The Half-Ghosts: A Spirit Prince

Ch. 2: The Spirit Tour

Hemmett ran his hand through his blond curls. How he hated this stupid hair of his! He wanted to cut it off again--it looked too like his mother's. However, he had the curse of fast-growing hair. No matter how often he cut it off, it grew back just the same within a day and stayed a bushy mop of curls atop his head, forever disheveled, with a mind of its own.

Aether insisted Hemmett was just lacking in practice and control--she could grow her hair out to a desired length or even shrink it, drawing it back into her head like growth in reverse. She claimed to be able to change the color, but she never had, or at least Hemmett hadn't seen it. Aether loved her coal-black curls, and who wouldn't? They were beautiful, spiraling, and somber, like Aether herself. Hemmett burned with jealousy for black hair, for any color hair than blond. At least he'd gotten his father's black eyes. The last thing he needed was golden eyes like Aether, and a healing power to go with them. Sure, it might come in handy when one of his friends got a spiritual wound, but he'd never want to give up his freedom to go around healing people. Hemmett was far too busy with other things.

"Father wants to talk to you," said Aether the moment Hemmett came through the wall and into their sitting room. She raised her eyebrows at him in that irritating way she had. Know-it-all Aether.

"Fine," said Hemmett. "I'll talk." He refused to let her unnerve him, as she did almost everyone, staring with her kaleidoscope eyes. He passed through the wall into his father's study, his head held high.

"Ah, Hemmett," said his father turning from a book he was reading. Emmett Groswald Cornelius St. Claire Marie-Claude Juan Rodriguez Gabriel Lysander Tippetarius Zetian O'Toole Carlisle Fitzhugh appeared to be a fortyish man, a little gray around the temples of that same black curly hair Aether had. He wore half-moon glasses and his robust figure was stuffed into a black Victorian suit. He appeared for all the worlds to be a middle-aged man, although Hemmett knew he was actually ageless--a mid-level spirit. He took on this appearance, and went by the name of Emmett Fitzhugh, mainly for the benefit of his wife, who was mortal.

Hemmett noticed the pipe his father was pretending to smoke by sending little wisps of ectoplasm out the end.

"Hey Pops. I thought you gave that up," he said.

"Just once in awhile," said his father. "Don't tell your mother."

Hemmett laughed.

"Well my boy," said Emmett. "I understand I'm meant to talk to you about something. Aether was very insistent."

"I don't know what she's complaining about," said Hemmett. "She's jealous of my spectral script." He scowled.

Emmett looked puzzled.

"You don't know what I'm supposed to talk to you about?"

"No sir," said Hemmett.

"Crux it all if I can remember. Well, you'd better go then. I'm sure if it's important, it'll create some terrible backlash that I'll notice . . . " He trailed off.

"Yes sir," said Hemmett, all respect, and turned to leave through the wall.

"And then I'll need to punish you double for whatever it was, and not telling me," continued Emmett, smiling.

Hemmett sighed. He put down his bag.

"It's the school," he said. "There've been some problems. Do you remember anything now?"