Transparency

Anna swiftly scanned the abandoned warehouse carefully, her eyes darting around in an adept manner, taking in the large crates that stood slightly taller than she. The girl took a few light, silent steps backward, her hands tightening around the blue marble in her right hand and the smooth-surfaced Taser in her left.

Don't show weakness, she warned herself mentally, keeping her breathing even. “Come out, come out where ever you are,” She taunted in a steady sing-song tone. “You can't hide from me,” she promised, her words laced with menace. She heard an annoyed half-grunt, half-scream from behind her and allowed herself a quick smirk before she turned in time to see a transparent man, a blue aura radiating from him, jump from atop one of the crates behind her.

She stepped back quickly, narrowly missing the ghost as he landed in a crouch where Anna had stood only a moment ago. “Found ya,” she razzed triumphantly, taking another stride back, placing more room between her and the spirit. The ghost let out a deep growl in response.

And then he spoke, which is something Level Three's don't normally do, the occasional curse, sure, but they were normally so blinded by rage that they don't bother with words. But this one did. “Do as you wish young one, but Master Demitri shall triumph,” it rasped, it's voice hoarse and crackly.

Anna didn't have any time to be confused by his words, because in the next instant the ghost had stood and rushed at her in a blur so fast that, had she not had years of training, she wouldn't have been prepared for such an attack.

Her left arm lashed out on an instinct. “Tag,” she whispered, as she clicked the Taser on, placing it against the ghost and sending electrical currents through him. The little marble in her right hand expanded to a larger orb, about the size of a cantaloupe, as she pressed the small button located on the smooth glass.

She thrusted the enlarged orb into the chest of the ghost, cringing as her hand passed through the spirit. She then pressed the small button again with her thumb. The ghost screamed and moaned as its form coiled into the glass ball, like it was being sucked in by a vacuum.

“You're it.” She smirked at the spirit that was trapped inside the orb, which was reduced to the size of a large marble again. “Necromancer one, ghost nothing,” she announced as she tossed the ball in the air and caught it again. Pocketing the ghost into her messenger bag that was slung from her shoulder, she turned and walked confidently through the maze of crates and out into the cool night air.

She sighed a deep breath, running a hand through her thick, brown hair. It had been an easy job tonight, which she was glad of, this ghost was only a Level Three. There are five type's, or rather, levels, of ghosts; Level Three's have a blue aura about them and are murderous, killing randomly, especially when they are aggravated. Like the Level Three tonight; just a little taunting will send them into a blind rage.

Anna slid into her truck and jammed the key into the ignition. She had a history test tomorrow and had put off studying all week, so tonight she had to cram. She had been worried she wouldn't have enough time to study, but now that she knew she did, she almost regretted having such an easy job tonight, knowing that it put her that much closer to fun-filled hours of pouring over text books.

The ghosts words rang clear in her ears as she drove home; she couldn’t help but wonder who Demitri was and why a ghost would refer to him as his master.

~*~*~

While swiftly walking down a well lit hallway, the one with the door to Ruth's office, Anna's messenger bag lightly and rhythmically bumped against her hip. She finally came upon the door she wanted. Turning with a hand raised, she knocked smartly on the oak door. “Come in,” came the muffled reply on the other side.

Anna pushed through the door and into the familiar office; the walls were lined with well used bookshelves, and the tall, elegant windows on the north wall gave the handsome mahogany desk in the middle of the room the serene backdrop of a starry night. Ruth sat behind the desk, her fingers typing at lightning speed on a keyboard. Click, click, click click, the sound filled the otherwise silent room.

Finally, Ruth looked up at Anna over her half-moon glasses, a motherly smile gracing her lips. “Anna, you're back. I figured it'd be an easy job tonight. Have a seat while I finish this up, would you?” And with that, her attention returned to the computer.

Quietly sitting down in the comfortable chair she had sat in so many times before, Anna lazily twiddled her thumbs, examining the middle aged woman in front of her; Ruth's auburn hair, recently cut short to a bob, had a few grey streaks here and there. The silver hairs, normally a negative marker of the coming of old age, seemed sophisticated, elegant even, on Ruth. She had hazel, intelligent eyes that could see through any lie, and lips that were quick to frown whenever she called Anna out on one of her fibs.

Anna had lived here at the institute ever since she was twelve, so she had learned over the past five years that trying to trick Ruth into believing a fib was pointless. It had seemed to Anna like Ruth knew everything that she did, whether good or bad; later though, she learned that she was just a really bad liar.

Ruth had pulled her out of the foster-care system after witnessing her talk to a ghost, a kind, harmless Level One, on a subway in New York; Anna had looked to Ruth as her mother-figure ever since. The institute was a place for Necromancers to learn how to defend themselves against ghosts and how to better communicate with them; however the institute is not only for educating young Necro's. The institute is also the NIS (Necromancers International Society) Headquarters, which houses necromancers who are passing through, or staying here in Atlanta, on business.

Ruth was essentially the president of the NIS; she was in charge of making sure that everything ran smoothly between ghosts and humans. If anyone was having a problem, like a haunting spirit that won't leave them be for example, they contact the NIS and Ruth organizes jobs for the Necromancers to take care of the ghost situation.

Ruth looked up from her computer once more, removing the glasses from the bridge of her nose, and raised them to sit on the top of her head. “So, did you have any trouble with the Level Three?” The older woman asked, leaning heavily into her chair and folding her hands together on her stomach.

Anna shook her head. “Not at all; he hardly even put up a fight.”

“Excellent,” Ruth praised with a smile. “Here let me take him off your hands,” She offered, leaning forward, extending a hand.

The younger Necro easily extracted the marble from her bag, then placed it into her mentors palm. “He talked to me,” Anna said, feeling uneasy. She had never had a Three talk to her; she got the occasional swear amongst the moaning and screaming, but speaking in full sentences? Never.

Ruth's body tensed up visibly, a look of bewilderment etched on her features. “You're certain?” Anna nodded. “What did he say?”

“He said that I can do what I want but,” Anna paused, her eyebrows crumpling down over her light brown eyes, “he said that 'Demitri shall triumph’...” She trailed off, feeling uncertain. She knew that that was what he said, but she didn't know what it meant. “What was he talking about? Who's Demitri?” She mused aloud.

“Don't worry, we'll figure it out.” Ruth gave her a reassuring smile, though it looked like a tight one, and then asked for the full report. Anna gave her the whole run-down of the night - which didn't take very long – then asked to be dismissed, explaining that she had some heavy-duty studying to get done.

Ruth clucked disapprovingly. “You slacker, go hit the books,” she demanded halfheartedly, arranging her glasses back down to the bridge of her straight nose. After wishing one another a goodnight, Anna left Ruth and headed to her bedroom which was on the second floor of the three-story building, Ruth's office being on the first. After climbing the grand staircase and walking down a few corridors, she came to her room.

After entering and shutting the heavy door behind her, she lifted the strap of her messenger bag off her shoulder and over her head, then slung it on one of the bed-posts at the foot of her bed. She stripped out of her jeans and T-shirt and put on set of pajamas. Grudgingly, she glanced at the stack of books beside her bed, and practically felt her brain click off and shut down. She groaned.

She plopped down on her bed, landing on her stomach, suddenly sleepy. She lay there over the thick, soft comforter that swathed the plush, queen-sized mattress, feeling as if liquid cement had suddenly replaced all the blood in her body, weighing her down. She opened her eyes that had slipped shut without her consent, and then, using all of her strength it seemed, reached out to the stack of books and grabbed the heavy text book that sat on the top of the pile.

Still lying heavily on the bed, she flipped the book open, placing it on its side so she could scan the pages from where she lay. She made an effort to read the blurred and jumbled words in front of her, but her eyes fell closed, and before she even realized they were, dreams began playing through her mind.