sees Ghosts

If even one of them closed in on Molly, it was over.
I thought of what it might be like to watch my apprentice die with my Sight open, and almost started gibbering. If that happened, if I saw that horror with eyes that would make sure I could never, ever forget it or distance myself from it, there wouldn’t be anything left of me. Except guilt. And rage.
I shut away my Sight.
“It must be difficult,” said my godmother, standing suddenly beside me, “to watch something like this without being able to affect the outcome.”
“Glah!” I said, or something close to it, jumping a few inches to one side out of sheer nerves. “Stars and stones, Lea,” I said between my gritted teeth a moment later. “You can see me?”
“But of course, Sir Knight,” she replied, green eyes sparkling. “My duty to oversee my godson’s spiritual growth and development would be entirely futile could I not perceive and speak to a spirit such as thee.”
“You knew I was there a moment ago. Didn’t you?”
Her laugh was a bright, wicked sound. “Your grasp of the obvious remains substantial—even though you do not.”
A curtain of green-blue fire about seven feet high sprang up and swept rapidly across the width of the parking lot, between the position of the various Mollys and the turtlenecks. The flames emitted eerie shrieking sounds, and the faces of hideous beings danced about inside them.
I just blinked. Holy crap.
I hadn’t taught the kid that.
“Tsk,” Lea said, watching the scene. “She has an able mind, but she is filled with the passions of youth. She rushes to her finale without building anything like the tension required for something so . . . overt . . . to prove effective.”
I wasn’t sure what my godmother was talking about, but I didn’t have time to try to pry an explanation out of her. . . .
Except that I did.
I mean, what else was I going to do, right?

Ghost Story Chapter 22, Page 245-246


“What happened next?” asked a fascinated voice.
I shook my head and snapped out of the reverie, looking up to the sunlit sky outside my grave. Winter’s hold was definitely weakening. The sky was grey clouds interspersed with streaks of summer blue sky. There was a lot of water dripping down the edges of my grave, though the snow at the bottom was still holding its chill.
The Leanansidhe sat at the edge of my grave, her bare, dirty feet swinging back and forth. Her bright red hair had been bound back in a long tail, and she was dressed in the shreds of five or six different outfits. Her head was wrapped in a scarf that had been knitted from yarn duplicating various colors of dirty snow, and the tattered ends of it hung down on either side of her head. It gave her a sort of lunatic-coquette charm, especially considering the flecks of what looked like dried blood on the pale skin of her face. She looked as happy as a kid on Christmas morning.
I just stared up for a moment and then shook my head faintly. “You saw that? What I was thinking?”
“I see you,” she said, as though that explained it. “Not what you were thinking. What you were remembering.”
“Interesting,” I said. It made a certain amount of sense that Lea could discern the spirit world better than I could. She was a creature who was at least partly native to the Nevernever. I probably looked like some kind of pale, white, ghostly version of myself to her, while the memories that were my substance played across the surface.
I thought about the wraiths and lemurs that Sir Stuart had put down on my first night as a ghost, and how they had seemed to bleed images as they faded away.
“Yes,” she said, her tone pleased. “Precisely like that. My, but the Colonial Knight put on a display for you.”

Ghost Story Chapter 30, Page 326-327