“It was a precaution. The room itself is secure for now; I believe even Terrano would have difficulty breaching the protections; they are not entirely of my design.”

“The occupants?”

“I do not believe they are what you would consider ghosts.”

“Are they like Amaldi and Darreno, then?”

“From what you have witnessed, no, they are definitely unlike the two. I do concur with your belief that the two are displaced or trapped—but I am not certain what will happen to them should they somehow be freed. Come away.” Helen reached out with a hand, indicating Kaylin should take it. “You will not be able to reach the door the usual way, but a door does exist.”

“Can you hear them, now?”

Helen shook her head. “No. But I can see what was built to provide them comfort and a sense of safety.”

“Does that give you any clue as to what they are?”

“Perhaps. But you perceived them as words, and that is not entirely inaccurate. These words I cannot hear, cannot speak; I perceive them only because you carried them and they came...here. But they spoke to Mrs. Erickson.” Helen’s eyes were obsidian. “You have not asked my advice, and the advice I give is therefore without weight, but...”

“But?”

“Mrs. Erickson is mortal. Her gift, such as it is, has never been detected until now. She is as you perceive her—and as you suspected, I do like her. But she is nonetheless dangerous, Kaylin, if Lord Sanabalis’s possession did not make that clear.”

“She had nothing to do with that!”

“She did not possess him, no. Nor would she, in my opinion. But they would not have woken were it not for her presence. In your stories, you speak of ghosts. In my experience, there were mortals who could see the echoes of those who had passed on; they called themselves shamans. But there were others that spoke with the dead; others who could command them.”

Kaylin stared at the Avatar of her home.

“I believe they were called Necromancers.”

“Necromancers don’t exist! And they weren’t about talking to the dead or freeing them or comforting them—they were about raising an army of mindless undead!”

“Is that what you’ve been told?”

“I haven’t been told that—they’re stories, Helen.”

“Would you like to hear the stories I heard, long before I found my freedom?”

“Do you actually remember them?”