Mom bangs on the door and I assure her I'm all right before returning to the ghost. Ariadne floats about six inches above the floor, her form drained of color. She's transparent enough for me to see a vague outline of Great-Aunt Louise's kitchen table through her torso.

"I shouldn't be able to see you," I say. Not without activating my grave sight first.

The ghost humphs and crosses her arms. "When Louise said you were a powerful grave witch, she failed to mention you were an incompetent one."

"Hey!" I exclaim. We just met and she's giving me attitude? What the hell?

Ariadne tilts her head slightly and cocks an arrogant eyebrow. There are different types of ghosts in this world: residuals, which are non-sentient phantom records of past events; poltergeists, mischievous and sometimes malevolent non-human entities; vengeful ghosts, those who subside on negative energy; apparitions, which are semi-sentient spirits who tend to go through the same motions; demonic entities, which we don't touch; and intelligent ghosts. Ariadne is an intelligent ghost—and powerful if she can manifest without a grave witch's help.

She's short and slim, clad in blue jeans and a pale red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her long white hair is crimped in the late-90s/early-00s fashion and tied up in a high ponytail. Everything about her appearance screams Midwestern, but if she's displaying this much power, she might be manipulating her image. Her bare feet and hair sway slightly in the ethereal wind that courses through the spirit realm. If I was fully immersed, I could feel it too.

But believe me, you don't want to. It's not pleasant.

"Let's get a few things out of the way," the ghost continues. "One," she says, ticking off points on her fingers, "I'm bound to serve the women of your line for five hundred years. Two, you're not going to get a backstory out of me, so don't try. Three, the grimoire is also bound to the house, so you can't take it out of this room. Four, the door to the spirit realm opens at dusk. Five, no one but you and me is allowed to pass through the gate, so don't think about bringing your mommy along."

She pauses and stares challengingly at me. I don't know what caused her to be bound, but it may have something to do with her winning personality.

I take a deep breath, absorbing what she's just said. "So what are your duties, exactly?"

"I patrol the grounds and guide any wandering souls to the inn. I also keep tabs on our guests and report to the grave witch what their needs are."

"Why would wandering souls need to come here?" Great-Aunt Louise mentioned healing in her letter, but I want to hear what the ghost has to say.

Ariadne raises a sardonic eyebrow. "Because the way they died was traumatic?" she replies mockingly.

"Fair enough," I tell her, folding my arms. "It's Spirited Away in real life."

Ariadne stares at me; it's evident she doesn't get the Hayao Miyazaki reference. In a way, I'm like Chihiro, except no one's taken my name from me. My parents haven't turned into pigs due to greed and there doesn't appear to be a dragon anywhere on the premises.

Although that would be cool.

The dragon, not pig-parents.

"Fine," I say into the silence. "I have to be Dr Phil to ghosts. Is that it?" I have thick skin, but I don't think I'm cut out for hearing the terrible details of a spirit's death.

The ghost rolls her eyes. "There's more to it."

She understood Dr Phil but not Hayao Miyazaki. Okay. I guess I know what Great-Aunt Louise had on TV. "Then perhaps you can enlighten me?"

"Some things need to be seen," she replies cryptically. Suddenly, her head cocks as if she hears something. "Meet me here at dusk. And remember, leave mommy behind." She vanishes, leaving a cold spot in her wake.

"Jesus!" Mom exclaims, bursting through the door. "What the hell just happened?"

"Were you able to hear anything?"

"No." She straightens the hem of her shirt and walks into the room, her eyes glowing blue. "What did Ariadne say to you?"

I try to tell her, but the spell stuffs my mouth full of cotton again. Damn. "I have to come back here at dusk," I manage to say.

Mom's mouth twists in thought. "And you can't say why?"

"Nope." This sucks because my parents and I have always had open communication between us. Who am I going to gripe about my day if I can't mention half of it? Ariadne the Midwestern Malcontent? I doubt she cares.

Looks like Rodney, my seal-point Siamese familiar, is going to get an ear-full.

------------

Mom and I spend several hours going through Great-Aunt Louise's home. A space-saver charm is in place, making the apartment approximately 1,000 square feet. The place I lived in LA was barely 700—this is a luxury. All of my stuff from my old apartment is currently sitting in a pod on my parents' lawn, so all I need to do is have it shipped down here.

That leaves Great-Aunt Louise's things. The trouble is, I don't need or want most of it. Especially since they seem to have been purchased in the 50s and not updated since then. I'll need a new fridge, washing machine, dryer, stove, and microwave. The walls require new paint and the rugs are threadbare and worn. All of that requires money, which I am currently in short supply.

By the time dusk falls, the one area we haven't touched is Great-Aunt Louise's workroom where the grimoire is stored. I can see it sitting on a pedestal from the open door. Mom can't go in there and I have an appointment to keep.

Mom heads back to the hotel, making me promise to call her once my weird spiritual tour is complete. I follow her outside and sit on the bottom steps, waiting for Ariadne to appear.

The Midwestern gremlin doesn't disappoint. "What're you waiting for?" she asks, popping out of the ether like an ill-tempered balloon.

"Oh, I don't know," I reply, standing up and shaking out the hem of my skirt. "Some instruction, maybe."

Ariadne frowns. "You didn't read the grimoire?"

"I didn't have time. Mom and I were too busy going through Great-Aunt Louise's things."

The ghost sighs irritably. "That was the whole point of you going up there."

"I still have to take care of her stuff," I counter. I don't know how long she's been dead, but she seems to have forgotten what the living need to do.

"Whatever," she scoffs. "Follow me." She pivots and drifts off toward the two poles.

It's so quiet, unlike the constant noise of LA. Even in my parents' suburb of Andover, New Hampshire, you can still hear cars driving up and down the road. But out here, the only sounds I hear are crickets and waves lapping at the nearby beach.

"I hope you still have the key," Ariadne says, hovering by the lefthand post.

"Duh," I grumble, fishing it out of my purse. "Is this the door or something?"

"Bravo!" she exclaims, sarcastically clapping her hands. Her presence is so strong that I can faintly hear the sound on this side of the veil.

"Are you sure you don't need healing?" I shoot back dryly.

She laughs humorlessly. "I'll be released once my term is up."

"And when is that?" I inquire, looking around for a keyhole.

"One hundred seventy-six years, two hundred eighty-two days," she replies instantly. "And not soon enough," she grumbles quietly, looking off into the distance.

I file that away for later. "Do I just wave this around? Or does it work like the key in the Fluppy Dogs?"

"What?" Ariadne exclaims, staring at me dumbfounded.

I shrug. "Never mind. It's a deep cut from the 80s, anyway."

The ghost shakes her head, muttering something to herself. "You need to use your grave sight," she explains patiently as if I'm a slow learner. Which I am—at this, anyway.

Well ... duh. I should've known that. The world's color washes away, leaving me standing in a muted garden with the node pulsing beneath my feet ... and a glowing white-blue double door hanging between the poles.

"Oh, wow ..." I take a step forward, amazed that such a thing exists. I lift my left hand and touch the surface, surprised when my fingertips run across smooth wood. The doors look heavy, a relic from centuries ago. Carved vines, flowers, and birds run along the outside of the doors, while the center is dominated by the grave witches' sigil. The lefthand panel has the same keyhole as the gate and Great-Aunt Louise's front door.

Taking a deep breath, I slide the key in and turn. A soft click echoes in the gathering darkness. I glance at Ariadne, but the ghost merely mimics a yawn and looks away. Well, this is amazing to me. I grab the rings attached to both panels and twist them in opposite directions. With a groan, the doors swing open.