FINAL GATE (#3 GHOST PORTAL series)

TWENTY-THREE

The drive back to the forest, to the ghost portal, was eerily quiet. What more was there to say? Avery had been possessed by a Guide, flew into the sky, came into contact with a spiraling, black hole of a portal, witnessed a battle with a triceratops, zipped that black hole portal shut, and landed on his feet as if he'd had a regular day at a regular job.

The other Guides had whooped with joy, congratulating him on a successful mission. All I did was float there and zip something up, he'd thought to himself at the time, not seeing why he'd been so important, why his presence was required. Any Guide-possessed human might have done it; why did it have to be him? He'd have been perfectly fine waiting at the portal, hanging out with the ghosts of his friends. Or sitting around while they worked their magic in Limbo, to seal up its rampant portals. Why go straight into danger?

Once assured, again, that all portals and gates on this plane were closed, and all contaminants contained once more, Ada got out of Avery, allowing him to breathe. She'd never have to possess him again, she'd said; and though he'd nodded and offered her a weak smile in response, deep down, he didn't believe it.

There was always something with her. Always something wrong with this planet, this realm. There'd always be threats, the gates would always loom in the distance, ready to open, to spill out their poisonous contents once more. And if it happened again, in Avery's lifetime, he had no doubt Ada would come find him, enlist him to help. Because no one else would ever know how close this world came to annihilation. No matter all the televised events, the horrific natural catastrophes caught on camera, the numerous deaths; humans wouldn't know how deeply magical it all was. They'd chop it up to global warming and astrology, blame it on bad politicians and angry gods. They'd never be aware of just how many supernatural monsters almost destroyed their living space.

And as much as Avery itched to tell them all, to turn what had happened to him into some kind of documentary, he wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He didn't owe Ada anything, but even if he tried to explain everything, who'd believe him? There was no proof, aside from the news station footage and potentially some victim pictures and first-hand accounts of occurrences around the globe.

He'd be seen as a nutcase. All the people he'd interview would be mocked. And in any case, gathering those interviews, compiling them all together would take resources Avery didn't have. And he'd have needed Jamie to help with all the technological, video-editing stuff.

Jamie was no longer available to him. Nor was Amy, with her charisma. She'd light up a room when she showed up on a screen, her smile so infectious, her aura so positive, so electric and chock full of excitement. The world would have believed her if she were hosting a documentary with Avery.

And then there was Jessamine. But Jessamine was—

He shook himself back to life. Ada was no longer possessing him, so he couldn't afford to lose his focus as he drove. They were almost there, and Ada had hovered in the front passenger seat the whole time, quiet, reflective. From time to time he glanced sideways at her, catching her profile; for someone who'd saved the world, she didn't look too pleased. She wasn't frowning, but there was no joy in her expression, either.

What more was she hiding from Avery? He sensed it, sensed her, her ominous stillness, how she clasped her hands in her lap and stared out the window, admiring the scenery. She made herself invisible whenever cars passed by, but even if she wasn't quite there, Avery could feel her. He saw her, too, saw through her. He'd always been able to, since day one, and he wondered if he'd ever find out why they were so tethered, and how he could break that connection.

Now that all was said and done, he wanted nothing more to do with her and her missions and followers and ghost-guiding. He was finished.

He parked the car in its usual spot—a rectangle of flattened grass that had taken the shape of the vehicle, with all the times he'd been there—and got out, taking a breath of the normal, fresh, forest air. The sky's redness had all but vanished, though a few swirls of orange and grapefruit remained, signifying the sun's setting. The energy was lighter, calmer; despite it all, the world survived. The world prevailed.