold returned to his eyes in a flash and even in his befuddlement, Mark got the message. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Mark started walking again. The cold pressed into his side and he turned, trying to pick up his pace to get away from the icy feeling. It meant something, but he couldn’t remember. The discomfort drove him onwards.

Then he broke through the barrier. It felt like reaching the surface of water and getting a breath of air after nearly drowning. Mark staggered forward, panting, and set the box down. He looked around. He was in the tree spirit’s clearing, an upset Daniel by his side. They’d made it. Mark grinned.

Only, now he had to finish what they started.