Geist by Philippa Ballantine

power from the Otherside. Inside her head, it burned hot and white and large, and it seemed ready to consume all that he was.
    With a stifled yelp, Merrick returned to his own body. The Bond was formed, fragile and not at all comfortable, but definitely there. It would take some time for him to adjust to the awareness of Sorcha in the periphery of his senses.
    “Good, then.” She snatched back her hands and for a moment almost looked like she might wipe them on her trousers. “I see you have your Strop. Is the rest of your kit packed?”
    He nodded. “I got it down to the stables last night. I understand the Abbot wants us to leave immediately.”
    “That’s what I heard.” And then she turned and strode out of the room, utterly confident that he would follow after.
    Fear and anger did a brief battle inside Merrick’s head. She might only be of average height, but she moved as quickly as a person twice as tall. He found himself at a near trot to keep up with her. In this way they made smart progress out of the confines of the Abbey, toward the outbuildings. Novices were already in classes but the lay members of the Order were up and about. At this time of the year there was little to do in the gardens, but many were bustling around the stables. Geist activity was not solely limited to manipulating humanity. Locals often brought their livestock in to be freed of unliving influences.
    Sorcha was going to ignore him as much as she could. She was colder than the late-autumn day, and the only thing Merrick had to warm himself was his growing anger, so he nurtured it a little.
    “Perhaps”—he smiled at her while matching her pace— “perhaps you could tell me exactly what happened outside the gates two days ago? The whole Abbey is rife with rumor.”
    Her stride broke for just an instant. “The Abbot will talk about it at Matins when it is appropriate.”
    “Ah, but you see, we will be gone before that happens; and besides, now I am your partner . . .”
    Sorcha stopped completely and spun about. He observed how she held her body in tight, tense lines. “Are you trying to irritate me? You’re bringing up things I have no control over, and I don’t like having no control. Having no control makes me exceedingly cranky, and when I get cranky, I eat novices for breakfast.”
    Merrick found himself enjoying the moment. He could actually vaguely sense her discomfort on the edge of his perception. He liked it. “Fair point,” he replied with a slight twist in his lips, “but I am no longer a novice and therefore not on the menu. I only want to be the best partner possible.” The tinge of humor in his voice was apparent even to himself.
    It was also immediately obvious that his gentle dig was not the sort of thing she appreciated. Her mouth opened a couple of times before she finally ground out, “You can do that by being the quietest partner ever.”
    He made the universal lip-buttoning gesture with one eyebrow cocked. Sorcha stared at him hard for a minute, before turning away and shaking her head. “Unholy Bones, I need a smoke.”
    Merrick followed her meekly into the stables. The idea of pointing out how the infirmary staff had told him that smoking of any sort was injurious to a person’s health popped into his head. However, pushing the point, he sensed, bordered on the dangerous. Many of the Deacons smoked and drank. It was not as if there was any injunction against it, and the life of a Deacon was generally not long.
    His would be shorter than most if he crossed his new partner. After what he’d seen as a child, his fear of her wasn’t going to go away. But he might have discovered a way to hide it.
    Inside, the lay Brothers had saddled up two of the Abbey horses for them. The Breed was almost as ancient as the Order; jet-black, tough as a mountain pony but as beautiful as any from the Emperor’s stable. If there was one real perk to doing battle with the forces of the Otherside, it was the chance to