"Pete?" My mind froze, unable or unwilling to process what I was seeing.

"Well, Dmitri Petrovich, actually," he said with a slight bow, "but Pete is what they called me at the bowling lanes."

I stared.

"There is no need to be frightened." He spoke with a slight Russian accent. "I will not harm you."

As unnerved as I was by his appearance, I believed him. Pete had never been malevolent. Then again, he'd never manifested as a full-bodied apparition, much less spoken in full sentences, either.

"Okay." I tried to look anywhere but at his black-hole eyes. "Um... Do you need, like, help crossing over, or something?" That was what ghosts were supposed to want, right?

A somewhat terrifying smile spread his thin lips, revealing yellowed teeth and black gums. "It is you who needs help, not I," he said. I hoped he meant with something other than the trials of the afterlife.

"What do you mean?"

"The object you refer to as the sphere," he said. He flickered slightly as he spoke, like a hologram with a faulty projector. "It is from this that I drew the power to defend this place last night, and to appear before you now."

"I...see." I didn't, actually, but that seemed unimportant. "Do you have it?" I asked. "The sphere? We didn't find it when we cleaned up."

His brows drew together, and his gaze intensified. "I do not have it. You have it."

Confused, I shook my head. Maybe he wasn't as coherent as I'd thought. "I don't. I haven't seen it since it came apart and attacked me, or whatever it did last night."

"You do not understand," he said, stepping—or rather drifting—closer. With the door at my back, I couldn't retreat. He paused with his awful, transparent face mere inches from mine. "The sphere did not attack you. It became you."

He raised a bony hand, fingers like claws and blackened nails worn to the quick, and—

—caressed my arm. Revulsion shivered up my spine. I'd taken my sweater off again, warmed by the exertion of cleaning, and his semi-solid touch felt like cold worms on my bare skin.

Then I gasped, my disgust forgotten, as the markings on my arm lit with a weird, luminescent glow. The light streamed from my skin like fine mist, drawn towards Pete's spectral hand. An odd tugging sensation caught in my chest, and my breath hitched in my throat.

Pete withdrew, and the sensation faded along with the markings' strange glow.

"You must beware," Pete said, his slimy voice grave. "You shine like a candle in the dark now, and many things—fair and foul alike—will be drawn to you, seeking your power."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you are delicious," he said simply, and I realized the hollow darkness in his eyes was hunger.

I swallowed past the dryness in my throat. "I don't understand. What is this thing, and how do I get rid of it?"

He shook his head. He looked less solid now, and flickered more. "I do not know its origin, nor its purpose. Only that it is inside you now, bound to your life." He looked at me, withered head tilted slightly to one side. He whispered, "I could take it if I wished. Become powerful—perhaps even return to life." Then he lifted a thin shoulder in a half shrug. "I do not so wish. However, there are other things in this world, worse than old phantoms like myself, that will."

He flickered, blinking in and out of darkness, and his expression turned to regret.

"The power I took is almost gone. I would have liked to keep it longer, but I had to warn you of this danger. Your uncle has allowed me to stay here in peace, and I owe him the debt of gratitude. You must be careful now, Master Ari. Protect yourself, and trust no one."

"Pete—"

He flickered once more, and then he was gone.

~

By the time Ben returned, hands full with boxes of takeout and his travel bag over his shoulder, I'd still not fully processed what I'd seen. He found me lying on the blue fainting couch in the parlor, hands over my eyes as the encounter replayed itself again and again in my mind.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, pausing in the doorway.

I sat up. "Yeah. Just tired." I wasn't sure how much—if anything—to tell him. Even to me, it sounded insane.

He frowned at me but didn't press. I stood and came to relieve him of the takeout boxes.

"Come on. Let's go up and eat. I'm starving."

He unpacked his things in Uncle Theo's room while I served the food and picked out something to watch. Ben liked action, so I chose a random Marvel movie I hadn't yet seen.

We ate in silence, side by side on the couch. Ben seemed absorbed with the film, but I was barely following the plot. When it ended, I cleared away the takeout boxes and washed the dishes we'd used while Ben showered. He was in there a long time, and I hadn't mentioned the weak water heater, so by the time I took my turn the spray was lukewarm. When I emerged, I found him lying on Uncle Theo's bed, flipping through an old photo album.

I felt a flicker of annoyance that he'd taken the liberty of going through Uncle's things, but he'd always been unmindful that way. I was about to say goodnight (it was barely nine, but I was exhausted) when he waved me over.

"Ari, come look at this."

I obeyed. The page of photos showed my Uncle at one of his dig sites, an Aksumite ruin by the look of it. In one, he leaned on the handle of a shovel, his blue eyes glinting beneath the wide brim of his hat, grinning broadly at the camera. At his side stood another man, tall and black, who draped an arm over Uncle's shoulder. Behind them lay a broad, flat surface of stone, etched with carvings. The other photos showed the two in various poses, pointing at the carvings, or brushing at them with delicate tools.

"That must have been some time in the nineties," I said, judging from Uncle's relatively youthful face and the style of his clothes. I wondered what about it Ben found interesting.

"Look!" He pointed to a photo where a portion of the stele was visible behind Uncle's right shoulder. I squinted at the designs.

My eyes widened in shock as I realized what I was seeing. Most of the carvings were typical for the culture and time period, but one area, probably about a foot square, was noticeably different. It featured unusual markings, carved in a loose spiral, at the center of which was a circle. Or perhaps the representation of a sphere.

"Do you think this is where he found the artifact?" Ben asked.

I shook my head. The markings were too small to see clearly in the photo, but it seemed like they were of the same sort as those that now marked my skin. "I don't know. I don't think so. It seemed like he'd found it shortly before he sent it to me, but who knows. He doesn't share a lot about his work."

"Huh," Ben mused, turning the book back towards himself. "You recognize the other guy? Maybe you could try to contact him?"

Again, I could only shake my head. "Uncle Theo worked with colleagues from all over the world, usually different people on every dig."

Ben slid the photo out from beneath its plastic cover and flipped it over. The back was blank. He replaced it carefully. "Does he have more albums? Maybe we'll find more clues in other pictures."

He sounded excited, like a kid solving a puzzle. For some reason, it annoyed me. "What made you think to look in the first place?" I asked, unable to keep a hint of aggression from my tone.

He looked up at me in surprise. "I didn't. I was just...well, snooping, I guess, and happened to see it. Sorry."

I slumped a bit. "No, don't be. I just feel stupid for not thinking to look myself."

"Hey, you've been through kind of a lot in a short time," he said, resting a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Give yourself a break."

"I guess you're right. I just wish Uncle had sent more than a cryptic note along with the thing. Like, I don't know, an explanation."

"Maybe it was too dangerous to write down," Ben mused. "Maybe that's why he doesn't use technology much, either."

"Come on, he's not Indiana Jones, or some character in a Dan Brown novel. He's just a normal archeologist."

Ben looked pointedly at the evidence to the contrary, spiraling up my arms.

"All right, maybe you have a point," I allowed. "Still, it seems far fetched."

I flopped back on the bed and stared at the elegant crown molding joining the ceiling and walls.

Despite growing up knowing that there was a reality to magic and the supernatural, I'd never encountered anything like this. It was usually much more subtle, stuff that a person could convince themselves was real or not with equal ease, and couldn't be proven definitively either way. This was...undeniable. I lifted my hands above my face and turned them over, examining the markings spiraling front to back, ending in little whirlpools in the centers of my palms. I wondered what they meant, and what power, if any, they held.

"Pete said I'm delicious," I said thoughtfully.

Ben choked, then doubled over coughing. I sat up in alarm and patted his back. When he could breathe again he looked at me through watery eyes and croaked, "He what, now?"

I realized my mistake. "I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't want to freak you out, but Pete manifested while you were gone." I told him what the poltergeist had said, including his warning.

Ben stared at me, mouth agape. I realized that, besides the markings, Ben hadn't actually seen anything to prove that any of my story was true. "You believe me, don't you?" I asked.

He covered his face with his hands. "Oh my God, Ari. You have no idea, do you?"

"What?"

"Of course I believe you! I always believed you."

"But you seemed so surprised..."

"Because you said Pete... Never mind." He shook his head.

I cast my memory back over my words from earlier, then felt myself flush as I realized exactly what I'd said, and how it might sound. "Oh."

He gave me a rueful grin. "I guess it's more my fault than yours," he said. "Especially since I know you do taste delicious." His eyes dropped to my mouth, and for a moment I was afraid he was going to kiss me. Then he sat up and ran his hands through his hair. "Sorry," he said.

Heat burned my face. "No, I'm sorry. I'm so stupidly oblivious sometimes."

He met my eyes. "You're not. You're fine just like you are. I wish I'd realized that when it might have made a difference." He shook his head. "Hey, you must be tired, right? Tomorrow we can go through more of your uncle's albums if you want. Maybe we'll find another clue."

I nodded and got to my feet.

Ben leaned across the bed and grabbed my hand. He gave it a slight squeeze before letting go.

"'Night, Ari."

"'Night, Ben."