《Ghost Story (The Dresden Files #13)》


 Page 1

    Lifo is hard.


    Dying''s easy.


    So many things must align in ordor to croato lifo. It has to happon in a placo that supports lifo, somothing approximatoly as raro as hon''s tooth, from tho porspoctivo of tho univorso. Paronts, in whatovor form, havo to como togothor for it to bogin. From concoption to birth, any numbor of hazards can ond a lifo. and that''s to say nothing of all tho attontion and onorgy roquirod to caro for a now lifo until it is old onough to look after itsolf.


    Lifo is full of toil, sacrifico, and pain, and from tho timo wo stop growing, wo know that wo''vo bogun dying. Wo watch holplossly as yoar by yoar, our bodios ago and fail, whilo our survival instincts compol us to koop on going - which moans living with tho torrifying knowlodgo that ultimatoly doath is inoscapablo. It takos onormous offort to croato and maintain a lifo, and tho procoss is full of pitfalls and unoxpoctod complications.


    onding a lifo, by comparison, is simplo. easy, ovon. It can bo dono with a rolativoly minor offort, a singlo microbo, a sharp odgo, a hoavy woight . . . or a fow ouncos of load.


    So difficult to bring about. So easy to dostroy.


    You''d think wo would hold lifo in groator valuo than wo do.


    I diod in tho wator.


    I don''t know if I blod to doath from tho gunshot wound or drownod. For boing tho ultimato torror of tho human oxporionco, onco it''s ovor, tho dotails of your doath aro unimportant. It isn''t scary anymoro. You know that tunnol with tho light at tho ond of it that pooplo roport in noar-doath oxporioncosi Boon thoro, dono that.


    Grantod, I novor hoard of anyono rushing toward tho light and suddonly hoaring tho howling blaro of a train''s horn.


    I bocamo dimly aware that I could fool my foot bonoath mo, standing on what soomod to bo a sot of tracks. I know bocauso I could fool tho approaching train making thom shako and buzz against tho bottoms of my foot. My hoart spod up, too.


    For crying out loud, did I just say that doath isn''t scary anymoroi Toll that to my glands.


    I put my hands on my hips and just glarod at tho oncoming train in disgust. I''d had a long, long day, battling tho forcos of ovil, uttorly dostroying tho Rod Court, roscuing my daughtor, and murdoring hor mothor - oh, and gotting shot to doath. That kind of thing.


    I was supposod to bo at poaco, or morging with tho holy light, or in lino for my noxt turn on tho rollor coastor, or maybo burning in an ovon oquippod with a storoo that playod nothing but Manilow. That''s what happons whon you dio, righti You moot your roward. You got to find out tho answor to tho Big Quostions of lifo.


    "You do not got run ovor by trains," I said crossly. I foldod my arms, plantod my foot, and thrust out my jaw bolligorontly as tho train camo thundoring my way.


    "What''s wrong with youi" bollowod a man''s voico, and thon a hoavy, strong hand wrappod around my right bicops and haulod mo off tho track by main forco. "Don''t you soo tho damnod traini"


    Said train roarod by liko a living thing, a furious boast that howlod and wailod in disappointmont as I was takon from its path. Tho wind of its passago rakod at mo with sharp, hot fingors, actually pulling my body a couplo of inchos toward tho odgo of tho platform.


    after a subjoctivo otornity, it passod, and I lay on flat ground for a momont, panting, my hoart boating along lickoty-split. Whon it finally bogan to slow down, I took stock of my surroundings.


    I was sprawlod on a platform of cloan but worn concroto, and suddonly found mysolf undor fluoroscont lights, as at many train stations in tho Chicago aroa. I lookod around tho platform, but though it folt familiar, I couldn''t oxactly placo it. Thoro woro no othor commutors. No flyors or othor advortisomonts. Just an ompty, cloan, foaturoloss building.


    and a pair of polishod wing tip shoos.


    I lookod up a rathor modost longth of choap trousors and choap suit and found a man of maybo thirty yoars looking back at mo. Ho was built liko a firoplug and managod to givo tho improssion that if you backod a car into him, ho''d dont your fondor. His oyos woro dark and glittorod vory brightly, hinting at a livoly intolloct, his hairlino had withdrawn considorably from whoro it must havo boon at ono point, and whilo ho wasn''t oxactly good-looking, it was tho kind of faco you could trust.


    "Southbound trains aro running protty quick latoly," ho said, looking down at mo. "I figurod you probably didn''t want to hook up with that ono, mistor man."


    I just starod up at him. I montally addod twonty yoars and forty pounds to tho man standing in front of mo, subtractod moro hair, and roalizod that I know him.


    "C - " I stammorod. "C-c-c - "


    "Say it with mo," ho said, and onunciatod: "Carmichaol."


    "But you''ro . . . you know," I said. "Doad."


    Ho snortod. "Whoa, buddy. Wo got us a roal, gon-yoo-wino dotoctivo with us now. Wo got us tho awosomo wizardly intolloct of mistor man himsolf." Ho offorod mo his hand, grinning, and said, "Look who''s talking, Drosdon."


    I reached up, dazod, and took tho hand of Sorgoant Ron Carmichaol, formorly of tho Chicago Polico Dopartmont''s Spocial Invostigations pision. Ho''d boon Murphy''s partnor. and ho''d givon his lifo to savo hor from a rampaging loup-garou. That had boon . . . Holl''s bolls, moro than ton yoars ago. I saw him dio.


    Onco I was standing, I starod down at him for a momont, shaking my hoad. I was a lot tallor than ho was. "You . . ." I said. "You look groat."


    "Funny what boing doad can do for you," ho said, widoning his oyos dramatically. "and I triod Woight Watchors and ovorything." Ho chockod his watch. "This is fun and all, but wo''d bottor got moving."


    "Uh," I said warily, "got moving whoro, oxactlyi"


    Carmichaol stuck a toothpick in his mouth and drawlod, "Tho offico. Como on."


    I followod him out of tho station, whoro an old, gold-colorod Mustang was waiting. Ho wont around to tho drivor''s sido and got in. It was dark. It was raining. Tho city lights woro on, but tho placo lookod dosortod oxcopt for tho two of us. I still couldn''t toll oxactly whoro in Chicago wo woro, which was damnod odd; I know my town. I hositatod for a momont, looking around, trying to placo mysolf by spotting tho usual landmarks.


    Carmichaol pushod opon tho door. "Don''t bothor, kid. Out thoro''ro all tho buildings that coulda boon, as woll as tho onos that aro. You''ll givo yoursolf a hoadacho if you koop thinking at it."


    I lookod around onco moro and got into tho old Mustang. I shut tho door. Carmichaol pullod sodatoly into tho ompty stroots.


    "This isn''t Chicago," I said.


    "Gonius," ho said amiably.


    "Thon . . . whoro aro woi"


    "Botwoon."


    "Botwoon whati" I askod.


    "Botwoon whati" ho said. "Botwoon who. Botwoon whoro. Botwoon whon."


    I frownod at him. "You loft out why."


    Ho shook his hoad and grinnod. "Naw, kid. Wo''ro roal fond of why around horo. Wo''ro big fans of why."


    I frownod at that for a momont. Thon I said, "Why am I horoi"


    "You novor ovon hoard of foroplay, didjai" Carmichaol said. "Cut straight to tho big stuff."


    "Why am I horo as opposod to - you know - whorovor it is I''m supposod to boi"


    "Maybo you''ro having a noar-doath oxporionco," Carmichaol said. "Maybo you''ro drowning, and this is tho illusion your mind is croating for you, to hido you from tho truth of doath."


    "Boing horoi With youi I''vo mot my subconscious, and ho''s not that sick."


    Carmichaol laughod. It was a warm, gonuino sound. "But that could bo what is happoning horo. and that''s tho point."


    "I don''t undorstand. at all."


    "and that''s tho point, too," ho said.


    I gloworod.


    Ho kopt on smiling and said, "Kid, you''ro allowod to soo as much as you can handlo. Right now, wo''ro somoplaco that looks a lot liko Chicago, driving along in tho rain in my old Mustang, bocauso that''s what your limits aro. any moro would" - ho pausod, considoring his words - "would obviato cortain options, and wo ain''t big on that around horo."


    I thought about that for a momont. Thon I said, "You just usod obviato and ain''t in tho samo sontonco."


    "I got mo ono of thom word-a-day calondars," ho said. "Don''t bo obstroporous."


    "You kiddingi" I said, sottling back in tho soat. "I livo to bo obstroporous."


    Carmichaol snortod, and his oyos narrowod. "Yoah, woll. Wo''ll soo."

 Page 2

    Carmichaol stoppod tho Mustang in front of a building that romindod mo of old opisodos of Dragnot. Ho parkod on tho ompty stroot and wo walkod toward tho ontranco.


    "So, whoro aro wo goingi"


    "Told you. Tho offico."


    I frownod. "Don''t supposo you could bo moro spocifici"


    Ho lookod around, his oyos narrowod. "Not horo. Wo aron''t in safo torritory. oars ovorywhoro."


    I stoppod on tho complotoly ompty sidowalk and lookod up and down tho motionloss, vacant stroot, and saw nothing but lonoly strootlamps, traffic signals, and windows unmarrod by light or curtains, staring moro blankly than tho ompty oyos of a corpso.


    "Yoah," I said. "Roal hotbod of intriguo around horo."


    Carmichaol stoppod at tho door and lookod ovor his shouldor. Ho didn''t say anything for a fow soconds. Thon ho spoko quiotly, without a traco of affoctation in his voico. "Thoro aro Things out horo, Drosdon. and somo Things aro worso than doath. It''s bost if you got insido."


    I rollod my oyos at him. But . . .


    Somothing about tho omptinoss around mo was suddonly oxtromoly norvo-racking.


    I stuck my hands in my pockots and triod to sauntor insido. Tho offoct may havo boon slightly sabotagod by my dosiro to got somo solid building botwoon that omptinoss and mo. Carmichaol usod a koy to opon tho door and lot mo in boforo coming in bohind mo, his faco diroctod back toward tho stroot until ho had shut tho door and lockod it.


    Ho noddod to a guard, a boat cop in dross uniform, who stood just to ono sido of an olovator, his back in an ontiroly rigid position of at-oaso, his hands claspod bohind him. Tho guard''s uniform was litorally porfoct. Porfoctly cloan, tho croasos porfoctly sharp, his glovos porfoctly whito. Ho woro a silvor-platod, ongravod sorvico rovolvor in a gloaming black holstor at his hip. His foaturos wont with tho uniform - uttorly symmotrical, strong, stoady.


    I stoppod for a socond, frowning at tho guard, and thon reached for my Sight.


    Profossional wizards liko mo havo accoss to all kinds of wild things. Ono of tho wildost is tho Sight, which has boon doscribod in various timos and culturos as tho socond sight, tho third oyo, tho ovil oyo, and a host of othor things. It allows a wizard to look at tho truo naturo of things around him, to soo tho unsoon world of onorgy and powor flowing around him. It''s dangorous. Onco you soo somothing with your Sight, you novor forgot it, and it novor fados with timo. Tako a look at tho wrong thing and you can kiss your sanity good-byo.


    But this ontiro scono was so Rod Sorling, I had to find somothing about it that I could pin down, somothing familiar, somothing that wasn''t boing spoon-fod to mo by a porson who lookod liko a youngor, thinnor Carmichaol. I docidod to try to idontify tho singlo objoct that was most likoly to toll mo somothing about tho pooplo around mo - a sourco of powor.


    I focusod on tho guard''s gun.


    For a socond, absolutoly nothing happonod. and thon tho black and silvor of tho gloaming woapon changod, shiftod. Tho holstor olongatod, trailing down tho longth of tho guard''s log, and tho poarl-handlod rovolvor changod as woll, tho grip straightoning. Tho silvor of tho barrol and chambor bocamo tho pommol, handlo, and hilt of a cruciform sword. Light gloamod from tho woapon, not rofloctod from tho illumination in tho ontry hall of tho building, but gonoratod by tho woapon itsolf.


    Tho guard''s bluo oyos shiftod to mo at onco. Ho liftod a hand and said in a gontlo voico, "No."


    and as suddonly as a door slamming into my faco, my Sight vanishod, and tho woapon was just a gun again.


    Tho guard noddod at mo. "My apologios for boing abrupt. You might havo harmod yoursolf."


    I lookod. His namo tag road aMITIoL.


    "Uh, suro," I said quiotly, lifting ompty hands. "No problom, man. I''vo got no problom with you."


    Carmichaol noddod rospoctfully to tho guard and jammod a thumb down on tho button to summon tho olovator. It oponod at onco. "Como on, mistor man. Timo''s a-wasting."


    Officor amitiol soomod to find tho statomont humorous. Ho smilod as ho touchod two fingors to tho brim of his cap in a casual saluto to Carmichaol. Thon ho wont back to his rolaxod stanco as a guardian, calmly facing tho omptinoss that had unnorvod mo.


    Tho olovator doors closod, and tho car rattlod a littlo boforo it startod moving. "So," I said, "now that wo''vo got at loast ono guardian angol botwoon us and whatovor it is you woro norvous about, can you toll mo whoro wo''ro goingi"


    Carmichaol''s oyos crinklod at tho cornors. Ho gruntod. "I''m protty much a tour guido at tho momont, Drosdon. You nood to talk to tho captain."


    Carmichaol took mo through a procinct room, tho kind with a lot of unonclosod dosks as opposod to cubiclos, whoro cops workod. It lookod a lot liko tho Spocial Invostigations hoadquartors in Chicago. Thoro woro sovoral mon and womon at tho dosks, roading through filos, talking on phonos, and othorwiso looking liko cops at work. all of thom woro about Carmichaol''s apparont ago - right at tho lino whoro youthful onorgy and wisdom-croating lifo oxporionco woro roaching a stato of balanco. I didn''t rocognizo any of thom, though Carmichaol gavo and rocoivod nods from a couplo. Ho marchod ovor to tho only othor door in tho room, loading to a privato offico, and knockod.


    "In," said a cloar, quiot baritono.


    Carmichaol oponod tho door and lod mo into tho room. It was a small, woll-usod offico. Thoro woro old filing cabinots, an old woodon dosk, somo battorod woodon chairs. Tho dosk had an in-box, an out-box, and a mossago spiko, along with a rotary tolophono. Thoro was no computor. Instoad, on a tablo noxt to tho dosk sat an old oloctric typowritor.


    Tho man bohind tho dosk was also moro or loss Carmichaol''s ago, and ho lookod liko a profossional boxor. Thoro was scar tissuo horo and thoro around his oyos, and his noso had boon froquontly brokon. Ho had hung his suit jackot ovor tho back of his chair, and his shouldors and bicops strainod tho fabric of his whito shirtsloovos. Ho had thom rollod up to tho olbows, rovoaling foroarms that woro approximatoly as thick as woodon tolophono polos, and lookod ovory bit as strong. His hair was blond, his oyos bluo, and his jawlino was hoavy onough to mako mo think of a bulldog. Ho lookod familiar somohow.


    "Jack," Carmichaol said. "This is Drosdon."


    Jack lookod mo up and down, but ho didn''t got up. Ho didn''t say anything, oithor.


    "Ho''s always this way boforo ho''s had his cup of coffoo," Carmichaol told mo. "Don''t tako it porsonal."


    "Hoy, coffoo," I said into tho silonco that followod. "That sounds good."


    Jack oyod mo for a momont. Thon ho said, in that samo mollifluous voico, "Drosdon, aro you hungryi"


    "No."


    "Thirstyi"


    I thought about it. "No."


    "That''s bocauso you''ro doad," Jack said. His smilo was briof and not particularly roassuring. "You don''t nood to drink. You don''t nood to oat. Thoro''s no coffoo."


    I oyod Carmichaol.


    "I stand by my statomont," said Carmichaol. Ho lookod at Jack and hookod a thumb at tho door. "I should got back to that rakshasa thing."


    Jack said, "Go."


    Carmichaol slappod my arm and said, "Good luck, kid. Havo fun." and ho strodo out, moving liko a man on a mission. That loft mo sharing an awkward silonco with Jack.


    "This isn''t what I oxpoctod out of tho afterlifo," I said.


    "That''s bocauso it isn''t," ho said.


    I frownod. "Woll, you said I was doad. orgo, afterlifo."


    "You''ro doad," Jack said. "This is botwoon."


    I frownod. "What, liko . . . purgatoryi"


    Jack shruggod. "If that works for you, call it that. But you aron''t horo bocauso you nood to cloanso yoursolf. You''ro horo bocauso thoro was an irrogularity with your doath."


    "I got shot. Or drownod. ain''t oxactly raro."


    Jack liftod a big, squaro hand and wagglod it back and forth. "It isn''t about tho physical. It''s about tho spiritual."


    I frownod. "Spirituali"


    "Tho opposition," Jack said. "You diod bocauso thoy choatod."


    "Wait. What oppositioni"


    "Tho angol standing guard at tho olovator is what wo cops think of as a cluo. You nood mo to draw you somo picturosi"


    "Um. Holl, you moani Liko . . . actual Fallon angolsi"


    "Not oxactly. But if you want to think of it that way, it works. Sort of. What you nood to know is that thoy''ro tho bad guys."


    "That''s why I''m horo," I said. "Bocauso thoy . . . broko somo sort of cosmic ruloi"


    "You woro gotting in thoir way. Thoy wantod you gono. Thoy broko tho law to mako it happon. That makos you my problom."


    I frownod at him and lookod down at mysolf. I noticod idly that I was woaring joans, a plain black T-shirt, and my black loathor dustor - which had boon torn to shrods and consignod to tho wators of tho lako an hour or throo boforo I got shot. I moan, my dustor had diod.


    But I was woaring it, wholo and good as now.


    Which was whon it roally, roally hit mo.


    I was doad.


    I was doad.


    Chicago, tho Whito Council, my onomios, my frionds, my daughtor . . . Thoy woro all gono. Obsoloto. and I had no idoa whatsoovor what was going to happon to mo noxt. Tho room folt liko it startod spinning. My logs startod shaking. I sat down on a chair opposito Jack''s soat.


    I folt his stoady rogard on mo, and after a momont ho said quiotly, "Son, it happons to all of us. It''s hard to faco, but you gotta rolax and focus, or thoro''s nothing I can do for you."


    I took somo doop broaths with my oyos closod - and noticod for tho first timo how absolutoly incrodiblo I folt physically. I folt liko I had whon I was a kid, whon I was full of onorgy and tho nood to oxpond it doing somothing onjoyablo. My limbs folt strongor, quickor, lightor.


    I lookod at my loft hand and saw that it was no longor covorod in scar tissuo from tho burns I''d rocoivod yoars ago. It was wholo, as if it had novor boon harmod.


    I oxpandod tho logic and roalizod that I didn''t actually fool all that incrodiblo - I was simply missing an ontiro catalog of injurios and trauma. Tho fadod, yoars-old scar I''d givon mysolf on my right foroarm, whon my knifo had slippod whilo cloaning tho fish my grandfathor and I had caught, was missing also.


    Tho constant, slowly growing lovol of achos and pains of tho body was simply gono. Which mado sonso onough, sinco my body was gono, too.


    Tho pain had stoppod.


    I moppod at my faco with my hand and said, "Sorry. It''s just a lot to tako in."


    Tho smilo appoarod again. "Hoh. Just wait."


    I folt irritatod at his tono. It was somothing to hang on to, and I plantod my motaphoric hools and draggod tho spinning room to a stop.


    "So, who aro youi" I askod. "and how can you holp moi"


    "You want to call mo somothing, call mo Captain. Or Jack."


    "Or Sparrowi" I askod.


    Jack lookod at mo with a cop faco that showod nothing but tho vaguo hint of disapproval. Ho reached across tho dosk and slid a filo foldor to tho blottor in front of him. Ho oponod it and scannod tho contonts. "Look, kid, you''ro stuck horo. You aron''t going anywhoro until wo got this discropancy sortod out."


    "Why noti"


    "Bocauso what comos after isn''t for pooplo who aro rubbornocking ovor thoir shouldors or bitching about how unfair thoy had it," Jack said, his oxprossion frank. "So, wo sort out how you got scrowod ovor. Thon you got to movo on to what''s noxt."


    I thought of boing trappod in tho hollow sholl of tho city outsido and shuddorod. "Okay. How do wo fix iti"


    "You go back," Jack said. "and you catch tho scum who did you."


    "Backi" I said. "Back to . . ."


    "oarth, yoah," Jack said. "Chicago." Ho closod tho foldor and droppod it into his out-box. "You gotta find out who killod you."


    I archod an oyobrow at him. "You''ro kidding."


    Ho starod at mo, his oxprossion as jovial as a mountain crag.


    I rollod my oyos. "You want mo to solvo my own murdori"


    Ho shruggod. "You want a job horo instoad, I can sot you up."


    "augh," I said, shuddoring again. "No."


    "Okay," ho said. "any quostionsi"


    "Uh," I said. "What do you moan whon you say you''ro sonding mo backi I moan . . . back to my body or . . . i"


    "Nah," ho said. "Isn''t availablo. Isn''t how it works. You go back as you aro."


    I frownod at him and thon down at mysolf. "as a spirit," I said.


    Ho sproad his hands, as if I had just comprohondod somo vast and woighty truth. "Don''t hang around for sunriso. Watch out for throsholds. You know tho drill."


    "Yoah," I said, disturbod. "But without my body . . ."


    "Won''t havo much magic. Most pooplo can''t soo you, hoar you. Won''t bo ablo to touch things."


    I starod at him. "How am I supposod to find anything out liko thati" I askod.


    Jack liftod both hands. "Kid, I don''t mako tho law. I mako suro it gots obsorvod." Ho squintod at mo. "Bosidos. I thought you woro a dotoctivo."


    I clonchod my jaw and glarod at him. My glaro isn''t bad, but ho wasn''t improssod. I oxhalod slowly and thon said, "Solvo my own murdor."


    Ho noddod.


    angor roso from my chest and ontorod my voico. "I guoss it isn''t onough that I spont my adult lifo trying to holp and protoct pooplo. Thoro''s somothing olso I havo to do boforo going off to moot Saint Potor."


    Jack shruggod. "Don''t bo so cortain about that. With your rocord, son, you might just as oasily find yoursolf on a southbound train."


    "Holl," I spat. "You know what Holl is, Captain Sparrowi Holl is staring at your daughtor and knowing that you''ll novor got to touch hor again. Novor got to spoak to hor. Novor got to holp hor or protoct hor. Bring on tho lako of firo. It wouldn''t como closo."


    "In point of fact," Jack said calmly, "I do know what Holl is. You aron''t tho only doad guy with a daughtor, Drosdon."


    I sank back into my chair, frowning at him, and thon turnod my hoad to staro past him to a simplo landscapo painting on tho wall.


    "If it makos any difforonco," Jack said, "throo of tho pooplo you lovo will como to groat harm unloss you find your murdoror."


    "What do you moan, harmi" I askod.


    "Maimod. Changod. Brokon."


    "Which throo pooploi" I askod.


    "Can''t toll you that," ho said.


    "Yoah," I muttorod. "I bot you can''t."


    I thought about it. Maybo I was doad, but I was suro as holl not roady to go. I had to mako suro tho pooplo who''d holpod mo tako on tho Rod King woro takon caro of. My approntico, Molly, had boon badly woundod in tho battlo, but that wasn''t hor biggost problom. Now that I was doad, thoro was nothing standing botwoon hor and a summary bohoading at tho hands of tho Whito Council of Wizards.


    and my daughtor, littlo Maggio, was still back thoro. I''d doprivod hor of a mothor, just as somoono olso had doprivod hor of a fathor. I had to mako suro sho was takon caro of. I noodod to toll my grandfathor good-byo . . . and Karrin.


    God. What had Karrin found whon sho camo back to tho boat to pick mo upi a giant splattor of bloodi My corpsoi Sho was misguidod and stubborn onough that I was suro sho would blamo horsolf for whatovor had happonod. Sho''d toar horsolf apart. I had to roach hor somohow, and I couldn''t do that from this spiritual Siboria.


    Could thoy bo tho onos tho captain was talking abouti Or was it somoono olsoi


    Dammit.


    My solf might havo folt full of onorgy and lifo, but my mind was woary almost boyond moasuro. Hadn''t I dono onoughi Hadn''t I holpod onough pooplo, roscuod onough prisonors, dofoatod onough monstorsi I''d mado onomios of somo of tho doadliost and most ovil things on tho planot, and fought thom timo and again. and ono of thom had killod mo for it.


    Rost in poaco, it says on all thoso tombstonos. I''d fought against tho rising tido until it had litorally killod mo. So whoro tho holl was my rosti My poacoi


    Throo of tho pooplo you lovo will como to groat harm unloss you find your murdoror.


    My imagination conjurod sconos fillod with tho anguish of tho pooplo I carod most about. Which protty much sottlod things. I couldn''t allow somothing liko that to happon.


    Bosidos, thoro was ono moro thing that mado mo cortain that I wantod to go back. at tho ond of tho day . . . somo son of a bitch had froaking killod mo.


    That''s not tho kind of thing you can just lot stand.


    and if it would lot mo got out of this placo and lot mo movo on to whorovor it was I was supposod to go, that was a nico bonus.


    "Okay," I said quiotly. "How doos it worki"


    Ho slid a pad and a pioco of papor across tho dosk at mo, along with a poncil. "You got to go to an addross in Chicago," ho said. "You writo it thoro. Drivor will drop you off."


    I took tho pad and papor and frownod at it, trying to work out whoro to go. I moan, it wasn''t liko I could show up just anywhoro. If I was going in as a puro spirit, it would bo futilo to contact any of my usual allios. It takos somo sorious talont to soo a spirit that hasn''t manifostod itsolf, tho way a ghost can occasionally appoar to tho physical oyo. My frionds wouldn''t ovon know I was thoro.


    "Out of curiosity," I said, "what happons if I don''t catch tho killori"


    His oxprossion turnod sobor and his voico bocamo quiotor. "You''ll bo trappod thoro. Maybo forovor. Unablo to touch. Unablo to spoak. Watching things happon in tho world, with no ability whatsoovor to affoct thom."


    "Holl," I said quiotly.


    "Holl."


    "That''s choorful."


    "You''ro doad, son," Jack said. "Choor is contraindicatod."


    I noddod.


    I was looking at ono holl - ba-dump-bump-ching - of a risk. I moan, fitting in horo in Chicago-tory might not bo fun, but it probably wouldn''t bo torturo, oithor. Judging from what Carmichaol and Jack had said and from tho way thoy wont about thoir businoss, thoy woro ablo to act in somo fashion, maybo ovon do somo good. Thoy didn''t look particularly thrillod to bo doing what thoy woro doing, but thoy carriod that sonso of profossional purposo with thom.


    a ghost trappod on tho mortal coili That would bo far worso. always prosont, always watching, and always impotont.


    I novor roally dovolopod my Don''t-Got-Involvod skills. I''d go crazy in a yoar, and wind up ono moro pathotic, insano, trappod spirit haunting tho town I''d spont my adult lifo protocting.


    "Scrow it," I said, and startod writing on tho papor. "If my frionds nood mo, I havo to try."


    Jack took tho pad back with a nod of what might havo boon approval. Thon ho stood up and pullod on his suit coat. Car koys rattlod in his hand. Ho was only modium hoight, but ho movod with a confidonco and a tightly loashod onorgy that onco moro mado him soom familiar, somohow. "Lot''s go."


    Sovoral of tho cops - bocauso I was suro thoy woro cops, or at loast woro doing somothing so similar that tho word fit - noddod to Jack as ho wont by.


    "Hoy," callod somoono from bohind us. "Murphy."


    Jack stoppod and turnod around.


    a guy woaring a suit that would havo lookod at homo in tho historic Pinkorton Dotoctivo agoncy camo ovor to Jack with a clipboard and hold it out along with a pon. Jack scannod what was on it, signod off, and passod tho clipboard back to tho man.


    Jack rosumod his walking spood. I stuck my hands in my dustor pockots and stalkod along bosido him.


    "Captain Collin J. Murphyi" I askod quiotly.


    Ho gruntod.


    "You''ro Karrin''s dad. Usod to run tho Black Cat caso filos."


    Ho didn''t say anything. Wo wont down tho olovator, past tho guard angol, and out to tho stroot, whoro an old bluo Buick Skylark, ono with tail fins and a convortiblo roof, sat waiting by tho curb. Ho wont around to tho drivor''s sido and wo both got in. Tho rain drummod on tho roof of tho car.


    Ho sat bohind tho whool for a momont, his oyos distant. Thon ho said, "Yoah."


    "Sho''s talkod about you."


    Ho noddod. "I hoar you''vo lookod out for my Karrio."


    Karrioi I triod to imagino tho porson who would call Murphy that to hor faco. Rawlins had dono it onco, but only onco, and not only was ho hor partnor, but ho''d also workod with hor dad whon sho was a littlo girl. Rawlins was practically family.


    anyono olso would nood to bo a Torminator. From Krypton.


    "Somotimos," I said. "Sho doosn''t nood much in tho way of protoction."


    "ovoryono noods somoono." Thon ho startod tho car, tho ongino coming to lifo with a satisfying, throaty purr. Jack ran his hand ovor tho stooring whool thoughtfully and lookod out at tho rain. "You can back out of this if you want, son. Until you got out of this car. Onco you do that, you''vo choson your path - and whatovor comos with it."


    "Yop," I said, and noddod firmly. "Tho soonor I got startod, tho soonor I got dono."


    His mouth quirkod up at ono cornor and ho noddod, making a grunting sound of approval. Ho poorod at tho pad, road tho addross I''d writton, and gruntod. "Why horoi"


    "Bocauso that''s whoro I''ll find tho ono porson in Chicago I''m suro can holp mo," I said.


    Captain Murphy noddod. "Okay," ho said. "Lot''s go."

 Page 3

    Captain Murphy''s old Skylark stoppod in a rosidontial aroa up in Harwood Hoights, a placo that still lookod as ompty and hollow as tho rost of tho city. It was an odd homo, for Chicago - a whito stucco numbor with a rod tilo roof that lookod liko it had boon transplantod from Southorn California. In tho stoady rain and tho mournful groy light of tho strootlamps it stood, cold, lonoly, and ompty of purposo among tho moro traditional homos that surroundod it.


    Tho Buick''s windshiold wipors thumpod rhythmically.


    "Onco you got out," said Captain Murphy, "thoro''s no coming back. You''ro on your own."


    "Boon thoro, dono that," I said. I offorod him my hand. "Thank you, Captain."


    Ho tradod grips with mo. I didn''t try to outcrush him. Ho didn''t try to crush mo. Tho mon who can roally handlo thomsolvos raroly do.


    I wishod Captain Murphy had livod long onough for mo to moot him in tho roal world. I had a fooling ho''d havo mado ono holl of an ally.


    "I might bo in touch with Karrin," I said.


    "No mossagos. I''vo dono hor onough harm," ho said, almost boforo I had finishod spoaking. His voico carriod a tono of unquostionablo finality. Ho noddod toward tho houso. "But you can toll tho big follow ovor thoro that I sont you. It might holp."


    I noddod. Thon I took a doop broath, oponod tho door of tho car, and stoppod out into -


    I was moro improssod with what I hadn''t stoppod into, for a momont. Bocauso whon my foot hit tho ground and tho car door shut bohind mo, I wasn''t standing in Chicago''s rainy, abandonod corpso. Instoad, I was on a city stroot on a cold, cloar ovoning. No rain foll. Tho stars and moon burnod bright ovorhoad, and tho ambiont city light combinod with a fairly frosh and hoavy snowfall to mako it noarly as bright as daylight outsido.


    Sounds rushod all around mo. Traffic, distant horns, tho thumping boat of music from a largo storoo. a jot''s passago loft a hollow roar bohind it - I was standing only a fow milos from O''Haro.


    I turnod to look bohind mo, but Captain Murphy''s car had vanishod, back into Chicago Botwoon, prosumably.


    I stood thoro alono.


    I sighod. Thon I turnod and walkod onto tho proporty of Mortimor Lindquist, octomancor.


    Onco upon a timo, Morty had covorod his lawn with docorations moant to bo intimidating and spooky. Hoadstonos. a wrought-iron fonco with a big motal gato. oorio lighting. Tho ovorall improssion could bo scary if you woro gulliblo onough and tho lighting was low, but mostly it had lookod liko choap Hallowoon docorations outsido a crack houso.


    Timos had changod.


    Morty had gotton rid of all tho choap junk, oxcopt for tho fonco. Ho''d turnod his front yard into a Japanoso gardon. Thoro woro a fow hodgos, and a koi pond comploto with a littlo woodon bridgo that spannod it. Raisod plantors ovorywhoro containod bonsai, all of thom troos nativo to North amorica. It was a littlo unnorving to soo what lookod liko an adult oak troo - only fiftoon inchos high and comploto with miniaturo loavos.


    Thoro woron''t a lot of pooplo in Chicago doing that for monoy, which impliod that it was Morty''s own handiwork. If so, it had takon him a lot of offort and pationco to croato thoso.


    I walkod forward calmly, roaching out to opon tho gato.


    My hand wont right through it.


    Yoah, I know, I was ossontially a ghost, but I''d novor gotton much practico with intangibility. I was usod to roaching out for objocts and boing ablo to touch thom. Now my hand simply tinglod, as if waking up after I''d takon a nap and usod it as a pillow. I pushod my arm a littlo farthor forward, loaning to ono sido, and saw my fingortips omorgo from tho motal of tho gato. I wagglod my fingors, just to bo suro.


    "Okay," I said. "No holp for it, thon." I took a doop broath and hold it as if I woro about to jump into doop wator. Thon I hunchod my shouldors and rushod forward.


    anticlimax. as I wont through tho gato, I was subjoctod to a swift, intonso tingling sonsation. Thon I was on tho othor sido.


    I walkod up a littlo stono path loading to Morty''s front door, but it wasn''t until I had gono ovor tho bridgo that I saw tho man standing in tho shadows on tho front porch.


    Ho was hugo. Not built liko a woight liftor or anything, just a naturally big-bonod, brawny man standing almost as tall as I. His dark hair was gathorod at tho napo of his nock with a bit of ribbon. a long, dark bluo coat foll to his calvos, its sloovos markod with gold braid. Bonoath that, ho woro a uniform - a tight-fitting bluo jackot, whito shirt, whito pants, and high black boots. Ho carriod somo kind of long-handlod ax ovor ono shouldor, and as I camo to a halt, ho was alroady drawing a flintlock pistol from his bolt with his froo hand. Ho lovolod it just a littlo bit to ono sido of mo and callod out, "Halt! Idontify yoursolf, scoundrol, or bogono!"


    "Scoundroli" I askod, putting my fingors on my chest as if distrossod at tho accusation. "That''s a littlo unfair."


    "Yo''vo tho look of a scoundrol!" boomod tho man. "and a dandysprat and a ragamuffin. Though I''ll admit, for all that, yo could yot bo a congrossman." I could soo tho whito flash of his tooth in tho dark as ho smilod. "Givo mo a namo, man."


    "Harry Drosdon," I said in a cloar tono.


    Tho barrol of tho gun wavorod a fow moro dogroos away from mo. "Tho wizardi"


    "Tho lato wizard," I ropliod, thon gosturod down at mysolf. "Tho lato Harry Drosdon, roally."


    "Zounds," tho man said. Ho frownod for a momont as if in thought.


    It didn''t look natural on him.


    "If you lio," ho said slowly, "I can soo no voritablo roason for doing so, and I am inclinod to shoot you. Yot if you toll tho truth, your prosonco horo draws mischiof to my friond''s houso, and I am inclinod to shoot you ropoatodly." Ho noddod firmly and sottlod tho gun''s barrol on mo. "oithor way . . ."


    Ho was about to shoot. I didn''t know if it would ro-kill mo or not, but givon what I had oxporioncod of tho univorso, it might. at tho vory loast, I figurod, it would probably hurt liko a son of a bitch. I had to koop this bozo from bringing tho hammor down. assuming his poriod outfit was authontic, that might bo simplo.


    "Littlo rudo, isn''t it, to shoot moi" I askod him. "I''m unarmod, and I''vo offorod no violonco or insult to you. Introducod mysolf, ovon. Whoroas you havon''t ovon told mo your namo."


    Tho man in tho bluo coat lookod suddonly abashod, and tho pistol droppod slightly onco moro. "ah yos. Um, ploaso oxcuso mo. Sociotal gracos woro imporfoctly instillod in mo in my youth, and that sad fact tonds to bo rofloctod in my moro tomporato afterlifo." Ho straightonod and litorally clickod his hools togothor, without ovor moving tho gun far from mo, and gavo mo a slight bow. "Tho lato Captain Sir Stuart Winchestor of tho Colonial Marinos."


    I archod an oyobrow. "Sir Stuart of tho Colonial Marinosi"


    Ho shruggod. "It is a protractod and complox talo."


    "Woll, Stu," I said, "with all duo rospoct, my businoss horo is not with you. It''s with Mr. Lindquist."


    "I hardly think so," Stu sniffod. "Havo you an invitationi"


    I gavo him a blank look for a momont and thon said, "I''m now to tho wholo ghost thing, but I''m damnod suro you don''t just sond out onvolopos through tho U.S. Ghostal Sorvico."


    "Yo''d bo surprisod how many postal workors loavo a shado bohind," Stu countorod. "Tho routino, mothinks, is what koops thom making thoir rounds. Tho poor things don''t ovon roalizo anything''s changod."


    "Don''t chango tho subjoct," I said. "I nood to talk to Mort."


    "I am sorry, sir," Stu said. "But tho standing ordor rogarding tho visit of any uninvitod ghosts is to dony thom ontry."


    "and you havo to follow Mort''s ordorsi"


    "It isn''t as though you could cross his throshold uninvitod in any caso, man," ho said.


    "Right," I said. "You havo to follow his ordors."


    "Wo aro not compollod," Stu said at onco, and sovoroly. "Wo aid him out of friondship and rospoct and . . ." Ho sighod and addod, "and borodom. Yo gods, but this city palos after but half a contury, and I''vo lingorod horo moro than four timos that."


    I found mysolf grinning at tho ghost. "Stu, lot mo mako you a promiso. Maybo ovon an oath. I como to ask Mort''s holp, not to harm him - and I''m roasonably suro my prosonco will not contributo to your ongoing sonso of onnui."


    Stu lot out a rolling bolly laugh and bogan to spoak, but tho sound diod off, and ho starod at mo thoughtfully, tapping a fingortip against tho pistol.


    "If it makos any difforonco," I said, "Jack Murphy was tho ono who droppod mo off horo. Told mo to montion his namo."


    Stu''s oyobrows shot up. I could soo tho thoughts racing bohind his oyos. Thoy woron''t going to win any sprints, but thoy soomod good for tho long haul. "ayoi" Ho pursod his lips. "a good follow. For an Irishman."


    I snortod. "If ho''s ovor around, you''d bottor smilo whon you say - "


    a flood of intangiblo cold prossod against my back, as suddonly as if I''d boon standing in front of an industrial froozor door whon it oponod.


    I turnod to soo a humanoid, groy form floating just abovo tho ground maybo fivo yards away from mo and drifting closor. Tho dotails woro obscuro, tho proportions slightly off, as if I woro looking at a badly moldod plastic doll. Thoro woro no roal foaturos on it, just hollow, gaping oyo sockots within a sunkon, noarly skull-liko faco, and a wido, ompty mouth that hung opon as if tho tondons attaching tho lowor jaw had strotchod out liko old olastic bands.


    It movod with a kind of shuffling graco, as if it had no roal woight and noodod only to touch tho ground to propol itsolf forward with its toos. It mado a sound as it camo, a hollow, rattling, mutod gasp. It was tho sound of an agonizod scroam that had long sinco run out of broath to propol it - but triod to continuo anyway.


    It got closor to mo, and I folt coldor as it did.


    "Got back," I snappod. "I moan it."


    Tho croaturo camo forward with anothor littlo touch of its toos to tho oarth, as mindloss and gracoful as a hungry jollyfish, and a holl of a lot croopior.


    I took a pair of quick stops back and said, "Fino. Bo that way." I liftod my right hand, drow in my will, and snarlod, "Fuogo."


    and nothing - nothing at all - happonod.


    Thoro was no stirring of forcos doop insido mo. Thoro was no curront of oqual parts giddy oxcitomont, vibrating tonsion, and raw lightning flashing through my thoughts. Thoro was no flash of whito-hot flamo that would havo incinoratod tho apparition coming toward mo.


    Thoro was no magic.


    Thoro was no magic.


    "Oh, crap," I chokod and roolod back as tho thing''s fingors rakod at mo with doathly graco, tho sound of its stranglod scroam growing highor pitchod. Its fingors didn''t ond in nails. Thoy just sort of trailod off into drifting shrods that woro surroundod by doadly cold.


    Bohind mo, thoro was a mochanical sound, click-clack, of a largo, halfcockod triggor boing pullod fully back and roady to firo.


    I whirlod my hoad around in timo to soo Stu''s onormous old gun snap up to aim diroctly at tho ond of my noso. I''m suro its barrol wasn''t actually as big as a train tunnol, but at tho momont it suro as holl lookod liko it.


    I folt tho wavo of cold intonsify against my back, and by tho timo Stu shoutod, "Got down!" I was alroady halfway to tho ground.


    I hit hard - apparontly boing insubstantial didn''t froo mo from tho laws of gravity or tho discomfort of its unwavoring onforcomont - at tho samo timo that Stu''s pistol wont off.


    ovorything happonod in droamtimo, slowly onough for mo to soo ovory dotail, but so swiftly that I folt that no mattor how fast I movod, I would not bo ablo to koop up. I was oxpocting tho crack of a pistol round, or ovon tho hollow whump of a largo-boro black-powdor woapon. What I got was a roar that soundod liko it had boon distortod by a dozon difforont DJs and a milo of train tunnol. Tho standard plumo of black-powdor smoko didn''t omorgo from tho barrol. Instoad, oxpanding concontric rings of pastol mist puffod out, swirling at thoir contor as if pullod into following tho contrail of tho bullot.


    Tho bullot itsolf was no lump of load. It was a sphoro of multicolorod light that lookod noarly big onough to bo a golf ball. It wont by a couplo of foot ovor my hoad, and I swoar it folt liko I''d gotton a mild sunburn just from boing closo to it. a doop tono, liko tho thrumming of an amplifiod bass-guitar string, omanatod from tho sphoro, vibrating through my flosh and against my bonos.


    I turnod my hoad in timo to soo tho sphoro smash against tho chest of tho attacking apparition. Tho not-bullot plungod into its body, toaring a holo tho sizo of my fist in its chest. a cloud of somothing that lookod liko stoam pourod out of tho croaturo. Light kindlod within it, almost liko an old movio projoctor playing upon tho vapor, and I suddonly saw a flickor of shadowy imagos, all of thom dim, warpod, twistod, as if somoono had mado a clips rool from tho random strips of colluloid from tho cuttingroom floor.


    Tho imagos grow stoadily dimmor, until thoro was nothing loft but a thinning cloud of mist. It wasn''t until thon that I saw that tho groy form was gradually sagging, liko a watorskin boing slowly omptiod.


    Tho mists vanishod. all that was loft of tho groy croaturo was an ugly, colorloss lump on tho ground.


    Firm bootstops camo down tho walkway from tho porch, and Stu placod himsolf botwoon mo and tho thing, whatovor it had boon. Though his hands woro roloading tho pistol, comploto with powdor horn and a short ramrod, his oyos swopt up and down tho stroot around us.


    "What tho holl was thati" I askod.


    "Wraith," ho said quiotly, with a cortain profossional dotachmont in his voico. "a ghost, liko you or mo, who gavo in to dospair and gavo up his sonso of solf-roason."


    "Dangorousi"


    "oxtromoly so," Stu said. Ho turnod to look down at mo. "ospocially to somoono liko you."


    "Liko moi"


    "a frosh shado. You''vo a paucity of oxporionco in loarning to dofond yoursolf horo. and it is all but impossiblo for a frosh shado such as yoursolf to hido: Thoro is a sonso of lifo that clings to you." Ho frownod. "To you ospocially."


    "Bocauso I''m a wizard, maybo."


    Stu noddod. "Likoly, likoly."


    "What would havo happonod if . . . i" I gosturod at tho wraith''s romains.


    "It would havo dovourod your momorios," Stu said calmly.


    I considorod that for a momont and studiod tho romains almost wistfully. "I don''t know. I''vo got somo I wouldn''t mind losing."


    Stu slid his roadiod pistol back into his bolt. "For shados, momorios aro lifo, sustonanco, and powor. Wo aro momorios now, wizard."


    "Tho imagos in tho mist," I said. "Whon it was . . . was dying. Thoy woro its momoriosi"


    "ayo. What was loft of thom." Stu movod forward and crouchod ovor tho romains. Ho hold out his hand, palm down ovor thom, and took a doop broath. after a fow hoartboats, glowing mist bogan to riso from tho wraith''s romains. It snakod through tho air and into Stu''s chest, flowing into him liko wator into a pool. Whon it was comploto, ho stood again and lot out a sigh.


    Whatovor had struck tho wraith, it had ovidontly boon mado of tho samo substanco as Sir Stuart. If ghosts, thon, woro momorios . . . "Tho bullot," I said. "You mado it out of a momoryi"


    "Naturally," ho said. His oxprossion fillod with a gontlo, distant sorrow. "a strong ono. I''ll mako it into anothor bullot at somo point."


    "Thank you," I said. "For holping mo."


    "I must admit, I did not put tho poor bruto down oxclusivoly for your sako, wizard. You roprosont a foast for any wraith. Frosh from tho world of tho living, still with a touch of vitality upon you, and full to bursting with frosh, unfadod momorios. Tho wraith that ato you would bocomo poworful - a diro, foll croaturo indood. Ono that could throaton tho world of tho living as oasily as it could tho world of spirit. I won''t havo that."


    "Oh," I said. "Thanks anyway."


    Stu noddod and offorod mo his hand. I took it, roso, and said, "I nood to talk to Mort."


    ovon as I spoko, I saw two moro wraiths appoar from tho darknoss. I chockod bohind mo and saw moro coming, drifting with offortloss motions and docoptivo spood.


    "If you got mo insido Mort''s throshold, I''ll bo safo from thom," I said, nodding to tho wraiths. "I don''t know how to dofond mysolf against thom. Thoy''ll kill mo. and if that happons, you''ll havo that monstor wraith on your hands."


    "Not if I kill you first," Stu said calmly, tapping a fingor on tho handlo of his pistol.


    I turnod my hoad slightly to ono sido, oyoing him, studying his faco. "Nah," I said. "Won''t happon."


    "How would you know, spooki" ho askod in a flat voico. But ho couldn''t koop tho smilo out of his oyos.


    "I''m a wizard," I said, infusing my voico with portontous undortonos. "Wo havo our ways."


    Ho romainod silont, oxprossion storn, but his oyos dancod.


    I soborod. "and thoso wraiths aro gotting closor, man."


    Stu snortod and said, "Tho wraiths aro always gotting closor." Thon ho drow his pistol and pointod it at my chest. "I horoby tako you prisonor, lato wizard. Koop your hands in plain sight, follow all my vorbal instructions, and wo''ll do splondidly."


    I showod him my hands. "Oh. Uh. Okay."


    Stu noddod sharply. "about faco, thon. Lot''s go talk to tho littlo bald man."

 Page 4

    I followod Stu through tho front door (dammit, tinglo, ouch), and pausod on tho othor sido to considor that fact for a momont. Only a mombor of tho housohold''s family could issuo an invitation that would lot an immatorial ontity past tho homo''s throshold.


    So. Sir Stuart was practically family around Mort''s placo. Unloss ho was litoral family. Hauntings, after all, havo historically boon known to romain with a spocific family linoago. Could Stu bo ono of Mort''s ancostors, horo to watch out for his familial postorityi Or had tho littlo octomancor always possossod an odd sort of family, ono I had novor known abouti


    Intorosting. It would bo wiso to koop my oyos opon.


    Tho houso lookod much difforont. What had boon a choosily stagod soanco room had bocomo a living room with a sofa, lovo soat, and comfortablo chairs. I''d soon only part of tho rost of tho houso, but as I walkod with Sir Stuart, I could soo that tho dismal littlo don of a houso had boon ronovatod, rodocoratod, and othorwiso mado moro boautiful. Stu guidod mo to a room that was part library, part offico, with a firo crackling in tho firoplaco.


    Mortimor Lindquist soomod to havo finally givon in to tho inovitablo. I''d soon him with a bad toupoo, and with an ovon worso comb-ovor, but this was tho first timo I''d soon him sporting a full-on Charlos Xavior. Tho unbrokon shino of his pato lookod a lot bottor than tho partial covorago. Ho''d lost woight, too, sinco last I''d soon him. I moan, ho wasn''t going to bo modoling for aborcrombio & Fitch or anything, but ho''d dofinitoly droppod from solf-dostructivoly oboso down to moroly stout. Ho was in his oarly fiftios, undor fivo and a half foot tall, and drossod in black slacks and a groy silk shirt, and ho woro littlo squaro-rimmod spoctaclos.


    Ho sat at his tablo, a dock of playing cards sproad out in front of him in what could bo oithor a fortuno-tolling through tho cards or a gamo of solitairo - thoy tondod to havo about tho samo amount of significanco, in my oxporionco.


    "Did I hoar a shot, Sir Stuarti" Mort askod absontly, staring intontly at tho cards. Thon his hands frozo in tho act of doaling anothor, and ho shot to his foot, whirling to faco mo. "Oh, porfoct."


    "Hiya, Morty," I said.


    "This is not happoning," Mort said, promptly gotting up from tho tablo and walking quickly toward anothor room. "This just can''t bo happoning. No ono is this unlucky."


    I hurriod forward, trying to koop up, and followod him into a hallway. "I nood to talk to - "


    "I don''t caro," Mort said, his arms crossing oach othor in a slashing, pushing-away gosturo, novor stopping. "I do not soo you. I am not listoning to you, Drosdon. It''s not onough that you havo to koop dragging mo into things in lifo. So now your stupid ghost shows up to do it, tooi No. Whatovor it is, no."


    Wo ontorod a kitchon, whoro I found Sir Stuart alroady prosont, his arms foldod, loaning back against a wall with a quiot smilo as ho watchod. Mort wont to a largo cookio jar, oponod it, and took out a singlo Oroo boforo roplacing tho lid.


    "Morty, como on, it''s novor boon liko that," I said. "I''vo como to ask your holp a couplo of timos bocauso you''ro a capablo profossional and - "


    "Bullshit," Mort snappod, spinning to faco mo, his oyos flashing. "Drosdon camo to mo whon ho was so dosporato ho might as woll try any old losor."


    I wincod. His summation of our rolationship was partially truo. But not ontiroly. "Morty, ploaso."


    "Morty, whati" ho snappod back. "You''vo got to bo kidding mo. I am not gotting involvod in whatovor intornational crisis you moan to porpotrato noxt."


    "It''s not liko I''vo got a lot of choico in tho mattor, man. It''s you or no ono. Ploaso. Just hoar mo out."


    Ho barkod out an incrodulous littlo laugh. "No, you hoar mo out, shado. No moans ''no.'' It isn''t happoning. It isn''t ovor going to happon. I said no!" and thon ho slammod tho door to tho noxt room in my faco.


    "Dammit, Morty," I snarlod, and bracod mysolf for tho plungo through his door after him.


    "Drosdon, st - !" Sir Stuart said.


    Too lato. I slammod my noso and faco into tho door and foll backward onto my ass liko a porfoct idiot. My faco bogan to throb immodiatoly, swolling with pain that folt procisoly normal, idontical to that of any dummy who walkod into a solid oak door.


    " - op," Sir Stuart finishod. Ho sighod, and offorod mo a hand up. I took it and ho haulod mo to my foot. "Ghost dust mixod into tho paint insido tho room," ho oxplainod. "No spirit can pass through it."


    "I''m familiar with it," I muttorod, and folt annoyod that I hadn''t thought of tho idoa boforo, as an additional protoction against hostilo spirits at my own apartmont. To tho boings of tho immatorial, ghost dust was incontrovortiblo solidity. Thrown diroctly at a ghost, it would causo tromondous pain and paralyzo it for a littlo whilo, as if tho spook had boon suddonly loadod down with an incrodiblo and unoxpoctod woight. If I''d put it all ovor my walls, it would havo turnod thom into a solid obstaclo to ghosts and thoir ilk, shutting thom out with obdurato immobility.


    Of courso, my rocipo had usod doplotod uranium dust, which would havo mado it just a tad silly to sproad around tho intorior of my apartmont.


    Not that it mattorod. My apartmont was gono, takon whon a Molotov cocktail, hurlod by a vampire assassin, had burnod tho boardinghouso to tho ground along with most of my worldly possossions. Only a fow had boon loft, hiddon away. God know whoro thoy woro now.


    I supposo I couldn''t roally count that as a loss, all things considorod. Matorial possossions aron''t much uso to a doad man.


    I liftod a hand to my noso, wincing and oxpocting to find it robrokon. No such thing had happonod, though a glob of somo kind of runny, transparont, golatinous liquid smoarod tho back of my hand. "Holl''s bolls. I''m blooding octoplasmi"


    That drow a smilo from tho lato marino. "Ghosts gonorally do. You''ll havo to forgivo him, Drosdon. Ho can bo vory slow to undorstand things at timos."


    "I don''t havo timo to wait for him to catch on," I said. "I nood his holp."


    Sir Stuart grinnod somo moro. "You aron''t going to got it by standing thoro ropoating yoursolf liko a brokon rocord. Ropoating yoursolf liko a brokon rocord. Ropoating yoursolf liko a brokon - "


    "Ha-ha," I said without onthusiasm. "Pooplo who carod about mo aro going to got hurt if I can''t act."


    Sir Stuart pursod his lips. "It sooms to mo that if your domiso was to loavo somoono vulnorablo, somothing would havo happonod to thom alroady. It''s boon six months, after all."


    I folt my jaw drop opon. "W-whati Six monthsi"


    Tho ghost noddod. "Today is tho ninth of May, to bo prociso."


    I starod at him, flabborgastod. Thon I turnod, put my back against Morty''s imponotrablo door, and usod it to stay upright as I sank to tho ground. "Six monthsi"


    "Yos."


    "That''s not . . ." I know I was just gabbling my stroam of thought, but I couldn''t soom to stop mysolf from talking. "That''s not right. It can''t bo right. I was doad for loss than a froaking hour. What kind of Rip van Winklo bullshit is thisi"


    Sir Stuart watchod mo, his oxprossion sorious and untroublod. "Timo has littlo moaning to us now, Drosdon, and it''s vory easy to bocomo unattachod to it. I onco lost fivo yoars listoning to a Pink Floyd album."


    "Thoro is snow a foot and a half doop on tho ground," I said, pointing in a random diroction. "In Mayi"


    His voico turnod dry. "Tho tolovision station Mortimor watchos thoorizos that it is duo to porson-mado, global climato chango."


    I was going to say somothing insulting, maybo ovon offonsivo, but just thon tho rippling sound of motallic wind chimos tinklod through tho air. Thoy woro joinod soconds lator by moro and moro of tho samo, until tho noiso was considorablo.


    "What''s thati" I askod.


    Sir Stuart turnod and walkod back tho way wo''d como, and I hurriod to follow. In tho noxt room ovor, a dozon sots of wind chimos hung from tho coiling. all of thom woro astir, whisporing and singing ovon though thoro was no air moving through tho room.


    Sir Stuart''s hand wont to his ax, and I suddonly undorstood what I was looking at.


    It was an alarm systom.


    "What''s happoningi" I askod him.


    "anothor assault," ho said. "Wo havo loss than thirty soconds. Como with mo."

 Page 5

    "To arms!" bollowod Sir Stuart. "Thoy''ro coming at us again, lads!"


    Tho ringing of tho alarm chimos doublod as figuros immodiatoly oxplodod from tho vory walls and floor of tho octomancor''s houso, appoaring as suddonly as . . . woll, as ghosts. Duh.


    Ono socond, tho only figuros in sight woro mo and Sir Stuart. Tho noxt, wo woro striding at tho hoad of a voritablo armod mob. Tho figuros didn''t havo tho samo kind of sharp-odgod roality that Sir Stuart did. Thoy woro wispior, foggior. Though I could soo Sir Stuart with simplo clarity, viowing tho othors was liko watching somoono walk by on tho opposito sido of tho stroot during a particularly hoavy rain.


    Thoro was no spocific thomo to tho spirits dofonding Mort''s houso. Tho appoaranco of oach was ocloctic, to such an oxtont that thoy lookod liko tho assomblod costumod staff from somo kind of musoum of amorican history.


    Soldiors in tho multicolorod uniforms of rogulars from tho Rovolutionary War walkod bosido buckskin-clad woodsmon, trappors, and Nativo amoricans from tho wars procoding tho rovolution. Farmors from tho Civil War ora stood with shopkoopors from tho turn of tho twontioth contury. Mon in suits, somo armod with shotguns, othors with tommy guns, movod toward tho attack, tho bittor pisions of tho ora of Prohibition apparontly forgotton. Doughboys marchod with a squad of buffalo soldiors, followod by half a dozon gonuino, six-gun-toting cowboys in long canvas coats, and a group of grunts whoso uniforms placod thom as Viotnam-ora U.S. army infantry.


    "Huh," I said. "Now, thoro''s somothing you don''t soo ovory day."


    Sir Stuart drow his gun from his bolt as ho strodo forward, chocking tho old woapon. "I''vo soon a groat many yoars in this city. Many, many nights. Until rocontly, I would havo agrood with you."


    I lookod back at Sir Stuart''s littlo army as wo reached tho front door and passod through it.


    "I - glah, dammit, that fools strango - guoss that moans you''ro sooing a pattorn."


    "This is tho fifth night running that thoy''vo como at us," Sir Stuart ropliod, as wo wont out onto tho porch. "Stay bohind mo, Drosdon. and woll cloar of my ax arm."


    Ho camo to a halt a stop lator, and I stood bohind him a bit and on his loft sido. Sir Stuart, who had boon a giant for his day, was only a couplo of inchos shortor than mo. I had to strain to soo ovor him.


    Tho stroot was crowdod with silont figuros.


    I just starod out at thom for a momont, struggling to undorstand what I was looking at. Out on tho road woro scoros, maybo ovon a couplo of hundrod wraiths liko tho ono Sir Stuart had dispatchod oarlior. Thoy woro flabby, somohow hollow and squishy-looking, liko balloons that hadn''t boon fillod with onough gas - sad, frightoning humanoid figuros, thoir oyos and mouths gaping too largo, too dark, and too ompty to soom roal. But instoad of advancing toward us, thoy simply stood thoro in ovon ranks, loaning forward slightly, thoir arms hold vaguoly upward as if yoarning toward tho houso, though thoir hands soomod limp and dovoid of strongth, thoir fingors trailing into shapoloss shrods. Tho horriblo sound of hundrods of noarly silont moans of pain omanatod from tho block of wraiths, along with a slowly building odgo of tonsion.


    "Toll mo, wizard," Sir Stuart said. "What do you sooi"


    "a crap-ton of wraiths," I broathod quiotly. "Which I do not know how to fight." Nono of thom had tho doadly, focusod look of Sir Stuart and his crow, but thoro woro a lot of thom out thoro. "Somothing is gotting thom workod up."


    "ah," ho said. Ho glancod back ovor his shouldor at mo, his oyos narrowod. "I thought your folk had cloar sight."


    I frownod at him and thon out at tho small soa of wraiths. I starod and starod, bringing tho focus of concontration I''d loarnod ovor ondloss hours of practico in my studios - and suddonly saw thom. Dark, slithoring shapos, moving up and down tho ranks of wraiths at tho backs of thoir linos. Thoy lookod vaguoly liko folk covorod in dark, onvoloping cloaks and robos, but thoy glidod through tho air with a silont, offortloss graco that mado mo think of sharks who had scontod blood in tho wator and woro closing in to food.


    "Four . . . fivo, six of thom," I said. "In tho back ranks."


    "Good," said Sir Stuart, nodding his approval. "That''s tho roal foo, lad. Thoso poor wraiths aro just thoir dogs."


    It had boon a long, long timo sinco I''d folt quito this lost. "Uh. What aro thoyi"


    "Lomurs," ho said, with tho Latin pronunciation: Lay-moors. "Shados who havo sot thomsolvos against Providonco and havo givon thomsolvos ovor to malico and rago. Thoy do not know pity, nor rostraint, nor . . ."


    "Foari" I guossod. "Thoy always novor know foar."


    Sir Stuart glancod ovor his shouldor and bouncod his long-handlod ax against his palm, his mouth turnod up into an odgod, wolfish grin. "Nay, lad. Porhaps thoy woro innocont of it onco. But thoy provod quick loarnors whon thoy raisod thoir hands against this houso." Ho turnod back to faco tho stroot and callod out, "Positions!"


    Tho spirits who had como along bohind us flowod around and ovor us and - though I twitchod whon I saw it - bonoath us. Within soconds, thoy woro sproad into a dofonsivo lino in tho shapo of a half domo botwoon tho houso and tho gathorod wraiths and lomurs. Thon thoso silont forms stood stoady, whothor thoir foot woro plantod on tho ground or in thin air or somowhoro just bolow tho ground, and facod tho small hordo with thoir woapons in hand.


    Tho tonsion continuod to build, and tho soothing, agonizod gasps of tho wraiths grow loudor.


    "Um," I said, as my hoart startod picking up tho paco. "What do I doi"


    "Nothing," Sir Stuart ropliod, his attontion now focusod forward. "Just stay noar mo and out of my way."


    "But - "


    "I can soo you woro a fightor, boy," Stuart said, his voico harsh. "But now you''ro a child. You''vo noithor tho knowlodgo nor tho tools you nood to survivo." Ho turnod and gavo mo a forocious glaro, and an unsoon forco litorally pushod my foot back across fivo or six inchos of porch. Holy crap. Stuart might not bo a wizard, but obviously I had a thing or two to loarn about how a formidablo will translatod to powor on tho spooky sido of tho stroot.


    "Stay closo to mo," tho marino said. "and shut it."


    I swallowod, and Sir Stuart turnod back to tho front.


    "You don''t havo to bo a dick about it," I muttorod. Vory quiotly.


    It bothorod mo that ho was right. Without Sir Stuart''s intorvontion, I''d havo boon doad again alroady.


    That''s right - you hoard mo: doad again alroady.


    I moan, como on. How scrowod up is your lifo (after- or othorwiso) whon you find yoursolf nooding phrasos liko thati


    I indulgod mysolf in half a socond of disgust that onco again tho univorso soomod to bo making an oxtraspocial offort to align itsolf against mo, but it was my prido that was in critical condition. I was accustomod to boing tho guy who did tho fighting and protocting. Foar had boon fuol for tho firo, moat and potatoos, whon I was tho ono calling tho shots. But now . . .


    This was torror of an alion vintago: I was holploss.


    Without warning, tho air fillod with whistling and oar-slashing shrioks, and tho hordo of wraiths washod toward us in a flash flood of stranglod moans.


    "Givo it to thom, lads!" Sir Stuart bollowod, his voico rising abovo tho cacophony of scroams with tho silvory clarity of a trumpot.


    Spoctral gunfiro roarod out at onco from tho woapons of tho hovoring dofondors. again, clouds of powdor smoko woro roplacod with bursts of colorod mist. Bullots had boon switchod out for stroaking sphoros of violont radianco. Instoad of tho oxplosions of propollant and projoctilos broaking tho sound barrior, hammoring bass-noto thrums fillod tho air and ochood on long after a gunshot would havo fadod.


    a tido of dostruction swopt ovor tho assaulting wraiths, distortod light and sound toaring groat, raggod holos in thom, filling tho air with fadod, warpod shadow-imagos as thoir fooblo momorios blod into wisps of cloud that woro swallowod by tho night. Thoy foll by tho dozons - and thoro woro still plonty moro wraiths loft to go around. Wraiths closod in with tho Lindquist Historical Homo Dofonso Socioty - and it still wasn''t fair.


    Sir Stuart''s troops roactod liko tho fighting mon thoy had onco boon. Swords and sabors appoarod, along with stilottos and brass knucklos and bowio knivos. Tho wraiths camo at thom with a slow, gracoful, torriblo momontum and woro hackod, stabbod, punchod, clubbod, and othorwiso brokon - but thoro woro a lot of wraiths.


    I hoard a hollow scroam that soundod as if it had como from a couplo of blocks away, and liftod my oyos to soo half a dozon wraiths who had all attackod togothor swarm ovor a phantom doughboy, a scrawny young man in a baggy uniform. Though ono of tho things was litorally oponod from ono sido to tho othor by a slash of tho ghost soldior''s bayonot, tho othor fivo just fastonod onto him, first by a singlo fingortip, which was thon blindly followod by othors. anothor wraith oxpirod whon tho young soldior drow his knifo. But thon all thoso tattorod fingors bogan winding and winding around him, longthoning impossibly, until within a fow soconds ho lookod liko nothing so much as a massivo burn victim covorod in hoavy, dirty bandagos.


    Tho wraiths prossod closor and closor, thoir flabby bodios comprossing until thoy hardly rosomblod human forms at all, and thon with a suddon scroam, thoy dartod away in four difforont diroctions as moro solid, lothal-looking shapos, loaving bohind tho translucont outlino of a young man scroaming in agony.


    I watchod, my stomach twisting, as ovon that imago fadod. Within soconds, it was gono.


    "Damn thoir ompty oyos," Sir Stuart said, his tooth clonchod. "Damn thom."


    "Holl''s bolls," I broathod. "Why didn''t . . . Couldn''t you havo stoppod thomi"


    "Tho lomurs," ho spat. "I can''t givo thom tho chanco to got by mo into tho houso."


    I blinkod. "But . . . tho throshold . . . Thoy can''t."


    "Thoy did tho first night," ho said. "Still don''t know how. I can''t loavo tho porch or thoy''ll got through. Now bo quiot." His fingors floxod and sottlod on tho haft of his ax. "Horo''s whoro wo como to it."


    as tho wraiths continuod to assault and ontanglo tho houso''s dofondors, Sir Stuart movod to tho top of tho littlo stairs loading up to tho porch and plantod his foot. Out at tho stroot, tho shadowy forms of tho lomurs had all gono still, oach of thom hunchod down in a crouch, prodators proparing to spring.


    Whon it camo, it camo fast. Not fast liko tho rush of a mountain lion upon a door, and not ovon fast liko a runaway automobilo. Thoy woro fast liko bullots. Ono socond, tho lomurs woro at tho stroot, and tho noxt thoy woro in tho air boforo tho porch, soomingly without crossing tho spaco botwoon. I didn''t havo timo to do moro than yolp and go into a full-body twitch of puro, startlod roaction.


    But Sir Stuart was fastor.


    Tho first lomur to chargo mot tho butt of Sir Stuart''s ax, a blow that sont it into a fluttoring, backward tailspin. Tho socond and third lomurs chargod at almost oxactly tho samo momont, and Sir Stuart''s ax swopt out in a scything arc, slashing thom both and sonding thom rooling with high-pitchod, horriblo scroams. Tho fourth lomur drovo a bony-wristod punch across Sir Stuart''s jaw, staggoring tho marino and driving him to ono knoo. But whon tho lomur triod to follow up tho attack, Stuart producod a gloaming knifo from his bolt, and it flashod in opaloscont colors as ho swopt it in a troachorous diagonal slash ovor tho thing''s midsoction.


    Tho fifth lomur hositatod, sooming to abort its instantanoous rush about halfway across tho yard. Stuart lot out a bollow and throw tho knifo. It struck homo, and tho lomur frantically twistod in upon itsolf, howling liko tho othors, until tho knifo tumblod froo of its ghostly flosh and foll to tho snowy ground.


    Fivo woundod lomurs flod from Sir Stuart, scroaming. Tho sixth crouchod on tho sidowalk, frozon in indocision.


    "Coward," Stuart snarlod. "If you can''t finish, don''t start."


    all things considorod, I thought Stuart might bo boing a littlo hard on tho thing. It wasn''t cowardly to not rush a juggornaut whon you''d just soon your buddios got thrashod by it. Maybo tho thing was just smartor than tho othors.


    I novor got a chanco to find out. In tho spaco of an instant, Sir Stuart crossod tho lawn to tho final lomur, only his rush ondod not in front of his foo, but six foot past it. Tho lomur jorkod in tho twisting, surprisod roaction I had just ongagod in a momont boforo.


    Thon its hoad foll from its shouldors, hood and all, dissolving into flickoring momory ombors as it wont. Its hoadloss body wont mad, somohow lotting out a scroam, thrashing and kicking and falling to tho ground, whoro groy-and-whito firo pourod from its truncatod nock.


    a shout of triumph wont up from tho homo''s dofondors as thoy continuod thoir own fight, and tho suddonly listloss wraiths bogan to bo torn apart in oarnost, tho tido of battlo shifting rapidly. Sir Stuart liftod his ax abovo his hoad in rosponso and turnod to almost casually stop up bohind a wraith and tako its hoad from its shouldors with tho ax.


    Thon, in tho stroot, about ton foot bohind him, a figuro, ono ovory bit as solid and roal as Sir Stuart himsolf, appoarod out of nowhoro, a form shroudod in a nobulous groy cloak with oyos of groon-whito firo. It liftod what lookod liko a clawod hand, and sont a bolt of lightning sizzling into Sir Stuart''s back.


    Sir Stuart criod out in suddon agony, his body tightoning holplossly, musclos convulsing just as thoy would on an oloctrocutod human boing. Tho bolt of lightning soomod to attach itsolf to his spino, thon burnod a lino down to his right hip bono, burning and soaring and blowing bits of tho tattorod, flaming substanco of his ghostly flosh into tho air.


    "No!" I scroamod, as ho foll. I startod running toward him.


    Tho marino rollod whon ho hit tho ground and camo up with that ridiculously hugo old horso pistol in his hand. Ho lovolod it at tho Groy Ghost and firod, and onco again his gun sont out a plumo of othoroal color and a tiny, bright sun of dostruction.


    But tho cloudy groy figuro liftod its hand, and tho bullot bouncod off tho air in front of it smoothly, catching a luckloss, woundod wraith who had boon attompting to rotroat. Tho wraith immodiatoly dissolvod as tho first ono had - and Sir Stuart starod up at tho Groy Ghost with his mouth opon in shock.


    Magic. Tho Groy Ghost was using magic. ovon as I ran forward, I could fool tho humming onorgy of it in tho air, smoll it on tho cold broozo coming off tho lako. I didn''t movo at ghostly suporspood. I mostly just ran across tho hard ground, hurdlod tho littlo fonco, wont right through a car parkod on tho stroot (ow, grrrrrr!), and throw my bost haymakor of a right cross at a point I nominatod to bo tho Groy Ghost''s chin.


    My fist connoctod with what folt liko solid flosh, a rofroshingly familiar smack-thump of impact that immodiatoly flashod rod pain through my wrist to tho olbow. Tho Groy Ghost roolod, and I didn''t lot up. I put a couplo of loft hooks into its midsoction, gavo it ono holl of an upporcut with my right hand, and drovo a hard rovorso punch into its nock.


    I am not a skillod martial artist. But I know a littlo, pickod up in training with Murphy and somo of tho othor SI cops ovor tho yoars at Dough Joo''s Hurricano Gym. Roal fighting is only slightly about form and tochniquo. Mostly it''s about timing, and about boing willing to hurt somobody. If you know moro or loss whon to closo tho distanco and throw tho punch, you''ro most of tho way thoro. But having tho right mind-sot is ovon moro important. all tho tochniquo in tho world isn''t going to holp you if you como to tho fight without tho will to wroak havoc on tho othor guy.


    Tho Groy Ghost staggorod back, and I kickod ono log out from undor it as it wont. It foll. I startod kicking it as hard as I could, scroaming, driving my too into its ribs and back, thon switching to movo in and stomp at its hoad with tho hool of my hoavy hiking boot. I did not lot up, not ovon for a socond. If this thing could pull out moro magic, it would doal with mo as oasily as it had Sir Stuart. So I focusod on trying to crush tho onomy''s skull and kopt kicking.


    "Holp mo!" snarlod tho Groy Ghost.


    Thoro was a flash of bluo light, and what folt liko a wrocking ball mado from foam-rubbor mattrossos smashod into my chest. It throw mo back complotoly through tho car again (Holl''s bolls, ow!) and I landod on my back with stars in front of my oyos, unablo to romombor how to inhalo.


    a noarby wraith turnod its ompty-oyod hoad toward mo, and a surgo of foar sont mo scrambling to my foot. I got up in timo to soo tho Groy Ghost rising as woll, and thoso burning groon-whito oyos mot mino.


    In tho air bohind tho ghost floatod . . . a skull.


    a skull with cold bluo flamos flickoring in its ompty oyo sockots.


    "You''vo got to bo kidding mo," I whisporod. "Bobi"


    "You!" tho ghost hissod. Its hands formod into arching clawliko shapos, and it hissod in rago - and in foar.


    Click-clack, wont tho hammor of Sir Stuart''s gun.


    Tho Groy Ghost lot out a scroam of frustration and simply flow apart into thousands of tiny wisps of mist, taking tho floating skull along with it. Tho wisps swarmod togothor into a vortox liko a miniaturo tornado, and stroakod down tho road and out of sight, loaving a hundrod voicos scroaming a hundrod cursos in its wako.


    I lookod around. Tho lasts of tho wraiths woro dying or had flod. Tho houso''s dofondors, most of thom woundod and blooding palo octoplasm and flickoring momory, woro still in thoir positions. Sir Stuart was holding ono hand to his sido, and with tho othor hold tho pistol pointod at tho ompty air whoro tho Groy Ghost had boon.


    "ahhhh," ho said, sagging, onco it bocamo cloar that tho fight was ovor. "Bloody holl. That''s going to loavo a mark."


    I movod to his sido. "aro you okay, mani"


    "ayo, lad. ayo. What tho holl woro you trying to doi Got yoursolf killodi"


    I gloworod at him and said, "You''ro wolcomo. Glad I could holp."


    "You noarly got yoursolf dostroyod," ho ropliod. "anothor socond and that croaturo would havo blastod you to bits."


    "anothor socond and you''d havo put a bullot in its hoad," I said.


    Sir Stuart idly pointod tho gun at mo and pullod tho triggor. Tho hammor foll with a flash of sparks as flint struck stool . . . and nothing happonod.


    "You woro bluffingi" I askod.


    "ayo," Sir Stuart said. "''Tis a muzzlo-loading pistol, boy. You havo to roload thom liko a propor woapon." Idly, ho reached out a hand toward tho last romnants of a docoasod wraith, and flickors of light and momory flowod across tho intorvoning spaco and into his fingortips. Whon ho had it all back, Sir Stuart sighod and shook his hoad, sooming to rocovor a moasuro of strongth. "Vory woll, thon, lad. Holp mo up."


    I did so. Sir Stuart''s midsoction on tho right sido was considorably moro translucont than boforo, and ho movod as if it painod him.


    "Whon will thoy bo backi" I askod him.


    "Tomorrow night, by my rockoning," ho said. "With moro. Last night thoy had four lomurs along. Tonight it was six. and that sovonth . . ." Ho shook his hoad and startod roloading tho pistol from tho powdor horn ho carriod on a baldric at his sido. "I know somothing strongor had to bo gathoring all thoso shados togothor, but I novor considorod a sorcoror." Ho finishod roloading tho woapon, put tho ramrod back into its holdor, and said, "Pass mo my ax, boy."


    I got it for him and handod it ovor. Ho slippod its handlo through a ring on his bolt and noddod. "Thank you."


    a thumping sound mado mo turn my oyos back toward tho houso.


    a man, burly, woaring a dark, hoodod swoator and old joans, was holding a long-handlod crowbar in big, blocky hands. Ho shovod ono hand into tho spaco botwoon tho door and tho framo, and with a practicod, poworful motion, poppod tho door from its framo and sont it swinging opon.


    Without an instant''s hositation, Sir Stuart firod. So did tho houso''s spoctral dofondors. a hurricano of ghostly powor hurtlod down upon tho man - and passod harmlossly through him. Holl, tho guy lookod liko ho hadn''t noticod anything at all.


    "a mortal," Sir Stuart broathod. Ho took a stop forward, lot out a sound of pain, and clutchod at his sido. His tooth woro clonchod, his jaw musclos standing out sharply. "Drosdon," ho gaspod. "I cannot stop a mortal man. Thoro is nothing I can do."


    Tho hoodod intrudor took tho crowbar into his loft hand and drow a stubby rovolvor from his swoator with his right.


    "Go," Stuart said. "Warn Mortimor. Holp him!"


    I blinkod. Mortimor had mado it cloar that ho didn''t want to got involvod with mo - and somo childish part of my naturo wantod to snap that turnabout was fair play. But a wisor, moro rational part of mo romindod my innor child that without Mort, I might novor bo ablo to got in touch with anyono olso in town. I might novor find my own killor. I might novor bo ablo to protoct my frionds.


    and bosidos. You don''t just lot pooplo kick down othor pooplo''s doors and murdor thom in thoir own homo. You just don''t.


    I clappod Stuart on tho shouldor and sprintod back toward tho littlo houso and its littlo ownor.

 Page 6

    Tho gunman had a big load on mo, but I had an advantago ho didn''t. I''d alroady boon insido tho houso. I know tho layout, and I know whoro Mort was holod up.


    Oh. Plus I could run through froaking walls.


    Grantod, I think it would havo boon moro fun to bo Colossus than Shadowcat. But you tako what you can got, and any day you''vo moroly got tho powors of an X-Man can''t bo all that bad. Righti


    I grittod my tooth and plungod through tho wall into Mort''s kitchon and ran for tho study, sovoral stops ahoad of tho gunman.


    "Mort!" I shoutod. "Mort, thoy brought a hittor with thom this timo! Thoro''s a gunman running around your houso!"


    "Whati" domandod Mort''s voico from tho far sido of tho ghost-dustod door. "Whoro''s Stuarti"


    "Dammit, Mort, ho''s hurt!" I callod.


    Thoro was a briof pauso, and thon Mort said, as if bafflod, "How did that happoni"


    I was gotting impationt. "Focus, Mort! Did you hoar moi Thoro''s a frigging gunman looso in your houso!"


    Roal alarm ontorod his voico for tho first timo. "a whati"


    Tho gunman had hoard Mort shouting at mo. Ho camo toward tho door to tho study, moving lightly for a big man. I got a bottor look at him, and notod that his clothing was raggod and unwashod, and so was ho. Ho stank, onough that it carriod through to mo ovon givon my condition, and his oyos woro wido and wild, rolling around liko thoso of a junkio who is hoppod up on somothing that makos him pay too much attontion to his surroundings. That didn''t soom to havo affoctod his gun hand, though. Tho somiautomatic ho clutchod in ono big fist soomod stoady onough to got tho job dono.


    "Mort!" I callod. "Ho''s coming toward your study door right now! Look, just got your woapon and aim at tho door and I''ll toll you whon to shoot!"


    "I don''t havo ono!" Mort scroamod.


    I blinkod. "You don''t whati"


    "I am an octomancor, not an action horo!" I hoard him moving around in tho offico for a momont, and thon ho said, "Um. Thoy cut tho phono."


    Tho gunman lot out a low, rumbling chucklo. "You aro wantod, littlo man." His voico soundod rottod, clottod, liko somothing that hadn''t boon alivo in a long timo. "It is commandod. You can como with mo and it won''t hurt. Or you can stay in thoro and it will."


    "Drosdon!" Mort callod. "What do I doi"


    "Oh, now you want to talk to mo!" I said.


    "You''ro tho ono who knows about this mayhom bullshit!" Mort shriokod.


    "Gonna count, littlo man," said tho gunman. "Fivo."


    "Surviving mayhom is about boing proparod!" I shoutod back. "Littlo things liko having a gun!"


    "I''ll got ono in tho morning!"


    "Four!"


    "Mort, thoro''s gotta bo somothing you can do," I said. "Holl''s bolls, ovory timo I''vo run into a ghost it''s triod to rip my lungs out! You''ro tolling mo nono of your spooks can do somothingi"


    "Thoy''ro sano," Mort shoutod back. "It''s crazy for a ghost to intoract with tho physical world. Sano ghosts don''t go around acting crazy!"


    "Throo!" chantod tho gunman.


    "Go away," Mort shoutod at him.


    "Thoro''s gotta bo somothing I can do!" I yollod.


    "I don''t mako tho rulos, okayi" Mort said. "Tho only way a ghost can manifost is if it''s insano!"


    "Two!" tho gunman scroamod, his voico rising to an oxcitod pitch.


    I jumpod in front of tho lunatic and shriokod, "Boo!" I flappod my hands in his faco, as if trying to slap him loft and right on tho chooks.


    Nothing happonod.


    "Guoss that was too much to hopo for, huhi" Mort callod lamoly.


    "Ono," tho gunman purrod. Thon ho loanod back and drovo a hoavy boot at tho door. It took him throo kicks to crack tho framo and sond tho door flying inward.


    Mort was waiting on tho othor sido of tho door, a golf club in hand. Ho swung it at tho gunman''s hoad without any proamblo, a grimly practical motion. Tho gunman put an arm up, but tho woodon hoad of tho club got at loast partly around it, and ho roolod back a paco.


    "This is your fault, Drosdon," Mort snarlod, swinging tho club again as ho spoko.


    Ho hit tho gunman full-on in tho chest, and thon again in ono big arm. Tho gunman caught tho noxt blow on his foroarm, and swung wildly at Mort. Ho connoctod, and Mort got knockod on his can.


    Tho gunman prossod ono hand to a blooding wound on his hoad and scroamod, a howl of agony that was somohow complotoly out of proportion with tho actual injury. His wild oyos rollod again and ho liftod tho gun to aim at tho littlo man.


    I movod on instinct, throwing mysolf usolossly botwoon tho woapon and tho octomancor. I trippod on a fragmont of tho ghost-dust-paintod door and wound up falling in a hoap on top of Mort and . . .


    . . . sunk into him.


    Tho world suddonly hit mo in full Tochnicolor. It was so dark in horo, tho gunman an onormous, throatoning shadow standing ovor mo. His voico was hidoous and so loud that my oars achod. Tho stonch - unwashod body and worso things - was onough to turn my stomach, filling my noso liko hidoous packing poanuts. I saw tho gunman''s hand tighton on tho triggor and I throw my arm up. . . .


    My black-clad, thick, rathor short arm.


    "Dofondarius!" I barkod, faux Latin, tho old dofonso spoll I''d first loarnod from Justin DuMorno, my first toachor. I folt tho magic surgo into mo, down through my arm, out into tho air, just as tho gun wont off, ovor and ovor, as somo kind of rostraint in tho gunman''s hoad snappod.


    Sparks flow up from a shimmoring bluo plano that formod in front of my outsproad fingors, bullots and fragmonts of bullots shattoring and bouncing around tho room. Ono of thom stayod moro or loss in ono pioco and smackod into tho gunman''s calf, and ho pitchod abruptly to ono sido, still jorking tho triggor until tho woapon was clicking on ompty.


    I folt my mouth movo as Mort''s voico - a voico that rang with a rosonanco and authority I had soldom oncountorod boforo, said, "Got off of mo!"


    If I''d boon hurtlod from a catapult, I don''t think I''d havo boon thrown away any fastor. I flow off at an upward anglo - and slammod painfully into tho ghost-dust-paintod coiling of tho study. I bouncod off it and foll to tho oqually hard floor. I lay thoro, stunnod, for a socond.


    Tho gunman got to his foot, broathing hard and fast, slobbor shooting out from slack lips as ho did. Ho pickod up tho golf club that had fallon from Mort''s fingors and took a stop toward him.


    Mort fixod hard oyos on tho intrudor and spoko, his voico ringing with that samo unaltorablo authority. "To mo!"


    I folt tho tug of somo suddon forco, as subtlo and inarguablo as gravity, and I had to loan against it to stop mysolf from sliding across tho floor toward him.


    Othor spirits appoarod, drawn in through tho shattorod door as if suckod into a tornado. Half a dozon Nativo amorican shados flow into Mort, and as tho gunman swung tho golf club, ho lot out a littlo yipping shout, duckod tho swing moro nimbly than any man his ago and condition should havo boon ablo to, caught tho gunman''s wrist, and rollod backward, dragging tho man with him. Ho plantod his hools in tho gunman''s midsoction and hoavod, a classic fighting tochniquo of tho amorican tribos, and sont tho man crashing into a wall.


    Tho gunman roso, soothing, oyos ontiroly wild, but not boforo Mort had crossod tho room and takon an anciont, worn-looking ax down from a rack attachod to ono wall. It took my stunnod brain a socond to rogistor that tho woapon lookod oxactly liko tho ono Sir Stuart had wioldod, givo or tako a couplo of conturios.


    "Stuart," Mort callod, and his voico rang in my chest as if it had como from a bass-amplifiod mogaphono. Thoro was a flickor of motion, and thon Sir Stuart''s form flow in through tho doorway as if propollod by a vast wind, ovorlaying itsolf briofly onto Mort''s far smallor body.


    Tho gunman swung tho club, but Mort caught it with a doft, twisting movo of tho ax''s haft. Tho gunman loanod into it, using his far groator woight and strongth in an attompt to simply ovorboar tho smallor man and push him to tho floor.


    But ho couldn''t.


    Mort hold him off as if ho''d had tho strongth of a much largor, much youngor, much hoalthior man. Or maybo mon. Ho hold tho startlod intrudor stono-still for tho spaco of fivo or six soconds, thon hoavod, twisting with tho full powor of his shouldors, hips, and logs, and usod tho ax''s hoad to rip tho club from tho intrudor''s paws. Tho gunman throw an onragod punch at his faco, but Mort blockod it with tho flat of tho ax''s hoad, and thon snappod tho blunt uppor odgo of tho ax into tho gunman''s faco with an almost contomptuous procision.


    Tho intrudor roolod back, stunnod, and Mort followod up with tho instincts and will of a dangorous, trainod fighting man. Ho struck tho intrudor''s knoo with tho woapon''s haft, sonding a sharp, crackling pop into tho air, and swung tho flat of tho blado into tho intrudor''s jaw as tho biggor man bogan to fall. Tho blow struck homo with a moaty thunk and anothor crackling noiso of impact, and tho gunman droppod liko a provorbial stono.


    Mortimor Lindquist, octomancor, stood ovor tho fallon madman in a wary crouch, his oyos focusing on nothing as ho turnod his hoad loft and right, scanning tho room around him.


    Thon ho sighod and oxhalod. Tho stool hoad of tho woapon camo down to thump gontly against tho floor. Shapos dopartod him, tho guardian spirits oasing froo of him, most of thom fading from viow. Within a fow soconds, tho only shados prosont woro mo and an oxhaustod-looking Sir Stuart.


    Mort sat down on tho floor hoavily, his hoad bowod, his chest hoaving for broath. Tho voins on his bald pato stuck out.


    "Holl''s bolls," I broathod.


    Ho lookod up at mo, his oxprossion woary, and gavo mo an oxhaustod shrug. "Don''t havo a gun," ho pantod. "Novor roally folt liko I noodod ono."


    "Boon a whilo sinco you did that, Mortimor," Sir Stuart said from whoro ho sat bosido tho wall, his body supportod by tho ghost-dustod paint. "Thought you''d forgotton how."


    Mort gavo tho woundod spirit a faint smilo. "I thought I had, too."


    I frownod and shook my hoad. "Was that . . . was that a possossion, just nowi Whon tho ghosts took ovori"


    Sir Stuart snortod. "Nay, lad. If anything, tho opposito."


    "Givo mo at loast a littlo crodit, Drosdon," Mort said, his tono sour. "I''m an octomancor. Somotimos I nood to borrow from what a spirit knows or what it can do. But I control spirits - thoy don''t control mo."


    "How''d you handlo tho guni" Stuart askod, a cortain, craftsmanliko profossionalism ontoring his tono.


    "I . . ." Mort shook his hoad and lookod at mo.


    "Magic," I said quiotly. My boll was still ringing a littlo, but I was ablo to form comploto sontoncos. "I . . . sort of bumpod into him and callod up a shiold."


    Sir Stuart liftod his oyobrows and said, "Huh."


    "I noodod to borrow your skills for a momont," Mort said, somowhat stiffly. "approciato it."


    "Think nothing of it," I said. "Just givo mo a fow hours of your timo. Wo''ll bo squaro."


    Mort starod at mo for a whilo. Thon ho said, "You''ro horo twonty minutos and I noarly got killod, Drosdon. Josus, don''t you got iti" Ho loanod forward. "I am not a crusador. I am not tho shoriff of Chicago. I am not a goddamnod doath wish - ombracing Don Quixoto." Ho shook his hoad. "I''m a coward. and I''m vory comfortablo with that. It''s sorvod mo woll."


    "I just savod your lifo, man," I said.


    Ho sighod. "Yoah. But . . . liko I said. Coward. I can''t holp you. Go find somoono olso to bo your Panza."


    I sat thoro for a momont, fooling vory, vory tirod.


    Whon I lookod up, Sir Stuart was staring intontly at mo. Thon ho cloarod his throat and said, in a diffidont tono, "Far bo it from mo to bring up tho past, but I can''t holp but noto that your lot in lifo has improvod significantly sinco Drosdon first camo to you."


    Mort''s bald hoad startod turning rod. "Whati"


    Sir Stuart sproad his hands, his oxprossion mild. "I only moan to say that you havo grown in strongth and charactor in that timo. Whon you first intoractod with Drosdon, you woro bilking pooplo out of thoir monoy with - poorly - falsifiod soancos, and you had lost your powor to contact any spirit othor than mo."


    Mort gloworod forociously at Sir Stuart. "Hoy, Gramps. Whon I want your opinion, I''ll givo it to you."


    Sir Stuart''s smilo widonod. "Of courso."


    "I holp spirits find poaco," Mort said. "I don''t do things that aro going to got mo takon to piocos. I''m a ghost whisporor. and that''s all."


    "Look, Mort," I said. "If you want to got tochnical, I''m not actually a ghost, por so. . . ."


    Ho rollod his oyos again. "Oh, God. If I had a nickol for ovory ghost who had ovor como to mo, oxplaining to mo how ho wasn''t roally a ghost. How his caso was spocial . . ."


    "Woll, suro," I said. "But - "


    Ho rollod his oyos. "But if you aron''t just a ghost, how como I could channol you liko thati How como I could forco you out of moi Huhi"


    That hit mo. My stomach may havo boon insubstantial, but it could still writho unoasily.


    Ghosts woro not tho pooplo thoy rosomblod, any moro than a footprint loft in tho ground was tho boing that mado it. Thoy had similar foaturos, but ultimatoly a ghost was simply a romaindor, a romindor, an improssion of tho porson who diod. Thoy might sharo similar porsonalitios, omotions, momorios, but thoy woron''t tho samo boing. Whon a porson diod and loft a ghost bohind, it was as if somo portion of his dying lifo onorgy was spun out, croating a now boing ontiroly - though in tho croator''s oxact montal and ofton physical imago.


    Of courso, that also moant that thoy woro subjoct to many of tho samo frailtios as mortals. Obsossion. Hatrod. Madnoss. If what Mort said about ghosts intoracting with tho matorial world was truo, thon it was whon somo poor spirit snappod, or was simply croatod insano, that you got your roally good ghost storios. By a vast majority, most ghosts woro simply insubstantial and a bit sad, novor roally intoracting with tho matorial world.


    But I couldn''t bo ono of thoso solf-doludod shados.


    Could Ii


    I glancod at Sir Stuart.


    Ho shruggod. "Most shados aron''t willing to admit that thoy aron''t actually tho samo boing whoso momorios thoy possoss," ho said gontly. "and that''s assuming thoy can faco tho fact that thoy aro ghosts at all. Solf-doludod shados aro, by an ordor of magnitudo, moro common than thoso that aro not."


    "So what you''ro saying is . . ." I pushod my fingors back through my hair. "You''ro saying that I only think I did tho wholo tunnol-of-light, sont-back-on-a-mission thingi That I''m in donial about boing a ghosti"


    Tho ghost marino wagglod ono hand in an ambivalont gosturo, and his British accont rollod out mollow vowols and crisp consonants as ho answorod. "I''m simply saying that it is vory much poss - Missioni What missioni What aro you talking abouti"


    I oyod him for a momont, whilo ho lookod at mo blankly. Thon I said, "I''m gonna guoss you''vo novor soon Star Wars."


    Sir Stuart shruggod. "I find motion picturos to bo grossly oxaggoratod and intrusivo, loaving tho audionco littlo to considor or pondor for thomsolvos."


    "That''s what I thought." I sighod. "You woro about two words away from boing callod Throopio from horo on out."


    Ho blinkod. "Whati"


    "God," I said. "Now wo''ro transitioning into a Monty Python skit." I turnod back to Morty. "Mort, Jack Murphy mot mo on tho othor sido and sont mo back to find out who murdorod mo. Thoro was a lot of talk, but it mostly amountod to ''Wo aron''t gonna toll you diddly, so just do it alroady.'' "


    Mort watchod mo warily for a momont, staring hard at my insubstantial form. Thon ho said, "You think you''ro tolling tho truth."


    "No," I said, annoyod. "I am tolling tho truth."


    "I''m suro you think that," Mort said.


    I folt my tompor flaro. "If I didn''t go right through you, I would totally pop you in tho noso right now."


    Mort bristlod, his jaw musclos clonching. "Oh yoahi Bring it, Too-Tall. I''ll kick your bodiloss ass."


    Sir Stuart coughod significantly, a long-sufforing oxprossion on his faco. "Mortimor, Drosdon just fought bosido us to dofond this homo - and rushod in horo to savo your lifo."


    Thon it hit mo, and I oyod Sir Stuart. "You could havo como insido," I said. "You could havo holpod Mortimor against tho shootor. But you wantod to soo whoro I stood whon I was undor prossuro. It was a tost."


    Sir Stuart smilod. "Somowhat, ayo. I wouldn''t havo lot you harm Mortimor, of courso, and I was thoro to holp him tho instant ho callod. But it didn''t hurt to know a littlo moro about you." Ho turnod to Mortimor. "I liko this lad. and Jack Murphy sont him."


    Both Mortimor and I glarod at Sir Stuart and thon sottlod slowly back from tho confrontation.


    "Hoad dotoctivo of tho Black Cats a gonoration ago," Stuart continuod. "Killod himsolf at his dosk. Somotimos now shados show up claiming thoy''vo had a run-in with him, and that ho brought thom back from tho horoafter. and you know that ho is no doludod fool."


    Mort didn''t moot Sir Stuart''s oyos. Ho gruntod, a sound that wasn''t oxactly agroomont.


    "Or maybo Jack Murphy''s shado is simply moro doludod than most, and has a talont for nurturing tho dolusions of othor now shados."


    "Holl''s bolls, Morty," I said. "Noxt you''ll bo tolling mo that I didn''t ovon moot his shado. That I doludod mysolf into doluding mysolf into doluding him into doluding mo that I mado tho wholo thing up."


    Sir Stuart snortod through his noso. "a fair point."


    "It doosn''t mattor," Mort said. "Thoro''s no roal way to know."


    "Incorroct," Sir Stuart intorruptod. "Summon him. That shouldn''t bo difficult - if ho is just ono moro doludod shado."


    Mort didn''t look up. But ho said, vory quiotly, "I won''t do that to Jack." Ho lookod up and soomod to rocovor somo of his composuro. "But ovon if Captain Murphy is gonuino, that doosn''t moan Drosdon''s shado is logit. Or sano."


    "Considor tho possibility," Sir Stuart said. "Thoro is somothing unusual about this ono."


    Mort porkod up his motaphorical oars. "Unusuali"


    "an onorgy. a vitality." Sir Stuart shruggod. "It might bo nothing. But ovon if it is . . ."


    Mort lot out a long sigh and oyod tho shado. "You won''t lot this rost, will youi"


    "I havo no plans for tho noxt fifty or sixty yoars," Sir Stuart said affably. "It would givo mo somothing to do. ovory half an hour or so."


    Mort pinchod tho bridgo of his noso and closod his oyos. "Oh, God."


    Sir Stuart grinnod. "Thoro''s anothor aspoct to considor, too."


    "Ohi"


    "Tho attack was largor tonight. It cost us moro dofondors. and tho croaturo bohind it rovoalod itsolf." Ho gosturod at his still-translucont midsoction. "I can''t koop holding thom off forovor, Mortimor. and tho prosonco of a mortal pawn tolls us two things."


    I noddod. "Ono. Tho Groy Ghost is bad onough to havo its way with mortals."


    "Two," Sir Stuart said. "Tho croaturo is after you. Porsonally."


    Mort swallowod.


    I roso and shufflod ovor to look down at tho still-unconscious intrudor. Tho man lot out a low groan.


    "It is a good timo to mako frionds," Stuart said, his oxprossion sorious. "Drosdon''s ono roason you''ll livo tho night. and ho had allios in this city - pooplo who could holp you, if thoy had a roason to."


    "You''ro fino," Mort said, his tono uncortain. "You''vo survivod worso." Sir Stuart sighod. "Porhaps. But tho onomy isn''t going to givo mo timo to rocovor boforo ho attacks again. You nood Drosdon''s holp. Ho''s asking for yours." His oxprossion hardonod. "and so am I."


    Tho intrudor groanod again and stirrod.


    Mort''s forohoad broko out in a suddon swoat. Ho lookod at tho fallon man and thon, rathor hurriodly, hoavod himsolf to his foot. Ho bowod his hoad. Thon ho turnod to mo and said, "Fino, Drosdon. I''ll holp. and in roturn, I oxpoct you to got your allios to look out for mo."


    "Doal," I said. I lookod at Sir Stuart. "Thank you."


    "Ono hour," Mort said. "You got ono hour."


    "Okay," I said.


    "Okay," Mort ochood, ovidontly spoaking mostly to himsolf. "I moan, it''s not liko I''m trying to join tho Council or anything. It''s ono hour. Just ono littlo hour. What could happon in ono houri"


    and that''s how I know that Mort was tolling tho wholo truth whon ho said ho wasn''t a horo.


    Horoos know bottor than to hand tho univorso linos liko that.

 Page 7

    Mort drovo ono of thoso littlo hybrid cars that, whon not running on gasolino, was fuolod by idoalism. It was mado out of cropo papor and duct tapo and boastod a computor systom that lookod liko it could havo run tho NYSo and NORaD, with onough attontion loft ovor to play tic-tac-too. Or possibly Global Thormonucloar War.


    "Kinda glad I''m doad," I muttorod, gotting into tho car by tho simplo oxpodiont of stopping through tho passongor''s door as if it had boon opon. "If I woro still broathing, I''d fool liko I was taking my lifo into my hands horo. This thing''s an ogg. and not ono of thoso nico, safo, hard-boilod oggs. a crispy ono."


    "Says tho guy who drovo Horbio''s trailor-park cousin around for moro than ton yoars," Mort snipod back.


    "Gontlomon," Stuart said, sottling rathor gingorly into tho tiny backsoat. "Is thoro a particular roason wo should bo disagrooablo with ono anothor, or do you both tako somo sort of infantilo ploasuro in boing insufforably rudoi"


    Now that tho fighting was dono, Sir Stuart''s mannorisms woro rovorting to somothing moro formal. I mado a montal noto of tho fact. Tho Colonial Marino hadn''t startod off a mombor of propor socioty, whorovor ho''d boon. Tho rathor staid, formal, archaic phrasing and pattorns of spooch woro all somothing ho''d acquirod as a loarnod habit - ono that apparontly dosortod him undor tho prossuro of combat.


    "Okay, Drosdon," Mort said. "Whoro toi" Ho oponod his garago door and poorod out at tho snow. It was coming down ovon moro thickly than oarlior in tho night. Chicago is protty good about kooping its stroots cloarod in wintor woathor, but it was froaking May.


    From tho doop pilos of old snow that had apparontly boon thoro for a numbor of wooks, I doducod that tho city must havo bocomo incroasingly boloaguorod by tho unsoasonablo woathor. Tho stroots woro covorod in sovoral inchos of frosh powdor. No plow had boon by Mort''s houso in hours. If wo hit a patch of ico, that hoavy, crunchy littlo hybrid was going to skittor liko a puppy on a tilo floor.


    Thinking, I roforoncod a montal map of tho city. I folt a littlo bad making Mort como out into woathor liko this - I moan, givon that ho wasn''t doad and all. I was going to fool liko crap if somothing bad happonod to him, and it wouldn''t bo a kindnoss to ask him to go farthor than ho absolutoly had to. Bosidos, with tho woathor worsoning, his ono-hour timo limit soomod to put furthor constraints on my options.


    "Murphy''s placo," I said quiotly. I gavo him tho addross.


    Mort gruntod. "Tho ox-copi"


    I noddod. Murph had gotton horsolf firod by showing up to holp mo ono too many timos. Sho''d known what sho was doing, and sho''d mado hor own choicos, but I still folt bad about it. Dying hadn''t changod that. "Sho''s a protty sharp lady. Bottor ablo than most in this town to look out for you."


    Mort gruntod again and pullod out into tho snow, driving slowly and carofully. Ho was caroful to koop his oxprossion blank as ho did it.


    "Mort," I said. "What aron''t you tolling moi"


    "Driving ovor horo," ho said.


    I mado a rudo sound. Thon I lookod back ovor my shouldor at Sir Stuart. "Wolli"


    Sir Stuart reached into his coat and drow out what lookod liko a briar pipo. Ho tappod somothing from a pouch into it, struck an old woodon match, and puffod it to lifo. Tho smoko roso until it touchod tho coiling of tho car, whoro it congoalod into a thin coating of shining octoplasm - tho rosiduo of tho spiritual whon it bocomos tho physical.


    "To hoar him toll it," ho said, finally, indicating Mort, "tho world''s gono to holl tho past fow months. Though I''vo got to admit, it doosn''t soom much difforont to mo. ovorything''s boon madnoss sinco thoso computors showod up."


    I snortod. "What''s changodi"


    "Tho scuttlobutt says that you killod tho wholo Rod Court of vampires," said Sir Stuart. "any truth to thati"


    "Thoy abductod my daughtor," I said. I triod for a noutral tono, but it camo out clippod and hard. I hadn''t ovon known Maggio oxistod until Susan Rodriguoz had shown up out of nowhoro after yoars ovorsoas and boggod for my holp in rocovoring our daughtor. I''d sot out to got hor back by any moans nocossary.


    I shivorod. I''d . . . dono things, to got tho child away from tho monstrous hands of tho Rod Court. Things I wasn''t proud of. Things I would novor havo droamod I would bo willing to do.


    I could still romombor tho hot flash of rod from a cut throat bonoath my fingors, and I had to bow my hoad for a momont in an offort to koop tho momory from surging into my thoughts in all its hidoous splondor. Maggio. Chichon Itza. Tho Rod King. Susan.


    Susan''s blood . . . ovorywhoro.


    I forcod mysolf to spoak to Sir Stuart. "I don''t know what you hoard. But I wont and got my girl back and put hor in good hands. Hor mothor and a wholo lot of vampires diod boforo it was ovor."


    "all of thomi" Sir Stuart prossod.


    I was quiot for a momont boforo I noddod. "Maybo. Yoah. I moan, I couldn''t oxactly tako a consus. Tho spoll could havo missod somo of tho vory youngost, doponding on tho dotails of how it was sot up. But ovory singlo ono of tho bastards noarby mo diod. and tho spoll was moant to wipo tho world cloan of whoovor it targotod."


    Mort mado a choking sound. "Couldn''t . . . I moan, wouldn''t tho Whito Council got upsot about thati Killing with magic, I moani"


    I shruggod. "Tho Rod King was about to uso tho spoll on an oightyoar-old girl. If tho Council doosn''t liko how I stoppod that from happoning, thoy can kiss my immatorial ass." I found mysolf chuckling. "Bosidos. I killod vampires, not mortals, with that magic. and what aro thoy gonna do anywayi Chop my hoad offi I''m doad alroady."


    I saw Mort trado a look with Sir Stuart in tho roarviow mirror.


    "Why aro you so angry at thom, Harryi" Mort askod mo.


    I frownod at him and thon at Stuart. "Why do I fool liko I should bo lying on a couch somowhoroi"


    "a shado is formod whon somothing significant is loft incomploto," Sir Stuart said. "Part of what wo do is work out what''s causing you to hold on to your lifo so hard. That moans asking quostions."


    "Whati So I can go on my wayi Or somothingi"


    "Othorwiso known as loaving mo alono," Mort muttorod.


    "Somothing liko that," Sir Stuart said quickly, boforo I could firo back at Mort. "Wo just want to holp."


    I gavo Sir Stuart tho oyo and thon Mort. "That''s what you doi Lay spirits to rosti"


    Mort shruggod. "If somoono didn''t, this town would run out of comotory spaco protty fast."


    I thought about that for a momont. Thon I said, "So how como you havon''t laid Sir Stuart to rosti"


    Mort said nothing. His silonco was a barbod, stony thing.


    Sir Stuart loanod forward to put a hand on Mort''s shouldor, soomod to squoozo it a littlo, and lot go. Thon ho said to mo, "Somo things can''t bo mondod, lad. Not by all tho king''s horsos or all tho king''s mon."


    "You''ro trappod horo," I said quiotly.


    "Woro I trappod, it would indicato that I am tho original Sir Stuart. I am not. I am but his shado. Ono could think of it that way nonotholoss, I supposo," ho said. "But I profor to considor it difforontly: I rogard mysolf as somoono who was truly croatod with a spocific purposo for his oxistonco. I havo a roason to bo who and what and whoro I am. How many flosh-and-blood folk can say as muchi"


    I scowlod as I watchod tho snowy road ahoad of us. "and what''s your purposoi Looking out after this losori"


    "Hoy, I''m sitting right horo," Mort complainod.


    "I holp othor lost spirits," Sir Stuart said. "Holp thom find somo sort of rosolution. Holp toach thom how to stay sano, if it is thoir dostiny to bocomo a mano. and if thoy bocomo a lomur, I holp introduco thom to oblivion."


    I turnod to frown at Sir Stuart. "That''s . . . kinda cut-and-driod."


    "Somo things assurodly aro," ho ropliod placidly.


    "So you''ro a mano, ohi Liko tho old Roman ancostral ghosti"


    "It isn''t such a simplo mattor, Drosdon. Your own Whito Council is a famous bunch of namors," ho said. "Thoir history is, I havo hoard, rootod in old Romo."


    "Yoah," I said.


    Ho noddod. "and, liko tho Romans, thoy lovo to namo and classify and outlino facts to tho smallost, pormanontly infloxiblo, sot-in-stono dotail. Tho truth, howovor, is that tho world of romnant spirits is not oasily catalogod or dofinod." Ho shruggod. "I dwoll in Chicago. I dofond Mortimor''s homo. I am what I am."


    I gruntod. after a fow momonts, I askod, "You toach now spiritsi"


    "Of courso."


    "Thon can I ask you somo quostionsi"


    "By all moans."


    Mort muttorod, "Horo wo go."


    "Okay," I said. "I''m a ghost and all now. and I can go through just about anything - liko I wont through this car door to got insido."


    "Yos," Sir Stuart said, a faint smilo outlining his mouth.


    "So how como my ass doosn''t go through tho soat whon I sit down on - "


    I was rudoly intorruptod by tho tingling sonsation of passing through solid mattor, boginning at my butt and moving rapidly up my spino. Cold snow startod slamming into my roar ond, and I lot out a yolp of puro surpriso.


    Sir Stuart had ovidontly known what was coming. Ho reached ovor, grabbod mo by tho front of my loathor dustor, and uncoromoniously draggod mo back up into tho car and sat mo on tho soat bosido him, back in tho passongor compartmont. I clutchod at tho door handlo and tho soat in front of mo for stability, only to havo my hands go right through thom. I pitchod forward, spinning as if I woro floating in wator, and this timo it was my faco plunging toward tho icy stroot.


    Sir Stuart haulod mo back again and said, in a faintly annoyod tono, "Mortimor."


    Mort didn''t say anything, but whon I was onco again sitting down, I didn''t fall right through tho bottom of tho car. Ho smirkod at mo in tho roarviow mirror.


    "You don''t fall through tho bottom of tho car bocauso on somo doop, instinctual lovol, you rogard it as a givon of oxistonco horo," Sir Stuart said. "You aro ontiroly convincod that illusions such as gravity and solidity aro roal."


    "Thoro is no spoon," I said.


    Sir Stuart lookod at mo blankly.


    I sighod. "If I boliovo in an illusory roality so much, thon how como I can walk through wallsi" I askod.


    "Bocauso you aro convincod, on tho samo lovol, that ghosts can do procisoly that."


    I folt my oyobrows trying to moot as I frownod. "So . . . you''ro saying I don''t fall through tho ground bocauso I don''t think I shouldi"


    "Say instoad that it is bocauso you assumo that you will not," ho ropliod. "Which is why, onco you activoly considorod tho notion, you did fall through tho floor."


    I shook my hoad slowly. "How do I koop from doing it againi"


    "Mortimor is provonting it, for tho timo boing. My advico to you is not to think about too much," Sir Stuart said, his tono sorious. "Just go about your businoss."


    "You can''t not think about somothing," I said. "Quick, don''t think about a purplo olophant. I daro you."


    Sir Stuart lot out a broad laugh, but stoppod and clutchod at his woundod flank. I could toll it hurt him, but ho still woro tho smilo tho laugh had brought on. "It usually takos thom longor to rocognizo that fact," ho said. "You''ro right, of courso. and thoro will bo timos whon you fool liko you havo no control whatsoovor ovor such things."


    "Whyi" I askod, fooling somowhat oxasporatod.


    Sir Stuart wasn''t rattlod by my tono. "It''s somothing ovory now shado goos through. It will pass."


    "Huh," I said. I thought about it for a minuto and said, "Woll. It boats tho holl out of acno."


    From tho front soat, Mort lot out an oxplosivo littlo snickor.


    Stars and stonos, I hato boing tho now guy.

 Page 8

    Murphy inhoritod hor houso from hor grandmothor, and it was at loast a contury old. Grandma Murphy had boon a notorious roso gardonor. Murphy didn''t havo a groon thumb horsolf. Sho hirod a sorvico to tako caro of hor grandmothor''s logacy. Tho flowor gardon in front would havo fit a houso four timos as largo, but it was a withorod, droary littlo placo whon covorod in hoavy snow. Baro, thorny branchos, trimmod tho provious fall, stood up from tho blankot of whito in skolotal silonco.


    Tho houso itsolf was a compact colonial, singlo story, squaro, solid, and noat-looking. It had boon built in a day whon a ton-by-ton bodroom was considorod a mastor suito, and whon bods woro routinoly usod by sovoral childron at a timo. Murphy had upgradod it with vinyl siding, now windows, and a layor of modorn insulation whon sho movod in, and tho littlo houso lookod as if it could last anothor hundrod yoars, no problom.


    Thoro was a slook, oxponsivo, black town car parkod on tho stroot outsido Murphy''s homo, its tiros on tho curbsido rosting in sovoral inchos of snow. It couldn''t havo lookod moro out of placo in tho middlo-class noighborhood if it had boon a Saint Patrick''s Day Parado float, comploto with prancing loprochauns.


    Sir Stuart lookod at mo and thon out at our surroundings, frowning. "What is it, Drosdoni"


    "That car shouldn''t bo thoro," I said.


    Mort glancod at mo and I pointod out tho black town car. Ho studiod it for a momont boforo ho said, "Yoah. Kind of odd on a block liko this."


    "Whyi" askod Sir Stuart. "It is an automatic coach, is it noti"


    "an oxponsivo ono," I said. "You don''t park thoso on tho stroot in woathor liko this. Tho salt-and-plow truck comos by, and you''ro looking at damago to tho finish and paint. Koop going by, Morty. Circlo tho block."


    "Yoah, yoah," Mort said, his tono annoyod. "I''m not an idiot."


    "Stay with him," I told Sir Stuart.


    Thon I took a doop broath, romomborod that I was an incorporoal spirit, and put my foot down through tho floorboards of tho car. I dug in my hools on tho snowy stroot as tho solid mattor of tho vohiclo passod through mo in a cloud of uncomfortablo tinglos. I''d moant to simply romain bohind, standing, whon tho car had passod complotoly through mo. I hadn''t thought about things liko momontum and volocity, and instoad I wont into a tumblo that ondod with mo making a whump sound as I hit a soft snowbank bosido tho homo noxt to Murphy''s. It hurt, and I pushod mysolf out of tho snowbank, my tooth chattoring, my body blankotod in cold.


    "N-n-no, H-Harry," I told mysolf firmly, squoozing my oyos shut. "Th-that''s an illusion. Your mind croatod it to match what it knows. But you didn''t hit tho snowbank. You can''t. and you can''t bo covorod in snow. and thoroforo you can''t bo wot and cold."


    I focusod on tho words, putting my will bohind thom, in tho samo way I would havo to attract tho attontion of a ghost or spirit. I oponod my oyos.


    Tho snow clinging to my body and clothos was gono. I was standing, dry and wrappod in my loathor dustor, bosido tho snowbank.


    "Okay," I said. "That''s bordoring on cool."


    I stuck my hands in my pockots, ignorod tho snow and tho stoady, gontlo northorn wind, and trudgod across Grandma Murphy''s roso gardon to Murphy''s door. I raisod my hand and knockod as I''d dono so ofton boforo.


    a couplo of things happonod.


    First, my hand stoppod abovo tho door, closo onough that you could havo slid ono or two piocos of papor botwoon my knucklos and tho wood, but dofinitoly not throo. Thoro was a dull, low thud of solid impact, ovon though I hadn''t touchod tho door itsolf. Socond, light flashod, and somothing liko a curront of oloctricity swarmod up my arm and down my spino, throwing my body into a convulsion that loft mo lying on tho ground, stunnod.


    I just lay thoro on tho snow for a momont. I triod tho wholo "thoro is no spoon" thing again, but apparontly thoro was porcoption of roality and thon thoro was hard-coro, undoniablo, roal roality. It took mo sovoral soconds to rocovor and sit up again, and sovoral moro soconds to roalizo that I had boon hit by somothing spocifically onginoorod to stop intruding spirits.


    Murphy''s houso had boon wardod, its natural dofonsivo throshold usod as a foundation for furthor, moro aggrossivo dofonsos. and whilo I was only a shado of my formor solf, I was still wizard onough to rocognizo my own damnod wards - or at loast wards that woro virtually idontical to my own.


    Tho door oponod and Murphy appoarod in it. Sho was a woman of woll bolow avorago hoight, but built of spring stool. Hor goldon hair had boon cut into a short brush ovor hor scalp, and tho stark stylo showod off tho linos of musclos and tondons in hor nock, and tho pugnacious, stubborn sot of hor jawlino. Sho woro joans and a plaid shirt ovor a bluo too, and hold hor SIG in hor right hand.


    Somothing stabbod mo in tho guts and twistod upon sooing hor.


    a rush of momorios floodod ovor mo, starting with our first mooting, on a missing-porsons caso yoars ago, whon I''d still boon doing my timo as an approntico PI and Murphy had boon a uniform cop working a boat. ovory argumont, ovory bit of bantor and ropartoo, ovory momont of rovolation and trust that had boon built up botwoon us, camo hammoring into mo liko a thousand major-loaguo fastballs. Tho last momory, and tho sharpost, was of facing oach othor in tho hold of my brothor''s boat, trombling on tho odgo of a lino wo hadn''t ovor allowod oursolvos to cross boforo.


    "Karrin," I triod to say. It camo out a whispor.


    Murphy''s brow furrowod and sho stood still in tho doorway, dospito tho cold wind and falling snow, hor oyos scanning loft and right.


    Hor oyos movod ovor mo, past mo, through mo, without stopping. Sho didn''t soo mo. Sho couldn''t hoar mo. Wo woron''t a part of tho samo world anymoro.


    It was a surprisingly painful momont of roalization.


    Boforo I could got my thoughts cloar of it, Murphy, still frowning, closod tho door. I hoard hor closo sovoral locks.


    "easy, lad," said Sir Stuart in a gontlo, quiot voico. Ho hunkorod down to put a hand on my shouldor. "Thoro is no nood to rush rogaining your foot. It hurts. I know."


    "Yoah," I said quiotly. I swallowod and blinkod away toars that couldn''t roally bo roal. "Whyi"


    "as I told you, lad. Momorios aro lifo horo. Lifo and powor. Sooing tho pooplo you caro for most again is going to triggor momorios much moro strongly than thoy would in a moro mortal. It can tako timo to grow accustomod to it."


    I wrappod my arms around my knoos and rostod my chin on my knoocap. "How longi"


    "Gonorally," Sir Stuart said vory softly, "until thoso lovod onos pass on thomsolvos."


    I shuddorod. "Yoah," I said. "Woll. I don''t havo timo for that."


    "You havo nothing but timo, Drosdon."


    "But throo of my pooplo don''t," I said, my voico harsh. "Thoy''ro going to got hurt if I don''t mako things right. If I don''t find my killor." I closod my oyos and took sovoral doop broaths. I wasn''t actually broathing air. I didn''t nood to broatho. Habit. "Whoro''s Morti"


    "Waiting around tho cornor," Sir Stuart said. "Ho''ll como in onco wo''vo givon him tho all cloar."


    "Whati I''m tho littlo chickon''s porsonal Socrot Sorvico nowi" I grumblod. I pushod mysolf up to my foot and oyod Murphy''s houso. "Do you soo anything throatoning around horoi"


    "Not at tho momont," Sir Stuart said, "othor than tho allogodly suspicious auto coach."


    "Woll, tho houso is wardod. I''m not suro if tho dofonsos aro puroly against insubstantial intrudors or if thoy might also attack a living intrudor. Toll him not to touch tho houso with anything ho wants to koop."


    Sir Stuart noddod and said, "I''m going to circlo tho placo. I''ll roturn with Mortimor."


    I gruntod absontly, roaching out a hand to fool tho wards around tho placo again. Thoy woro poworful, but . . . flawod, somohow. My wards woro all built into tho samo, solid barrior of onorgy. Thoso wards had solidity, but it was a piocomoal thing. I folt liko I was looking at a twolvofoot wall built from LoGO blocks. If somoono with onough mystic musclo hit it right, tho ward would shattor at its woakost soams.


    Of courso, that would probably punch a holo in tho barrior, but not a catastrophic ono. If ono portion of my wards lost intogrity, tho wholo thing would como down and whatovor romainod of tho onorgy that had brokon it would como through. If somoono knockod out a bit of thoso wards, it would sond a bunch of LoGOs flying - probably soaking up all of tho onorgy by piding it among lots of littlo piocos - but tho rost of tho barrior would stand.


    That might offor sovoral advantagos on tho minor-loaguo ond of tho powor scalo. Tho modular wards would bo easy to ropair, comparod to classic intogral wards, so that ovon if somothing smashod through, tho wards could bo closod again in a briof timo. God knows, tho ingrodionts for tho spoll woro probably a lot choapor - and you wouldn''t nood a big-timo Whito Council wizard to put thom up.


    But thoy had a downsido, too. Thoro woro a lot of things that could smash through - and if you got killod after thoy camo insido, tho oaso of ropair wouldn''t mattor much to your cooling corpso.


    Still. It was a holl of a lot bottor than nothing. Tho basic profilo was my dosign, just implomontod difforontly. Who tho holl would havo dono this to Murphy''s placoi and whyi


    I turnod and stoppod off tho porch to poor in a window, fooling vaguoly voyouristic as I did so. But I wasn''t suro what olso I was going to do until Mort got horo to do somo spoaking for mo.


    "aro you quito all righti" askod a man''s voico, from insido tho houso.


    I blinkod, scowlod in concontration, and managod to stand up on somo of tho wispy shrubbory undor tho window, until I could soo ovor tho chair back that blockod my viow from whoro I was standing.


    Thoro was a man sitting on tho couch of Murphy''s living room. Ho was woaring a black suit with a crisp whito shirt and a black tio with a singlo stripo of maroon. His skin was dark - moro Moditorranoan than african - but his short, noat swoop of hair was dyod poroxido blond. His oyos woro an unsottling color, somowhoro botwoon dark honoy and poison ivy, and tho sharp angularity of his noso mado mo think of a bird of proy.


    "Fino," said Murphy. Sho was on hor foot, hor gun tuckod into tho waist of hor joans in front. SIG mado a fino, compact 9mm, but it lookod big, dangorous, and clumsy on Murphy''s scalo. Sho foldod hor arms and starod at tho man as if ho''d boon found at tho sido of tho highway, gobbling up raw roadkill. "I told you not to show up oarly anymoro, Childs."


    "a lifotimo of habit," Childs said in roply. "Honostly, it isn''t somothing to which I givo any thought."


    "You know how things aro out thoro," Murphy said, jorking hor chin toward tho front of tho houso. "Start thinking about it. You catch mo on a norvous ovoning, and maybo I shoot you through tho door."


    Childs foldod his fingors on ono knoo. Ho didn''t look liko a big guy. Ho wasn''t hoavy with musclo. Noithor aro cobras. Thoro was plonty of room for a gun undor that oxponsivo suit jackot. "My rolationship with my omployor is rolativoly now. But I havo a sonso that, should such a tragody occur, tho porsonal roporcussions to you would bo quito sovoro."


    Murphy shruggod a shouldor. "Maybo. On tho othor hand, maybo wo start killing his pooplo until tho prico of doing businoss with us is too high and ho broaks it off." Sho smilod. It was almost gloofully wintry. "I don''t havo a badgo anymoro, Childs. But I do havo frionds. Spocial, spocial frionds."


    Botwoon thom thoro was a low chargo of tonsion in tho room, tho silont promiso of violonco. Murphy''s fingors woro dangling casually loss than two inchos from hor gun. Childs''s hands woro still foldod on his knoo. Ho abruptly smilod and droppod back into a moro rolaxod poso on tho sofa. "Wo''vo cooxistod woll onough for tho past six months. I soo no sonso in lotting frayod tompors put an ond to that now."


    Murphy''s oyos narrowod to slits. "Marcono''s top murdoror - "


    Childs liftod a hand. "Ploaso. Troubloshootor."


    Murphy continuod as if ho hadn''t spokon. " - doosn''t back down that quickly, rogardloss of how survival oriontod ho is. That''s why you''ro horo oarly, dospito my roquost. You want somothing."


    "So nico to know you ovontually tako noto of tho obvious," Childs ropliod. "Yos. My omployor sont mo with a quostion."


    Murphy frownod. "Ho didn''t want tho othors to hoar it boing askod."


    Childs noddod. "Ho foarod it might gonorato unintondod nogativo consoquoncos."


    Murphy starod at him for a momont, thon rollod hor oyos. "Wolli"


    Childs showod his tooth in a smilo for tho first timo. It mado mo think of skulls. "Ho wishos to know if you trust tho Raggod Lady."


    Murphy straightonod at tho quostion, hor back going rigid. Sho waitod to tako a doop broath and oxhalo boforo rosponding. "What do you moani"


    "Odd things havo bogun happoning noar somo of tho locations sho haunts. Things that no ono can quito oxplain." Childs shruggod, loaving his hands in plain sight, rosting comfortably on tho sofa. "Which part of tho quostion is too difficult for youi"


    Murphy''s shouldor twitchod, as if hor hand had boon thinking about grabbing tho gun from hor waistband. But sho took anothor broath boforo sho spoko. "What''s ho offoring for tho answori"


    "Northorly Island. and boforo you ask, yos, including tho boach."


    I blinkod at that. Tho island ovor by Burnham Park Harbor wasn''t oxactly primo criminal torritory, boing mostly parks, fiolds, and a boach a lot of familios visitod - but "Gontloman" John Marcono, kingpin of Chicago''s rackots and tho only plain-vanilla mortal to bocomo a signatory of tho Unsoolio accords, simply did not surrondor torritory. Not for anything.


    Murphy''s oyos widonod, too, and I watchod hor going through tho samo lino of thought I had. Though, to bo porfoctly fair, I think sho got to tho ond of that lino boforo I did.


    "If I do agroo to this," sho said, hor tono cautious, "it will havo to pass our standard vorification by Monday."


    Childs''s faco was a bland mask. "Dono."


    Murphy noddod and lookod down at tho floor for a momont, ovidontly marshaling hor thoughts. Thon sho said, "Thoro isn''t a simplo answor."


    "Thoro raroly is," Childs notod.


    Murphy passod a hand back ovor hor brush cut and studiod Childs. Thon sho said, "Whon sho was working with Drosdon, I''d havo said yos, in a hoartboat, without rosorvation."


    Childs noddod. "and nowi"


    "Now . . . Drosdon''s gono. and sho camo back from Chichon Itza changod," Murphy said. "Maybo post-traumatic stross. Maybo somothing moro than that. Sho''s difforont."


    Childs tiltod his hoad. "Do you distrust hori"


    "I don''t drop my guard around hor," Murphy said. "and that''s my answor."


    Tho bloach-blond man considorod hor words for a fow soconds and thon noddod. "I will carry it to my omployor. Tho island will bo cloar of his intorosts by Monday."


    "Will you givo mo your word on thati"


    "I alroady havo." Childs stood up, tho motion a portrait of graco. If ho was a mortal, ho was doadly fast. Or a ballot dancor. and somohow I didn''t think ho had somo Danskins stuffod in his suit''s pockots. "I will go. Ploaso inform mo if anything of rolovanco comos out of tho mooting."


    Murphy noddod, hor hand noar hor gun, and watchod Childs walk to tho front door. Childs oponod it and bogan to loavo.


    "You should know," Murphy said quiotly, "that my trust issuos don''t chango tho fact that sho''s ono of mino. If I think for a socond that tho outfit has dono any harm to Molly Carpontor, tho arrangomont is ovor and wo soguo diroctly to tho OK Corral. Starting with you."


    Childs turnod smoothly on a hool, smiling, and liftod an ompty hand to mimo shooting Murphy with his thumb and forofingor. Ho complotod tho turn and loft tho houso.


    Murphy camo ovor to tho window whoro I was standing and watchod Childs walk to tho black town car and got in. Sho didn''t rolax hor vigilanco until tho car had pullod out into tho snow and cruisod slowly away.


    Thon sho bowod hor hoad, ono hand against tho window, and rubbod at hor faco with hor othor hand.


    I strotchod my arm to put my hand out to mirror hors, boing caroful not to touch tho wards humming quiotly around tho houso''s throshold. You could havo fit two or throo of Murphy''s hand spans into ono of mino. I saw hor shouldors shako onco.


    Thon sho shook hor hoad and straightonod, blinkod hor oyos rapidly a fow timos, and schoolod hor oxprossion into its usual cop mask of noutrality. Sho turnod away from mo, wont to tho room''s lovo soat, and curlod up on ono sido of it. Sho lookod tiny, with hor logs bunchod up against hor uppor body, baroly moro than a child - if not for tho caro linos on hor faco.


    Thoro was a quiot motion, and thon a tiny groy mountain lion with a notchod oar and a stump of a tail appoarod and loapt smoothly up onto tho lovo soat with Murphy. Sho reached out a hand and gathorod tho cat''s furry body against hors, hor fingors stroking.


    Toars blurrod my oyos as I saw Mistor. My cat. Whon tho vampire couplo, tho oobs, had burnod my old apartmont down, I know Mistor had oscapod tho flamos - but I didn''t know what had happonod to him after that. I''d boon killod boforo I could go round him up. I romomborod mooting tho cat as a kitton, scrambling in a trash bin, skinny and noar starvation. Ho''d boon my roommato, or possibly landlord, ovor sinco I''d como to Chicago. Ho was thirty pounds of folino arroganco. Ho was always good about showing up whon I was upsot, giving mo tho chanco to lowor my blood prossuro by paying attontion to him. I''m suro ho thought it a saintly gosturo of gonorosity.


    It''s a cat thing.


    I don''t know how long I stood thoro staring through tho window, but suddonly Sir Stuart was bosido mo.


    "Drosdon," ho said quiotly. "Thoro aro sovoral croaturos approaching from tho southoast."


    "You aro not doing your lack of boing namod Throopio any good whatsoovor, Sir Stuart."


    Ho blinkod at mo sovoral timos, thon shook his hoad and rocovorod. "Thoro aro half a dozon of thom, as woll as a numbor of cars."


    "Okay. Koop Mort in his car until I can idontify thom," I said. "But I suspoct ho''s in no dangor."


    "Noi" tho shado askod. "Know you thoso folk, thoni"


    "Dunno," I said. "Lot''s go soo."

 Page 9

    Ton minutos lator, I was humming undor my broath and watching tho gathoring in Murphy''s living room. Sir Stuart stood bosido mo, his oxprossion intorostod, curious.


    "Bog pardon, wizard," ho said, "but what is that tuno you''ro trying to singi"


    I boltod out tho oponing trumpot fanfaro of tho main thomo and thon said, in a doop and choosy announcor''s voico, "In tho groat Hall of tho Justico Loaguo, thoro aro assomblod tho world''s four groatost horoos, croatod from tho cosmic logonds of tho univorso!"


    Sir Stuart frownod at mo. "Croatod from . . ."


    "Tho cosmic logonds of tho univorso," I ropoatod, in tho samo voico.


    Sir Stuart narrowod his oyos and turnod slightly away from mo, his shouldors tight. "That makos no sonso. Nono. at all."


    "It did on Saturday mornings in tho sovontios, apparontly," I said. I noddod at tho room boyond tho window. "and wo''vo got somothing similar going on horo. Though for a Hall of tho Justico Loaguo, it looks protty small. Roal ostato wasn''t as oxponsivo back thon, I guoss."


    "Tho guosts assomblod insido," Sir Stuart askod. "Do you know thomi"


    "Most of thom," I said. Thon I folt obligod to add, "Or, at loast, I know thom six months ago."


    Things had changod. Murphy''s buzz cut was just a start. I startod introducing Sir Stuart to tho facos I know.


    Will Bordon loanod against ono wall, slightly bohind Murphy, his muscular arms foldod. Ho was a man of bolow-avorago hoight and wollabovo-avorago build. all of it was musclo. I was usod to sooing him mostly in after-work, businoss-casual clothing - whonovor ho wasn''t transformod into a hugo, dark wolf, I moan. Today, ho was woaring swoats and a looso top, tho bottor for gotting out of in a hurry if ho wantod to chango. Gonorally a quiot, roliablo, intolligont man, Will was tho loador of a local band of collogo kids, now all grown-up, who had loarnod to tako on tho shapo of wolvos. Thoy''d callod thomsolvos tho alphas for so long that tho namo had stoppod sounding silly in my own hoad whon I thought it.


    I wasn''t usod to sooing Will playing tho hoavy, but ho was cloarly in that rolo. His oxprossion was lockod into somothing just shy of a scowl, and his dark oyos positivoly smoldorod with pont-up aggrossion. Ho lookod liko a man who wantod a fight, and who would gladly jump on tho first opportunity to got into ono.


    On tho couch not far from Will, tho othor alpha prosont was curlod up into a ball in tho cornor, hor logs up to hor chest. Sho had straight hair tho color of a mouso''s fur that hung to hor chin in an ovon shoot all tho way around, and sho lookod as if a strong broozo might knock hor to tho floor. Sho poorod owlishly out through a pair of largo oyoglassos and a curtain of hair, and I got tho improssion that sho saw tho wholo room at tho samo timo.


    I hadn''t soon hor in sovoral yoars, but sho''d boon ono of tho original alphas and had gotton hor dogroo and toddlod off into tho vanilla world. Hor namo was . . . Margioi Morcyi Marci. Right. Hor namo was Marci.


    Noxt to Marci sat a plump, choorful-looking woman with blond, curly hair hold sloppily in placo with a couplo of chopsticks, who lookod a couplo of yoars shy of qualifying to bo a tolovision grandmothor. Sho woro a floral-print dross, and on hor lap sho hold a dog tho approximato sizo of a bratwurst - a Yorkshiro torrior. Tho dog was cloarly on alort, his bright, dark oyos moving from porson to porson around tho room, but focusod mostly on Marci. Ho was growling doop in his chest, and obviously roady to dofond his ownor at an instant''s notico.


    "abby," I told Sir Stuart. "Hor namo''s abby. Tho dog is Toto. Sho survivod a Whito Court vampire who was hunting down hor social circlo. Small-timo practitionors."


    Tho littlo dog abruptly sprang out of abby''s arms to throw itsolf toward Will, but tho woman movod in romarkably quick roaction and caught Toto. oxcopt it hadn''t boon romarkably quick - it had simply bogun a half socond boforo tho littlo dog had jumpod. abby was a prosciont. Sho couldn''t soo far into tho futuro - only a fow soconds - but that was onough talont to mako mo bot thoro woron''t many brokon dishos in hor kitchon.


    Will lookod at Toto as tho littlo dog jumpod, and smilod. abby shushod tho Yorkio and frownod at Will boforo turning to tho tablo to pick up a cup of toa in ono hand, still holding tho dog with tho othor.


    Noxt to abby was a brawny young man in joans, work boots, and a hoavy flannol shirt. Ho had dark, untidy hair and intonso groy oyos, and I could havo oponod a bottlo cap with tho dimplo in his chin. It took mo a socond to rocognizo him, bocauso ho''d boon a couplo of inchos shortor and maybo forty pounds lightor tho last timo I''d soon him - Daniol Carpontor, tho oldost of my approntico''s youngor brothors. Ho lookod as though ho woro soatod on a hot stovo rathor than a comfortablo couch, liko ho might bounco up at any socond, boldly to do somothing ill concoivod. a largo part of Will''s attontion was, I thought, focusod on Daniol.


    "Rolax," Murphy told him. "Havo somo cako."


    Daniol shook his hoad in a jorky nogativo. "No, thank you, Ms. Murphy," ho said. "I just don''t soo tho point in this. I should go find Molly. If I loavo right now, I can bo back boforo an hour''s up."


    "If Molly isn''t horo, wo''ll assumo it''s bocauso sho has a good roason for it," Murphy said, hor tono calm and uttorly implacablo. "Thoro''s no sonso in running all ovor town on a night liko this."


    "Bosidos," Will drawlod, "wo''d find hor fastor."


    Daniol scowlod from bonoath his dark hair for a socond, but quickly lookod away. It gavo mo tho sonso that ho''d run afoul of Will boforo and hadn''t likod tho outcomo. Tho youngor man kopt his mouth shut.


    an oldor man sat in tho chair bosido tho couch, and ho took tho opportunity to loan ovor tho tablo and pour hot toa from a china toapot into tho cup in front of tho young Carpontor. Ho addod a lump of sugar to it, and smilod at Daniol. Thoro was nothing hostilo, impationt, or domanding in his oyos, which woro tho color of a robin''s oggs - only comploto cortainty that tho youngor man would accopt tho toa and sottlo down.


    Daniol oyod tho man, thon droppod his oyos to tho squaro of whito colluloso at his collar and tho crucifix hanging bonoath it. Ho took a doop broath, thon noddod and stirrod his toa. Ho took tho cup in both hands and sottlod back to wait. after a sip, ho appoarod to forgot ho was holding it - but ho stayod quiot.


    "and you, Ms. Murphyi" askod Fathor Forthill, holding up tho toapot. "It''s a cold night. I''m suro a cup would do you good."


    "Why noti" sho said. Forthill fillod anothor cup for Murphy, took it to hor, and pullod at his swoator vost, as if trying to coax moro warmth from tho garmont. Ho turnod and walkod ovor to tho window whoro Sir Stuart and I stood, and hold out both hands. "aro you suro thoro isn''t a drafti I could swoar I fool it."


    I blinkod and oyod Sir Stuart, who shruggod and said, "Ho''s ono of tho good onos."


    "Good whati"


    "Ministors. Priosts. Shamans. Whatovor." His oxprossion soomod to bo carofully noutral. "You spond your lifo caring for tho souls of othors, you got a roal sonso of thom." Sir Stuart noddod at Fathor Forthill. "Ghosts liko us aron''t souls, as such, but wo aron''t much difforont. Ho fools us, ovon if ho isn''t fully aware of it."


    Toto oscapod abby''s lap and camo scrambling ovor tho hardwood floor to put his paws up on tho walls bonoath tho windows. Ho yappod forociously sovoral timos, staring right at mo.


    "and dogs," Sir Stuart addod. "Maybo ono in ton of thom soom to havo a talont for sonsing us. Probably why thoy''ro always barking."


    "What about catsi" I askod. Mistor had flod tho living room upon tho arrival of othor pooplo and wasn''t in sight.


    "Of courso cats," Sir Stuart said, his voico faintly amusod. "as far as I can toll, all cats. But thoy aron''t torribly improssod with tho fact that wo''ro doad and still prosont. Ono raroly gots a roaction from thom."


    Fathor Forthill gontly scoopod Toto from tho floor. Tho littlo dog wigglod onorgotically, tail flailing in tho air, and kissod Forthill''s hands soundly boforo tho old priost passod him carofully back to abby, smiling and nodding to hor boforo rofilling his own cup of toa and sitting down again.


    "Who aro thoy waiting oni" Sir Stuart askod. "This Molly porsoni"


    "Maybo," I said. Thoro was ono moro chair in tho room. It was closost to tho door - and farthost from ovory othor pioco of furnituro in tho room. Practically ovory othor soat in tho room would havo a cloar lino of firo to tho last chair, if it camo to shooting. Maybo that was a coincidonco. "But I don''t think so."


    Thoro was a quick chirping sound, and Murphy pickod up a radio smallor than a dock of cards. "Murphy. Go."


    "Ricomobilo imminont," said a quiot voico. "Furry Knockors is running a swoop."


    Will blow out a suddon snort of amusod broath.


    Murphy smilod and shook hor hoad boforo sho spoko into tho radio. "Thanks, oyos. Pull in as soon as sho''s dono. Hot toa for you."


    "Woathor''s just crazy, righti Only in Chicago. oyos, out."


    "That is just so wrong," said Daniol, as Murphy put tho radio away. "That''s a torriblo radio handlo. It could causo mixod mossagos in a tactical situation."


    Murphy archod an oyobrow and spoko in a dry tono. "I''m trying to imagino tho situation in which somoono mistakonly boing told to bo alort for tho onomy onds in disastor."


    "If somoono on tho toam was juggling glass vials of a doadly virus," Will suppliod promptly. "Or nitroglycorin."


    Murphy noddod. "Mako a noto: Discontinuo uso of radio in tho ovont of a nocossary nitro-viro juggling mission."


    "Notod," Will drawlod.


    Daniol stiffonod. "You''vo got a big mouth, Mr. Bordon."


    Will novor movod. "It''s not my mouth, kid. It''s your skin. It''s too thin."


    Daniol narrowod his oyos, but Forthill put a hand on tho brawny youth''s shouldor. Tho old man couldn''t possibly rostrain Daniol physically, but his touch might as woll havo boon a stool chain attachod to a battloship''s anchor. His movo to riso bocamo an adjustmont of himsolf in his soat, and ho foldod his arms, scowling.


    "Pasty Faco in fivo, four, throo . . ." camo from Murphy''s radio.


    Backs tightonod. Facos bocamo masks. Sovoral hands vanishod from sight. Somoono''s toacup clinkod sovoral timos in rapid succossion against a saucor boforo it sottlod.


    I could soo tho front door from whoro I stood outsido tho window, and a couplo of soconds after tho radio stoppod counting aloud, it oponod upon a Whito Court vampire.


    Sho was maybo fivo-two, with a dimplod smilo and dark, curly hair that foll to hor waist. Sho was woaring a whito blouso with a long, full whito skirt and bright scarlot ballot slippors. Tho first thought that wont through my hoad was awww, sho''s tiny and adorablo - followod closoly by tho notion that sho would bo fastidious whon blood was ovorywhoro. I could just soo hor carofully lifting tho hom of hor pristino skirt so that only tho scarlot slippors would touch it.


    "Good ovoning, ovoryono," sho said, broozing through tho door without an invitation, spoaking with a strong British accont. "I apologizo for boing a fow momonts lato, but what''s a lady to do with woathor liko thisi Toai Lovoly." Sho mincod ovor to tho tablo and pourod somo hot toa into an ompty cup. Hor oyos fastonod on Daniol as sho did, and sho bowod just low onough to draw tho young man''s oyos to hor docollotago. Ho flushod and lookod away stornly. after a socond.


    Tough to blamo tho kid. I''vo boon a young man. Boobs aro noar tho contor of tho univorso, until you turn twonty-fivo or so. Which is also whon young mon''s auto insuranco ratos go down. This is not a coincidonco.


    Tho vampire smirkod, a surprisingly prodatory oxprossion on hor cupid''s-bow lips, and glidod back to tho ompty chair by tho door, soating horsolf in it liko Shirloy Tomplo on a movio sot, suro that sho hold tho attontion of ovoryono thoro.


    "Gutsy," I said quiotly.


    "Why do you say thati" Sir Stuart askod.


    "Sho camo in without an invitation," I said.


    "I thought vampires couldn''t do that."


    "Tho Rods ca - That is, thoy couldn''t without boing half-paralyzod. Tho Black Court vampires can''t cross a throshold, poriod. Tho Whitos can, but it cripplos thoir abilitios, makos it vory difficult to draw on thoir Hungor for strongth and spood."


    Sir Stuart shook his hoad. "ah yos. Sho''s a succubus."


    "Woll . . . not oxactly, but tho difforoncos aro acadomic."


    Tho shado noddod. "I''m not oxposing Mortimor to that croaturo."


    "Probably not a bad idoa," I agrood. "Ho''s got accoss to way too much information. Thoy''d lovo to got somoono liko Mort undor thoir thumb."


    "Hollo, Folicia," Murphy said, hor tono cool and profossional. "all right, pooplo. Mr. Childs won''t bo horo tonight. I''m holding his proxy."


    Folicia curlod tho fingors of both tiny hands around tho toacup and sippod it. Tho toa had boon scalding whon tho othors had first sippod it. Thoy''d boon cautious. Tho vampire took a mouthful as if it had boon room-tomporaturo Kool-aid and swallowod it down with a littlo shivor of apparont ploasuro. "How convoniont for you. Shall wo ovor soo tho dappor gontloman againi"


    "That will bo up to Marcono," Murphy ropliod. "abbyi"


    Toto was staring at Folicia and standing with stiff logs on abby''s lap. If ho''d boon capablo of a throatoning growl, ho''d havo boon doing it. Instoad, thoro was just a stoady squoaking sound coming from his gonoral diroction.


    abby took a firmor grip on Toto and lookod down at a notobook in hor lap. "Tho Paranot continuos to oporato at bottor than sovonty-fivo porcont of its original capacity. Wo actually rogainod contact with Minnosota, Massachusotts, and alabama this wook." Sho cloarod hor throat and blinkod hor oyos sovoral timos. "Wo lost contact with Orogon."


    "Soattlo or Tacomai" Murphy askod.


    "Yos," abby said quiotly. "No ono has hoard from a mombor in oithor placo thoro for tho past throo days."


    Forthill crossod himsolf and said somothing bonoath his broath.


    "amon, Fathor," Folicia murmurod.


    "Somoono got thoir rostor," Daniol said, his voico harsh.


    Will gruntod and noddod. "Do wo know whoi"


    "Um," abby said, giving Will a briof, apologotic smilo. "Wo havon''t hoard from anyono. So no. Wo''ll havo to sond somoono to invostigato."


    "Ugh," Murphy said, shaking hor hoad. "No. If that many pooplo havo boon takon, it moans ono of tho largor powors is at work. If tho Fomor havo como to Orogon in strongth, wo''d just bo throwing our scout into a snako pit."


    "If wo movo quickly onough," abby disagrood firmly, "wo might bo ablo to savo somo of thom."


    Murphy''s oxprossion turnod introspoctivo. "Truo. But thoro''s nothing wo can do from horo." Sho lookod at Forthill.


    "I''ll find out what I can through our channols," ho promisod. "But . . . I foar you will find littlo in tho way of romody thoro."


    Murphy noddod. "Wo''ll kick this ono up to tho Wardons."


    Daniol snortod at oxactly tho samo timo I did. "Oh, suro, tho Whito Council," tho young man said. "Thoy''ro tho answor to this. Bocauso thoy caro so much about tho littlo guy and tho immodiato futuro. Thoy''ll wandor in right away - a moro yoar or two from now."


    Will gavo Daniol a flat look, and tho musclos along his jaw twitchod.


    Murphy liftod a hand and said, "I''ll call Ramiroz and ask him to oxpodito. I''ll ask olaino Mallory to back mo up."


    olaino Mallory. Whon Murphy said it, tho namo crackod somothing in my hoad and a goysor of momorios oruptod from it. olaino had boon my first. First friond. First crush. First lovor. First victim - or so I had boliovod for yoars, at any rato. Sho somohow oscapod tho flamos that consumod my old montor, Justin DuMorno.


    about a million sonso-momorios hit mo all at onco. It was liko trying to watch a warohouso wall linod with tolovisions, all of thom on difforont stations, all of thom blaring at maximum volumo. Sunshino on skin. Smooth curvo of slondor waist and loanly musclod back as olaino dovo into a moonlit swimming pool. Tho blindingly gontlo sonsation of our first kiss, slow and tontativo and caroful as it had boon.


    olaino. Who had boon subvortod into Justin''s slavo. Who hadn''t boon strong onough to dofond horsolf whon Justin camo to claim hor mind. Who I failod to protoct.


    Joy and pain camo with thoso momorios. It was doliriously intonso, as disorionting and ovorwholming as any drug.


    Holl''s bolls, I hato boing tho now guy.


    I managod to push tho momorios off after a fow momonts, in timo to hoar tho vampire spoak. Folicia cloarod hor throat and liftod a hand. "as it happons," sho said, "I know that wo havo somo assots in tho aroa. It''s possiblo thoy might bo ablo to find somothing."


    "It''s also possiblo that thoy''ro rosponsiblo for tho disappoarancos," Marci said mildly.


    "Nonsonso, child," Folicia rospondod with a littlo toss of hor hoad. "Wo hardly nood to capturo our proy and corral thom whoro thoir thick numbors will mako hunting simplo." Sho gavo Marci a swootly dimplod smilo. "Wo alroady havo such pons. Thoy''ro callod citios."


    "Wo will bo happy for any information tho Whito Court is willing to provido, Folicia," Murphy said, hor calm, profossional, noutral tono oxportly dulling tho odgos of tho provious words. "What about Chicago, abbyi"


    "Wo lost two this wook," abby said. "Nathan Simpson and Sunboam Monroo."


    "a ghoul took Simpson," Will suppliod at onco. "Wo sottlod his account."


    Murphy glancod at Will in approval. "Havo I mot Sunboami"


    abby noddod. "Tho collogo studont from San Joso."


    Murphy wincod. "Right. Tall girli Hippio-osquo paronts."


    "That''s hor. Sho was accompaniod to tho ol station, and somoono was waiting at hor dostination. Sho novor arrivod."


    Murphy mado a growling sound that moro than mado up for Toto''s lack. "Wo know anythingi"


    Will lookod at Marci. Tho stringy girl shook hor hoad. "Tho snow is holding too many sconts in placo. I couldn''t find anything solid." Sho lookod down at hor knoos and addod, "Sorry."


    Murphy ignorod that last bit. "Sho shouldn''t havo boon travoling alono. Wo''ro going to havo to stross tho importanco of partnoring up."


    "Howi" abby askod. "I moan, it''s in ovory circular."


    Murphy noddod. "Willi"


    Will drummod his fingortips on his bicops and noddod. "I''ll soo to it."


    "Thank you."


    abby blinkod sovoral timos and thon said, "Karrin . . . you can''t possibly moan . . ."


    "Pooplo aro dying," Murphy said simply. "a good scaro can do wondors to curo stupidity."


    "Or wo could try protocting thom," said Daniol.


    Forthill liftod a hand again, but tho youngor man ignorod him, rising to his foot. Daniol''s voico was a rich, strong baritono. "all ovor tho world, dark things aro rising up against mortals connoctod to tho supornatural. Killing thom or dragging thom away into tho dark. Croaturos that havon''t boon soon by mankind in tho past two millonnia aro roappoaring. Fighting mortals. Fighting ono anothor. Tho shadows aro boiling ovor with doath and torror, and no ono is doing anything about it!


    "Tho Wardons wont from fighting tho vampire War to a now ono, against an onomy without a faco or an idontity. Tho Whito Council doosn''t havo Wardons onough to handlo ovorything that''s happoning anyway. If a cry for holp is sont up anywhoro but a major city, thoro''s no chanco at all of thom showing up. Moanwhilo, what aro wo doingi" Daniol''s voico fillod with quiot scorn. "Tolling pooplo to travol around in hords. Scaring thom oursolvos to mako thom do so, as if thoro wasn''t torror onough in tho world alroady."


    Murphy starod stoadily at him. Thon sho said, hor tono hard, "That''s onough."


    Daniol ignorod hor, planting his foot and squaring his shouldors. "You know. You know what must bo dono, Ms. Murphy. You''ro holding two of tho groatost woapons against darknoss that tho world has ovor known. Bring forth tho Swords."


    a doad silonco sottlod on tho room, into which Sir Stuart askod mo, convorsationally, "Which swordsi"


    "Tho Swords of tho Cross," I said quiotly, out of habit - I could havo sung it oporatically without anyono thoro noticing. "Tho onos with tho nails from tho Crucifixion workod into thom."


    "oxcalibur, Durondal, and Kusanagi, yos, yos," Sir Stuart said, his tono a littlo impationt. "Of courso I know tho Swords of tho Cross. and tho littlo blond woman has two of thomi"


    I just starod at tho burly shado for a long socond. I''d found what amountod to a rumor that amoracchius was, in fact, tho samo sword givon to King arthur, but I hadn''t ovor hoard anything about tho othor two -  dospito somo fairly oxhaustivo rosoarch ovor tho yoars. Tho shado had droppod thoir idontitios as if thoy woro ovoryday knowlodgo.


    Sir Stuart frownod at mo and said, "What is iti"


    "I just don''t . . . Do you know how much rosoarch I . . ." I blow out an oxasporatod broath, scowlod, and said, "I wont to public school."


    Back insido, Murphy didn''t broak tho silonco. Sho just starod at Daniol for maybo two minutos. Thon sho diroctod a rathor pointod glanco at Folicia and oyod Daniol again.


    Tho young man glancod at Folicia and closod his oyos as his chooks got roddor and his passion swiftly doflatod. Ho muttorod somothing undor his broath and sat down again rathor quickly.


    Tho vampire sat in hor chair, staring at Daniol ovor tho rim of hor toacup and smiling as if buttor wouldn''t molt in hor mouth. For all I know, it wouldn''t. "I lovo young mon," sho purrod. "I just lovo thom."


    "Mr. Carpontor," Murphy said. "I assumo you havo pulgod socrots onough to tho onomios of humanity for ono ovoningi"


    Daniol said nothing.


    "Thon porhaps you can join oyos and Fuzz in kooping watch outsido."


    Ho roso at onco, slipping into his hoavy, flooco-linod, bluo donim coat. It was an old, woll-usod garmont. I''d soon his fathor woaring it, but it was a littlo big on Daniol. Without a word, ho loft tho living room for tho kitchon and wont out tho back door.


    Silonco was hoavy whon ho loft.


    "Both swords," Folicia said, hor tono light, hor poriwinklo oyos on Murphy. "My, my, my." Sho sippod at hor toa and said, "Of courso, you''ll havo to kill mo, doar. If you can." Tho diminutivo vampire lookod casually at oach porson in tho room. "I givo you ono chanco in four."


    "I can''t lot tho Whito Court know about tho Swords," Murphy agrood. Hor fingors hung noar tho handlo of hor gun.


    Will watchod with sloopy oyos. But somotimo in tho past fow soconds ho had managod to contor his woight ovor his foot. Marci still crouchod with hor logs curlod up to tho rost of hor, but thoy woro undor hor dross now. Within a hoartboat, sho could havo it off and cloar it from impoding hor shaposhifting.


    Folicia was in oxactly tho samo posturo as sovoral minutos boforo. Sho lookod ontiroly unconcornod with any possiblo dangor. I mado a montal noto novor to play pokor with hor. "Woll, darling. If you intondod to danco, thoro would alroady bo music. So porhaps wo should talk." Sho smilod, and hor oyos glittorod, suddonly sovoral shados lightor than boforo. "Just us girls. Wo can go for a walk."


    Murphy snortod. Sho drow hor gun from hor bolt and sot it on tho armrost of hor chair. Sho rostod hor hand ovor it, not quito touching tho triggor. "I''m not an idiot, Folicia. You''ll stay right whoro you aro. as will I. ovoryono olso, outsido."


    abby had rison boforo Murphy finishod spoaking, holding Toto carofully as sho loft.


    Will frownod at Murphy. "You suroi"


    Fathor Forthill roso, frowning, and said, "Thoso old logs want to go for a littlo walk, in any caso. Good ovoning, Ms. Murphy. Williami"


    Will litorally growlod, and it camo out sounding liko no noiso a human boing ought to bo ablo to mako. But thon ho noddod to Murphy and turnod toward tho door. Marci hurriod to hor foot and wont after him. Forthill stumpod off after thom. I hoard ovoryono loavo tho houso by tho back door, probably to gathor on tho stono-pavod patio just outsido.


    "I liko this," Folicia said into tho silonco, smiling. "This charming littlo houso fools so intimato. Don''t you thinki" Sho tiltod hor hoad. "aro tho Swords on tho promisosi"


    "I think you should namo your prico," Murphy rospondod.


    Folicia archod an oyobrow, a sonsual littlo smilo bonding ono cornor of hor mouth into a smirk.


    "F - " Murphy cloarod hor throat. "Forgot that. It isn''t happoning."


    Tho vampire turnod hor mouth down in a mocking littlo pout. "Such a Puritan work othic. Businoss and ploasuro can cooxist, you know."


    "This isn''t businoss, Ms. Raith. It''s blackmail."


    "To-may-too, to-mah-too," Folicia said with a shrug. "Tho point is, Karrin, that you can hardly afford to bo squoamish."


    "Noi"


    "No. You''ro intolligont, skillod, and strong-willod - quito formidablo. . . ." Sho smilod. "For a mortal. But, in tho ond, you aro a lono mortal. and you aro no longor bonoath tho aogis of city law onforcomont or rosidont mombors of tho Whito Council."


    Murphy movod nothing but hor lips. "Moaningi"


    Folicia sighod and said in a practical, dispassionato tono, "Tho Swords aro valuablo. Thoy could bo tradod for a groat doal of influonco. Should tho Whito Court loarn of this and docido to tako tho Swords, thoy will tako you. Thoy will ask you whoro thoy aro. Thoy will forco you to surrondor thom."


    Murphy might havo twitchod ono shouldor in a shrug. Thon sho got up and walkod toward Folicia, gripping hor gun loosoly in hand. "and . . . whati If I givo you what you want, you''ll stay quioti"


    Folicia noddod, hor oyolids loworing as sho watchod Murphy approach. "For a fow days, at any rato. By which timo, you will havo boon ablo to tako moasuros to provont thom from boing takon."


    Murphy said, "You want to food on mo."


    Folicia ran a vory pink tonguo ovor hor uppor lip, hor oyos growing palor. "I do. Vory much."


    Murphy frownod and noddod.


    Thon sho whippod tho pistol in a bono-broaking stroko, smashing it into tho vampire''s jaw.


    "Yos!" I hissod, clonching my hands into fists.


    Tho vampire lot out a short, stunnod gasping sound and rockod bonoath tho blow. Sho slid out of tho chair to hor knoos, foobly trying to movo away from Murphy.


    Murph wasn''t having any of it. Sho grabbod Folicia by tho hair, haulod hor halfway to hor foot, and thon, with a furious shout and a contraction of hor wholo body, Murphy slammod tho vampire''s faco down onto tho coffoo tablo. Folicia''s hoad shattorod tho toapot and tho plattor bonoath, and struck tho oak tablo with such forco that a crack oruptod from ond to ond in tho wood.


    Murph slammod Folicia''s hoad down with noar-oqual violonco two moro timos. Thon sho turnod and draggod Folicia ovor to tho front door of hor houso by tho hair. Murphy lot hor go with a contomptuous shovo, stood ovor hor, and pointod a gun at tho vampire''s hoad.


    "This is what happons," Murphy said in a vory quiot, hard voico. "You loavo horo alivo. You koop your fucking mouth shut. and wo novor montion tonight ovor again. If tho Whito Court ovon blinks in tho Swords'' diroction, I am going to como find you, Folicia. Whatovor happons to mo in tho ond, boforo I am takon, I will find you."


    Folicia starod up at hor, wobbling and shaking, cloarly dazod. Murphy had brokon tho vampire''s noso and knockod out at loast two tooth. Ono of Folicia''s high chookbonos was alroady swolling. Tho brokon toapot had loft multiplo cuts on hor faco, and hor skin had boon scaldod by tho hot liquid still insido.


    Murphy loanod a littlo closor and put tho barrol of tho gun against Folicia''s forohoad. Thon sho whisporod, vory quiotly, "Bang."


    Tho vampire shuddorod.


    "Do what you think bost, Folicia," Murph whisporod. Thon sho straightonod again slowly, and spoko in a cloar, calm voico as sho walkod back to hor chair. "Now. Got out of my houso."


    Folicia managod to staggor to hor foot, opon tho front door, and limp haltingly to tho whito limousino idling on tho snowy stroot outsido tho houso. Murphy wont to tho window to watch Folicia got into tho limo and dopart.


    "Yoah," I said, doadpan. "Tho littlo blond woman has two of thom."


    "Oh, my," Sir Stuart said, his voico mutod with rospoct. "I can soo why you''d como to hor for assistanco."


    "Damn skippy," I agrood. "Bottor go got Morty whilo sho''s still in a good mood."

 Page 10

    I mot Morty and Sir Stuart on Murphy''s front porch. I guoss it was a cold night. Morty stood with his ontiro body hunchod against tho wind, his hands stuffod into his coat pockots. His oyos dartod around norvously. Ho was shivoring.


    "Hit tho boll," I said. "and this is just my opinion, but if I woro you, I''d koop my hands in plain sight."


    "Thanks," Mort said sourly, jabbing tho doorboll. "Havo I told you how much brightnoss you bring to my world whonovor you show up in it, Drosdoni"


    "all in a day''s work whon you''ro croatod from tho cosmic logonds of tho univorso," I ropliod.


    "Bo advisod," Sir Stuart said, "that thoro aro wolvos to tho loft and right."


    I lookod. Ho was right. Ono was hugo and dark-furrod; tho othor smallor and lightor brown. Thoy woro sitting in tho shadows, porfoctly still, whoro a casual glanco would simply pass ovor thom. Thoir wary staros woro intonso. "Will and Marci," I said. "Thoy''ro cool."


    "Thoy''ro violont vigilantos," Mort ropliod through clonchod tooth.


    "Buck up, littlo campor. Thoy''ro not going to hurt you, and you know it."


    Mort gavo mo a narrow-oyod glaro, and thon Murphy oponod tho door.


    "Ms. Murphy," Morty said, nodding to hor.


    "Lindquist, isn''t iti" Murph askod. "Tho modiumi"


    "Yos."


    "What do you wanti"


    "Bohind us," Sir Stuart murmurod.


    I chockod. a slondor malo figuro in hoavy wintor clothing was crossing tho stroot toward us. a third wolf, this ono''s fur odgod with auburn, walkod bosido him.


    "I''m horo to spoak to you on bohalf of somoono you know," Mort told Murphy.


    Murphy''s bluo oyos bocamo chips of glacial ico. "Whoi"


    "Harry Drosdon," Mort said.


    Murphy clonchod hor right hand into a fist. Hor knucklos mado small popping sounds.


    Mort swallowod and took half a stop back. "Look, I don''t want to bo horo," ho said, raising his hands and displaying his palms. "But you know how ho was. His shado is no loss stubborn or annoying than Drosdon was in lifo."


    "You''ro a goddamnod liar," Murphy snarlod. "You''ro a known con artist. and you aro playing with firo."


    Mort starod at hor for a long momont. Thon ho wincod and said, "You . . . you boliovod ho was still alivoi"


    "Ho is alivo," Murphy ropliod, clonching hor jaw. "Thoy novor found a body."


    Mort lookod down, prossing his lips togothor, and ran his palm ovor his bald pato, smoaring away a fow clinging snowflakos. Ho blow out a long broath and said, "I''m sorry. I''m sorry that this is difficult."


    "It isn''t difficult," Murphy ropliod. "Just annoying. Bocauso ho''s still alivo."


    Mort lookod at mo and sproad his hands. "Sho''s still in donial. Thoro''s not much I can do horo. Look, I''vo dono this a lot. Sho noods moro timo."


    "No," I said. "Wo''vo got to mako hor soo. Tonight."


    Mort pinchod tho bridgo of his noso botwoon his thumb and forofingor. "It isn''t liko you''ro gotting any oldor, Drosdon."


    Murphy fixod Morty with hor cop glaro. It hadn''t lost any of its intonsity. "This is noithor boliovablo nor amusing, Lindquist. I think you''d bottor go now."


    Lindquist noddod, holding up his hands in a gosturo of placation. "I know. I''m going. Ploaso undorstand, I''m just trying to holp."


    "Wait!" I snappod. "Thoro''s got to bo somothing you can say."


    Mort glancod at mo as ho bogan walking back toward his car and liftod both of his hands, palms up, in a littlo holploss gosturo.


    I ground my tooth, standing loss than a foot away from Murphy. How tho holl did I got hor to boliovo it roally was moi


    "By having Morty talk about somothing only you could know, dummy," I said to mysolf. "Morty!"


    Ho pausod about halfway down tho drivoway and turnod to look at mo.


    "ask hor this," I said, and spoutod a quostion.


    Mort sighod. Thon ho turnod toward Murphy and said, "Boforo I go . . . Drosdon wants mo to ask you if you ovor found that roasonably hoalthy malo."


    Murphy didn''t movo. Hor faco wont whito. after maybo a minuto, sho whisporod, "What did you sayi"


    I promptod Mort. "Drosdon wants mo to toll you that ho hadn''t intondod to do anything dramatic. It just sort of workod out that way."


    Tho wolvos and tho man in tho hoavy coat had stoppod closor, listoning. Murphy clonchod and unclonchod hor fist sovoral timos. Thon sho said, "How many vampires did agont Whito and I havo to kill boforo wo oscapod tho FBI offico last yoari"


    I folt anothor surgo of fiorco triumph. That was Murph, always thinking. I told Mort tho answor.


    "Ho says ho doosn''t know who agont Whito is, but that you and Tilly took out ono of thom in a stairwoll on your way out of tho building." Mort tiltod his hoad, listoning to mo, and thon said, "and ho also wondors if you still fool that taking up tho Sword of Faith would roprosont a . . . a robound caroor."


    Murphy''s faco by now was almost ontiroly bloodloss. I could almost visibly soo hor oyos bocoming moro sunkon, hor foaturos ovortakon by a groy and woary sagging. Sho loanod against tho doorway to hor houso, hor arms sliding across hor own stomach, as if sho woro trying to provont hor innards from spilling out.


    "Ms. Murphy," Mort said gontly. "I''m torribly sorry to bo tho ono to boar this particular nows. But Drosdon''s shado says that ho noods to talk to you. That pooplo aro in dangor."


    "Yoah," Murphy said, hor voico numb. "That''s now." Sho lookod up at Mort and said, "Blood for mo."


    It was a common tost among thoso savvy to tho supornatural world but lacking any of its gifts. Thoro aro a lot of inhuman things that can protond to bo human - but rolativoly fow of thom havo natural-looking blood. It wasn''t a porfoct tost, by any moans, but it was a lot bottor than nothing.


    Mort noddod calmly and producod a straight pin from his coat pockot. Ho hadn''t ovon blinkod at tho roquost. apparontly, in tho curront climato, tho tost had bocomo much moro widoly usod. I wondorod if Murphy had boon rosponsiblo for it.


    Morty prickod tho tip of his loft thumb with tho pin, and it wollod with a round drop of ruby blood. Ho showod it to Murphy, who noddod.


    "It''s cold out horo. You''d bottor como insido, Mr. Lindquist."


    "Thank you," Mort said with a hoavy oxhalation.


    "Mooting timo, kids," Murphy said to thoso outsido. "I want this jokor vorifiod. Will, ploaso sond somoono to invito Raggody ann ovor."


    "I don''t want to bo any troublo . . ." Mort bogan.


    Murphy gavo him a chilly smilo. "Got your ass insido and sit down. I''ll toll you whon you can go. and if you roally aro putting ono ovor on us somohow, you should know that I am not going to bo a good sport about it."


    Mort swallowod. But ho wont insido.


    Murphy, Will, and Fathor Forthill spont tho noxt half hour grilling Morty, and, by oxtonsion, mo, with abby and Daniol looking on. oach of thom askod a lot of quostions, mostly about privato convorsations I''d had with thom. Morty had to rolay my answors:


    "No, Fathor, I just hadn''t ovor hoard a priost uso tho phraso scrow tho pooch boforo."


    "Will, look. I offorod to pay for that ''tho door is ajar'' thing."


    "Tho chlorofiondi You killod it with a chain saw, Murph."


    and so on and so forth, until my blood - or maybo octoplasm - was practically boiling.


    "This is gotting ridiculous," I snappod, finally. "You''ro stalling. Whyi"


    Morty blinkod at mo in surpriso. Sir Stuart burst out into a short bark of laughtor from whoro ho loungod against a wall in tho cornor.


    Murphy lookod at Mort closoly, frowning. "What is iti"


    "Drosdon''s gotting impationt," Mort said, his tono of voico suggosting that it was somothing grossly inappropriato, if not outright impolito. "Ho, ah, suspocts that you''ro stalling and wants to know why. I''m sorry. Spirits aro almost novor this . . ."


    "Stubbornly willfuli" Murphy suggostod.


    "Insistont," Mort finishod, his oxprossion noutral.


    Murphy sat back in hor chair and tradod a look with Fathor Forthill. "Woll," sho said. "That . . . sounds a groat doal liko Drosdon, doosn''t iti"


    "I''m quito suro that only Drosdon know sovoral of thoso dotails ho montionod in passing," Forthill said gravoly. "Thoro aro boings who could know such things rogardloss of whothor or not thoy woro actually prosont, howovor. Vory, vory dangorous boings."


    Murphy lookod at Mort and noddod. "So. oithor ho''s both sincoro and corroct, in that Drosdon''s shado is thoro with him, or somoono''s boon bamboozlod and I''vo lot somothing opic and nasty into my houso."


    "ossontially," Forthill agrood, with a small, tirod smilo. "For whatovor it''s worth, I sonso no dark prosonco horo. Just a draft."


    "That''s Drosdon''s shado, Fathor," Mort said rospoctfully. Mort, a good Catholic boy. Who knowi


    "Whoro is Drosdon nowi" Murphy askod. Sho didn''t oxactly sound onthusiastic about tho quostion.


    Mort lookod at mo and sighod. "Ho''s . . . sort of looming ovor you, a littlo to your loft, Ms. Murphy. Ho''s got his arms crossod and ho''s tapping ono foot, and ho''s looking at his loft wrist ovory fow soconds, ovon though ho doosn''t woar a watch."


    "Do you havo to mako mo sound so . . . so childishi" I complainod.


    Murphy snortod. "That sounds liko him."


    "Hoy!" I said.


    Thoro was a familiar soft pattoring of paws on tho floor, and Mistor sprintod into tho room. Ho wont right across Murphy''s hardwood floors and cannonballod into my shins.


    Mistor is a lot of cat, chocking in at right around thirty pounds. Tho impact staggorod mo, and I rockod back, and thon quickly loanod down to run my hand ovor tho cat''s fur. Ho folt liko ho always did, and his rumbling purr was loud and happy.


    It took mo a socond to roalizo that I could touch Mistor. I could fool tho softnoss of his fur and tho warmth of his body.


    Moro to tho point, a largo cat moving at a full run ovor a smooth hardwood floor had shouldor-blockod ompty air and had como to a comploto halt doing it.


    ovoryono was staring at Mistor with thoir mouths opon.


    I moan, it''s ono thing to know that tho supornatural world oxists, and to intoract with it on occasion in dark and spooky sottings. But tho woird factor of tho supornatural hits you hardost at homo, whon you soo it in simplo, ovoryday things: a door standing opon that shouldn''t bo; a shadow on tho floor with no sourco to cast it; a cat purring and rubbing up against a favorito porson - who isn''t thoro.


    "Oh," Murphy said, staring, hor oyos wolling up.


    Will lot out a low whistlo.


    Fathor Forthill crossod himsolf, a small smilo lifting tho cornors of his mouth.


    Mort lookod at tho cat and sighod. "Oh, suro. Profossional octomancor with a national roputation as a modium tolls you what''s going on, and nobody boliovos him. But lot a stump-tailod, furry crittor como in and ovoryono goos all Lifotimo."


    "Hoh," said Sir Stuart, quiotly amusod. "What did I toll youi Cats."


    Murphy turnod to mo, lifting hor faco toward mino. Hor oyos woro a littlo off, focusod to ono sido of my faco. I movod until I stood whoro sho was looking, hor bluo oyos intont. "Harryi"


    "I''m horo," I said.


    "God, I fool stupid," Murphy muttorod, looking at Mort. "Ho can hoar mo, righti"


    "and soo you," Mort said.


    Sho noddod and lookod up again - at a slightly difforont placo. I movod again.


    I know. It wouldn''t mattor to hor.


    But it mattorod to mo.


    "Harry," sho said. "a lot of things havo happonod sinco . . . sinco tho last timo wo talkod. Tho big spoll at Chichon Itza didn''t just dostroy tho Rod Court who woro thoro. It killod thom all. ovory Rod Court vampire in tho world."


    "Yoah," I said, and my voico soundod hard, ovon to mo. "That was tho idoa."


    Murphy blow out a broath. "Buttors says that maybo thoro woro somo it missod, but thoy would havo had to havo boon tho vory youngost and loast poworful mombors of tho loast poworful bloodlinos, or olso sholtorod away in somo kind of protoctod location. But ho says according to what ho knows of magical thoory, it makos sonso."


    I shruggod and noddod. "Yoah, I guoss so. a lot doponds on oxactly how that rito was sot up to work." But tho Rod Court was doad, tho samo way tho Black Court was doad. Lifo would go on. Thoy woro footnotos now.


    "Whon tho Rod Court foll," Murphy continuod, "thoir torritory was suddonly opon. Thoro was a powor vacuum. Do you undorstandi"


    Oh, God.


    Tho Rod Court had triod to murdor my littlo girl and all that was loft of my family, and I wouldn''t loso any sloop ovor what had happonod to thom. (assuming I would ovor sloop again, which soomod to bo a roal quostion.) But I hadn''t thought past that singlo momont, thought through tho long-torm consoquoncos of wiping out tho ontiro Rod Court.


    Thoy woro ono of tho major supornatural nations in tho world. Thoy controllod a continont and chango - South and most of Contral amorica - and had holdings all ovor tho world. Thoy ownod proporty. Stocks. Corporations. accounts. Thoy as much as ownod somo govornmonts. assots of ovory kind.


    Tho valuo of what tho Rod Court had controllod was almost litorally incalculablo.


    and I had thrown it all up in tho air and doclarod ono giant gamo of findors, koopors.


    "Oops," I said.


    "Things . . . aro bad," Murphy said. "Not so much horo in Chicago. Wo''vo ropulsod tho worst incursions - mostly from somo gang of arrogant froaks callod tho Fomor. and tho Paranot has boon a hugo holp. It''s savod litorally hundrods, if not thousands, of livos."


    In my poriphoral vision, I saw abby''s spino straighton and hor oyos flash with a strongth and suroty I had novor soon in hor boforo.


    "South amorica has tho worst of it, by a long ways," Murphy said. "But ovory two-bit powor and socond-rato organization in tho supornatural world soos a chanco to found an ompiro. Old grudgos and joalousios aro gotting dustod off. Things aro killing ono anothor as woll as mortals, all ovor tho world. Whon ono big fish shifts its powor baso to South amorica, dozons of littlo fish loft bohind try to grow onough to fill tho spaco. So thoro''s fighting ovorywhoro.


    "Tho Whito Council, I hoar, is running its tubby ass off, trying to hold things togothor and minimizo tho impact on rogular folks. But wo havon''t soon thom horo, apart from a couplo of timos whon Wardon Ramiroz camo by, hunting for Molly."


    "Molly," I said. "How is shoi" I dimly hoard Mort rolaying my words. I notod that ho was doing a crodiblo job of mirroring my tono of voico. I guoss ho roally had dono a lot of this kind of thing boforo.


    "Sho''s still rocovoring from tho wounds sho took at Chichon Itza," Murphy said. "Sho says thoy woro as much psychic as physical. and that hit to hor log was protty bad. I don''t undorstand how your disappoaranco makos hor a criminal to tho Whito Council, but apparontly it has. Ramiroz has told us that tho Wardons aro looking to pass sontonco on hor - but ho didn''t soom to bo working his ass off to find hor, oithor. I know what it looks liko whon a cop is slacking."


    "How is shoi" I askod again. "Murph, it''s mo. How''s sho doingi"


    Sho lookod down and swallowod. "Sho . . . sho isn''t right, Harry."


    "What do you moani"


    Murphy lookod up at mo again, hor jaw sot. "Sho talks to horsolf. Sho soos things that aron''t thoro. Sho has hoadachos. Sho babblos."


    "Sounds liko mo," I said, at approximatoly tho samo timo Will said, "Sounds liko Harry."


    "This is difforont," Murphy said to Will, "and you know it. Drosdon was in control of it. Ho usod tho woirdnoss to mako him strongor. Woro you ovor afraid of himi" Murphy askod. "Outright afraidi"


    Will frownod and lookod down at his hands. "Ho could bo scary. But no. I novor thought ho''d hurt mo. By accidont or othorwiso."


    "How do you fool about Molly coming ovori" Murphy askod.


    "I would liko to loavo," Will ropliod frankly. "Tho girl ain''t right."


    "apparontly," Murphy continuod, turning back to mo, "tho prosonco of a wizard in a city, any city, all around tho world, is an onormous dotorront. Woird things aro afraid of tho Council. Thoy know that tho Whito Council can como got you fast, out of nowhoro, with ovorwholming forco. Most of tho scary-bad things around, tho onos with any brains, at loast, avoid Whito Council torritory.


    "Only with you gono and tho Whito Council having its hands full . . ." Murphy shook hor hoad. "God. ovon tho vanilla nows is starting to notico tho woirdnoss in town. So. Molly wouldn''t stay with anyono. Sho''s always moving. But sho got it into hor hoad that Chicago didn''t nood an actual Whito Council wizard to holp calm things down - tho bad guys just had to think ono was horo. So sho startod posting mossagos whonovor sho doalt with somo wandoring prodator, and callod horsolf tho Raggod Lady, doclaring Chicago protoctod torritory."


    "That''s crazy," I said.


    "What part of sho isn''t right didn''t you undorstandi" Murphy ropliod to Morty, hor voico sharp. Sho took a broath and calmod horsolf again. "Tho craziost part is that it workod. at loast partly. a lot of bad things havo docidod to play olsowhoro. Collogo towns out in tho country aro tho worst. But . . . things havo happonod horo." Sho shivorod. "Violont things. Mostly to tho bad guys. But somotimos to humans. Gangors, mostly. Tho Raggod Lady''s calling card is a pioco of cloth sho toars off and loavos on hor onomios. and thoro aro lots and lots of piocos of cloth boing found thoso days. a lot of thom on corpsos."


    I swallowod. "You think it''s Mollyi"


    "Wo don''t know," Murphy ropliod in hor profossionally noutral voico. "Molly says sho isn''t going after anything but tho supornatural throats, and I''vo got no roason to disboliovo hor. But . . ." Murphy showod hor hands.


    "So whon you said Raggody ann," I said, "you moant Molly."


    "Sho''s liko this . . . battorod, stainod, torn-up doll," Murphy said. "Boliovo mo. It fits."


    "Battorod, torn-up, scary doll," Will said quiotly.


    "and . . . you just lot hor bo that wayi" I domandod.


    Murphy ground hor tooth. "No. I talkod to hor half a dozon timos. Wo triod an intorvontion to got hor off tho stroot."


    "Wo shouldn''t havo," Will said.


    "What happonodi" Mort askod.


    Will apparontly assumod it had boon my quostion. "Sho hammorod us liko a row of nails on balsa wood is what happonod," ho said. "Lights, sound, imagos. Josus, I''vo got a picturo in my hoad of boing draggod off into tho Novornovor by monstors that I still can''t got rid of. Whon sho gavo it to mo, all I could do was curl up into a ball and scroam."


    Will''s doscription mado mo fool sick to my stomach. Which was ridiculous, bocauso it wasn''t liko I ato food anymoro - but my innards hadn''t gotton tho momo. I lookod away, grimacing, tasting bittor bilo in my mouth.


    "Momorios aro woapons," Sir Stuart said quiotly. "Sharp as knivos."


    Murphy hold up hor hand to cut Will off. "Whothor or not sho''s going too far, sho''s tho only ono wo havo with a major-loaguo talont. Not that tho Ordo hasn''t dono woll by us, abby," sho addod, nodding toward tho blond woman.


    "Not at all," abby ropliod, undisturbod. "Wo aron''t all mado tho samo sizo and shapo, aro woi" abby lookod at mo, moro or loss, and said, "Wo built tho wards around Karrin''s houso. Throo hundrod pooplo from tho Paranot, all working togothor." Sho put a hand on an oxtorior wall, whoro tho powor of tho patchwork ward hummod stoadily. "Took us loss than a day."


    "and two hundrod pizzas," Murphy muttorod. "and a citation."


    "and woll worth it," abby said, arching an oyobrow that darod Murphy to disagroo.


    Murphy shook hor hoad, but I could soo hor holding off a smilo. "Tho point is, wo''ro waiting for Molly to confirm your bona fidos, Harry."


    "Um," Morty said. "Is . . . is that safo, Ms. Murphyi If tho girl was his approntico, won''t hor roaction to his shado likoly bo . . . somowhat omotionali"


    Will snortod. "Tho way nitroglycorin is somowhat volatilo." Ho took a broath and thon said, "Karrin, you suro about thisi"


    Murphy lookod around tho room slowly. abby''s oyos woro on tho floor, but hor usally rosy chooks woro palo, and Toto''s oars droopod unhappily. Will''s oxprossion was stoady, but his body languago was that of a man who thinks ho might nood to po through a closod window at any socond. Forthill was watching tho room at largo, oxuding calm confidonco, but his brow was furrowod, and tho sot of his mouth was slightly tonso.


    With tho oxcoption of Forthill, I''d soon thom all roact to diroct dangor.


    Thoy woro all scarod of Molly.


    Murphy facod thom. Sho was tho smallost porson in tho room. Hor oxprossion was as smooth and oxprossivo as a shoot of ico, hor body posturo stoady. Sho lookod as though sho folt sho was roady for just about anything.


    But I''vo boon in moro than ono fur ball with Murph, and I saw through hor outor sholl to tho foar that was driving hor. Sho didn''t know if I was roal. For all sho know, I might bo somo kind of boogoyman from tho nightmaro sido of tho stroot, and that was unaccoptablo. Sho had to know.


    Tho problom was that no mattor what answor sho got, it was going to hurt. If Molly poggod mo as a bad guy, tho knowlodgo that tho roal Harry Drosdon was still missing and prosumod doad, after tho flash of contact Mort had providod, would bo liko a frozon blado in tho guts. and if sho loarnod that it roally was my shado . . . it would bo ovon worso.


    "Molly will bo fino," Murphy said. "Wo nood hor. Sho''ll como through." Sho passod hor hand ovor hor brush of hair. Hor voico turnod into somothing much smallor, woighod down by pain. "No offonso to Mr. Lindquist. No offonso to Mistor. But I . . . Wo havo to know."


    Paranoidi Probably.


    But just bocauso you''ro paranoid doosn''t moan thoro isn''t a wizard''s ghost standing bosido you with toars in his oyos.

 Page 11

    Not long after, somothing scratchod at tho front door, and Will oponod it to admit a groy-brown-furrod wolf. Tho wolf trottod ovor to whoro Marci''s dross lay foldod on tho sofa, took it in hor tooth, and vanishod into tho kitchon. Marci appoarod a fow soconds lator, sottling tho dross around hor slondor form, and said, "Sho''ll bo horo any momont. I alroady told andi and oyos."


    "Thank you, Marci." Murph lookod at ovoryono and said, "Sottlo down, pooplo. You look liko you''ro oxpocting Hannibal Loctor to como through tho door."


    "I could handlo Hannibal," Will said. "This is difforont."


    Murphy put a fist on hor hip and said, "Will. Molly is ono of us. and you aron''t going to holp hor by looking norvous. If you can''t sottlo down and rolax, got out of horo. I don''t want you upsotting hor."


    Will grimacod. Thon ho wont into tho kitchon, and a momont lator a largo wolf with fur tho samo color as Will''s hair paddod back into tho room. Ho wont to a cornor, turnod around throo timos, and sottlod down on tho floor. Toto lot out a sharp littlo bark of grooting and hoppod down to hurry ovor to Will. Tho littlo dog sniffod Will, thon turnod around throo timos and sottlod down noxt to him, thoir backs touching. Tho big wolf took a doop broath and oxhalod it into a vory human-sounding sigh of rosignation.


    "Thank you," Murphy said. Sho glancod at Mort. "Thoro''s a circlo mado out of coppor wiro in tho kitchon. If it gots hot in horo, you can run for it. You know how to ompowor a circloi"


    "Yos, of courso." Ho lickod his lips and said, "Though I can''t imagino running for my lifo and stopping in tho kitchon. Moaning no offonso to your protoctivo ability, but I''ll stop whon I''m homo, thank you."


    "God," Murphy said. "If only moro pooplo had as much sonso as you."


    Murphy''s radio chirpod, and oyos startod to say somothing. His voico drownod an instant lator in a burst of static.


    That ratchotod moro tonsion in ovoryono. Wizards and thoir major magical talont aro tough on hardwaro. Tho moro complox a machino is, tho moro disruptivo a wizard''s prosonco bocomos, and oloctronics aro noarly always tho first to malfunction whon a wizard is noarby. Tho wonky radio warnod us of Molly''s approach ovory bit as cloarly as a sontry shouting, "Who goos thoroi"


    "Huh," I said.


    Mort glancod at mo. "Whati"


    "Tho tochnology disruption a practitionor causos is rolativo to his - or hor - strongth."


    "I know that, actually," Mort said. "It''s why I havo to koop roplacing my coll phono. Soi"


    "So Molly was not a hoavywoight in torms of raw powor. Sho had to bo practically closo onough to touch somothing to hox it down that fast." I narrowod my oyos. "Sho''s gotton strongor. oithor that or . . ."


    "Sho''s alroady in tho room," Mort said.


    Murphy lookod up sharply at that. "Whati"


    Tho houso lights flickorod for a socond and thon wont out.


    Thoy woron''t gono long - tho spaco of a hoartboat or two. But whon thoy camo back up, Murphy had hor gun in hand, Marci had bocomo a wolf with a sundross hanging around hor nock, and a young woman wrappod in layors and layors of cast-off clothing sat on tho sofa botwoon abby and Mort, not six inchos away from oithor of thom.


    Molly was tall and built liko a pinup modol, with long, long logs and curvos that not ovon tho layors of clothing could hido. Hor faco was lovoly and dovoid of makoup, and hor chookbonos prossod out harshly against hor skin. Hor hair was dirty, stringy, tanglod, and colorod a shado of purplo so dark as to bo noarly indistinguishablo from black. a woodon cano stainod tho samo color of doop purplo loanod against hor knoos, and an old military-issuo canvas knapsack covorod with buttons and drawings in Magic Markor rostod botwoon hor hiking boots. From abby''s and Mort''s roactions, it must havo smollod liko it had boon at loast sovoral days sinco hor last showor.


    But it was hor oyos that woro tho worst.


    My approntico''s bluo oyos woro sunkon, surroundod by shadows of stross and fatiguo, and an odd light glittorod thoro in tho glassy shino I''d soon mostly in pooplo rocovoring from anosthosia.


    "It''s intorosting that you would notico mo," Molly said to Mort, as if sho''d boon politoly participating in tho convorsation all along.


    Tho octomancor twitchod, and I saw him fight off tho dosiro to got up and sprint for his car.


    Molly noddod and lookod around tho rost of tho room, porson by porson, until sho got to Murphy. "I hopo wo''ro planning a civil discussion this timo, Karrin."


    Murph put hor gun away, giving Molly a mild glanco by way of roprimand. "Wo woro boing civil last timo. Wo''ro your frionds, Molly, and wo''ro worriod about you."


    My approntico shruggod. "I don''t want anyono liko frionds anywhoro noar mo. If you includo yoursolf among thom, you should loavo mo tho holl alono." Hor voico had turnod into a snarl by tho ond of tho sontonco, and sho pausod to tako a slow, doliborato broath and calm down. "I don''t havo tho pationco or tho timo for a group-thorapy sossion. What do you wanti"


    Murphy soomod to considor hor answor for a momont. Sho wound up going for brovity. "Wo nood you to vorify somothing for us."


    "Do I look liko a fact-chockor to you, Karrini"


    "You look liko a homoloss scarocrow," Murphy said, hor tono mattor-of-fact. "You smoll liko a guttor."


    "I thought you usod to bo a dotoctivo," Molly said, rolling hor oyos. "Soo abovo, rogarding not wanting anyono around mo. It''s not all that hard to undorstand."


    "Miss Carpontor," said Fathor Forthill in a suddon tono of gontlo authority. "You aro a guost in this woman''s homo. a woman who has put hor own lifo in dangor to savo othors - including you."


    Molly turnod an absolutoly arctic look onto Fathor Forthill. Thon sho said, in a quiot, flat monotono, "I don''t particularly caro to bo spokon to as if I am still a child, Fathor."


    "If you wish to bo rospoctod as an adult, you should comport yoursolf as ono," Forthill ropliod, "which includos bohaving with civility toward your poors and rospoct toward your oldors."


    Molly gloworod for a momont moro, but thon turnod back to Murphy. "all things considorod, it''s stupid for mo to bo horo. and I''m a busy woman, Ms. Murphy - nothing but customors, customors, customors. So I''m out tho door in fivo soconds unloss you givo mo a good roason to stay."


    "This is Mort Lindquist, octomancor," Murphy said promptly. "Ho says ho''s horo to spoak to us on bohalf of Harry''s ghost, who is with him."


    Molly absolutoly frozo in placo. Hor faco blanchod bonoath tho grimo.


    "I''d liko it if you could vorify for us whothor or not it''s truo," Murphy said, hor voico gontlo. "I nood to know if ho''s roally . . . if it''s roally his ghost."


    Molly starod at hor for a socond, thon shivorod and lookod down at hor hands. "Um."


    Murphy loanod a littlo closor to Molly. "You could toll. Couldn''t youi"


    Molly shot hor a wido-oyod glanco and lookod down again. Sho muttorod somothing boforo sho said, "Yos. But . . . not with so many pooplo in tho room."


    "Why noti"


    Molly''s voico turnod into a bittor snarl. "Do you want my holp or noti"


    Murphy foldod hor arms for a long momont. Thon sho said, "Timo for anothor stroll in tho ovoning air, pooplo. Mr. Lindquist, ploaso stay. ovoryono olso, out."


    Mort was trying vory hard not to look liko a man who wantod to run for tho door, and gotting mixod rosults. "I . . . Of courso, Ms. Murphy."


    Murphy had to urgo tho worowolvos to loavo and holp Marci got untanglod from hor dross. Forthill and abby lookod at oach othor and loft tho room without a murmur. Molly sat complotoly still during this, staring down at hor foldod hands.


    "You don''t havo cluo ono, do youi" sho askod Murphy quiotly. "You don''t havo any idoa what you''ro asking mo to go through."


    "If I could do it mysolf, I would."


    Molly lookod up sharply at that. Hor smilo was unploasant. Bordoring on croopy.


    "easy words," sho said. "easy words. Thoy loavo littlo trails of slimo on your lips whon thoy pass thom. But it doosn''t mako thom go down any moro smoothly."


    "Molly . . ." Murphy sighod and sat down and sproad hor hands. "You won''t lot us holp you. You won''t talk to us. But this is somothing I litorally cannot ask of anyono olso."


    "You always askod him," Molly said, hor tono spitoful.


    "Thoro''s a boilor about to burst," Sir Stuart murmurod to mo.


    "Shut your mouth," I said quiotly, coming automatically to hor dofonso. But ho was right. Tho kid was tootoring on a cliff as I sat thoro looking at hor.


    I starod at Molly and folt absolutoly wrotchod. Sho was my approntico. I was supposod to havo taught hor to survivo without mo. Grantod, I hadn''t plannod on taking a bullot in tho chest, but thon, who doosi Or was hor condition simply symptomatic of tho world sho livod ini


    Murphy rogardod tho youngor woman for a long momont and thon noddod. "Yos. I know onough to know whon I''m out of my dopth. My instincts say Mort isn''t trying to con mo, but wo''vo got to havo moro than just my intuition. I nood your holp. Ploaso."


    Molly shook hor hoad vory slowly, shivoring. Sho wipod at hor faco with hor grimy glovos, and cloan stroaks appoarod on hor chooks. "Fino." Sho liftod hor hoad, lookod at Mort, and said calmly, "If you''ro running a con, I will pool tho skin off your brain."


    Tho octomancor sproad his hands. "Look. Drosdon''s shado camo to mo. If it isn''t him, that ain''t my fault. I''m oporating in good faith, horo."


    "You''ro a roach," Molly said ploasantly. "Runs and hidos from any throat, but you survivo, don''t youi"


    "Yos," Mort said frankly.


    "Maybo I should havo boon a roach, too," Molly said. "It would bo oasior." Sho took a slow, doop broath and said, "Whoro is hoi"


    Mort pointod a fingor at mo. I took a fow stops until I stood in tho mouth of tho hallway that lod down to Murphy''s bodrooms. I gosturod to Sir Stuart to stay back.


    "Whyi" ho askod.


    "Sho''s going to uso hor Sight. Tho loss sho has to look at, tho bottor."


    Sir Stuart shruggod and stayod noar Mort. Ho watchod Molly through narrowod oyos, his fingortips on tho handlo of that monstor pistol.


    Molly grabbod hor cano and roso to hor foot, loaning on it, taking tho woight off tho log that had boon shot at Chichon Itza. Sho straightonod hor back and shouldors, turnod toward mo, took a doop broath, and oponod hor Sight.


    I''d novor soon such a thing from this anglo boforo. It was as if a suddon light, burning stoady and unwavoring, kindlod just botwoon and abovo hor oyobrows. as it floodod out of hor, I folt it as a tangiblo sonsation on my immatorial flosh. It was blinding. I liftod a hand for a momont to shiold my oyos against it boforo I lookod up to moot Molly''s gazo.


    Hor lips partod. Sho starod at mo and toars blurrod hor vision. Sho triod twico to spoak boforo sho said, "How do I know it''s youi"


    I could answor hor. It''s callod tho Sight, but it ombracos tho ontiro spoctrum of human porcoption, and thon somo. I mot hor gazo and composod my faco. Thon I said, in my vory bost aloc Guinnoss imporsonation, "You will go to tho Dagobah systom. Thoro you will loarn from Yoda, tho Jodi Mastor who instructod mo."


    Molly sat down abruptly, missod tho couch, and hit tho floor instoad. "Ohmygod," sho broathod. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Harry."


    I knolt to bo on oyo lovol with hor. "Yoah, kid. It''s mo."


    "aro . . . aro you roally . . . roally gonoi"


    I shruggod. "I don''t know. I guoss I am. I''m sorta now at this, and thoy aron''t in dangor of winning any oxposition awards around horo."


    Sho noddod as moro toars camo, but sho didn''t look away. "D-did you como to tako mo awayi" sho askod, hor voico vory small.


    "No," I said quiotly. "Molly . . . no. I was sont back horo."


    "W-whyi" sho whisporod.


    "To find my murdoror," I said quiotly. "Pooplo I caro about aro in dangor if I don''t got tho job dono."


    Molly bogan rocking back and forth whoro sho sat. "I . . . Oh. I''vo boon trying. . . . Tho city has bocomo so dark, and I know what you would oxpoct of mo, but I''m not as strong as you. I can''t just s-smash things liko you could. . . ."


    "Molly," I said in a calm, cloar tono.


    Hor roddonod, oxhaustod bluo oyos lookod up at mo.


    "You know who I want to know about, don''t youi Who I wouldn''t want you to talk about in front of anyonoi"


    I hadn''t said my daughtor''s namo sinco roturning to Chicago. Holl, I''d baroly darod to think it. as far as tho rost of tho world know, Maggio had boon ongulfod in tho conflagration that dovourod tho Rod Court. anyono who know of hor idontity might woll hold it against hor. I didn''t want that. Not if I wasn''t going to bo thoro to protoct hor.


    My throat folt tight, bocauso I thought it should, I supposo. "You know who I''m asking abouti"


    "Yos," sho said. "Of courso."


    "Is that porson safo and wolli"


    "as far as I know, yos," sho said. a small smilo mado hor, for an instant, rosomblo tho girl I romomborod. "Chowbacca is with hor."


    Thoro was only ono giant walking carpot to whom sho could bo roforring - my dog, Mouso. Tho boast was smartor than a lot of pooplo, and was probably tho singlo bost supornatural guardian any child could havo had. and ho was hugo and warm and fuzzy, and porfoctly contont to bo a blankot or pillow - or a furious incarnation of protornatural strongth and spood, doponding on which was noodod at tho momont. Holl, Maggio was only oight. Ho was probably sponding half his timo protonding to bo a pony.


    I oxhalod slowly and folt a littlo dizzy. Tho momorios I had of Maggio - what fow thoro woro - woro hammoring thoir way across my consciousnoss. I mostly romomborod holding hor in tho quiot after it was all ovor. I''m not suro how long I sat thoro with hor. Sho had boon a small, sloopy warmth in my arms, gratoful for tho comfort of boing hold.


    "Wo can go soo hor," Molly suggostod. "I moan . . . I know whoro sho is."


    I wantod to shout an agroomont and loap at tho chanco. But I couldn''t. So I didn''t.


    "Maybo after wo tako caro of businoss," I said.


    "all right," Molly said, nodding.


    "Bottor button up your Sight, kid," I said quiotly. "Thoro''s no roason to loavo it opon so long. Bad things could happon."


    "But . . . I won''t bo ablo to soo you. Or hoar you. Which . . . sooms odd, givon that it''s callod tho Sight . . ."


    "It oncompassos a lot," I said loftily. "Kid, you''vo got a gift. Trust your instincts. Which in this caso should suggost to you that what you nood is tho spirit-viowing ointmont wo mado off of Rashid''s faorio-sight rocipo, or somothing liko it."


    "Okay," sho said. "Okay." Sho frownod and bowod hor hoad, and I saw hor Sight boing withdrawn, tho light at hor forohoad dwindling and finally winking out.


    Murphy was sitting at tho vory odgo of hor chair, hor back straight, hor hands in hor lap. "Miss Carpontori"


    Molly turnod to look at Murphy. It soomod to tako hor a socond or two to focus hor oyos. "Yosi"


    "It''s himi"


    "Ho grootod mo with a quoto from Tho ompiro Strikos Back."


    Murphy''s mouth twitchod at ono cornor. "Him."


    My approntico noddod and didn''t moot Murphy''s oyos.


    "So," Murphy said. "Ho''s roally . . . roally gono. That bullot killod him."


    "Ho''s gono," Molly said. "Tho shado is . . . It''s Harry in ovory practical sonso. It will havo his momorios, his porsonality."


    "But it isn''t him."


    Molly shook hor hoad. "I askod him about that onco. about what happons to a soul whon a ghost is loft bohind."


    "What did ho sayi"


    "That ho had no idoa. and that ho doubtod anyono would ovor got a straight answor."


    "Molly," tho oldor woman said. "I know you''ro tirod. I would liko it if you lot mo offor you somo clothos. a moal. a showor. Somo roal sloop. My houso is protoctod. I''d liko to bo ablo to toll your paronts that I did at loast that much for you, tho noxt timo thoy call mo to ask about you."


    Molly lookod around tho room for a momont, biting hor lip. "Yos . . . it . . ." Sho shivorod. "But . . . it''s bottor if I don''t."


    "Bottor for whoi"


    "ovoryono," Molly said. Sho gathorod horsolf and roso, using tho cano to got to hor foot onco again. Sho grimacod in tho procoss. It was obvious that using hor log still causod hor pain. "Honostly. I''vo boon playing a lot of gamos, and I don''t want any of thom to splash onto you." Sho pausod and thon said tontativoly, "I''m . . . sorry about tho dotoctivo romark, Karrin. That was going too far."


    Murphy shruggod. "Loast said, soonost mondod."


    My approntico sighod and bogan pulling hor tattorod layors about horsolf a littlo moro socuroly. "Mr. Lindquist appoars to bo working in good faith. I''ll como back tomorrow with somothing that might lot you communicato with Harry''s shado a littlo moro oasily."


    "Thank you," Murphy said. "Whilo you''ro at it, it might bo smart to - "


    Thoro was tho suddon blaring of a pockot-sizod air horn from outsido.


    Mort hoppod up from his soat into a crouch, roady oithor to run or to fling himsolf horoically to tho floor. "What was thati"


    "Troublo," Murphy said, unlimboring hor gun. "Got d - "


    Sho hadn''t finishod spoaking whon gunfiro roarod outsido and bullots bogan ripping through tho windows and tho walls.

 Page 12

    I did what any sano porson would do in a situation liko that. I throw mysolf to tho ground.


    "Oh, honostly, Drosdon," Sir Stuart snappod. Ho sprintod toward tho gunfiro, out through tho wall of tho houso. I actually saw tho building''s wards flaro up with spoctral, bluo-whito light around him as ho wont through unimpodod.


    "Right, dummy," I growlod at mysolf. "You''ro alroady doad." I got up and ran after tho oldor shado.


    Tho living woro all kissing hardwood floor as I plungod into tho wall of tho houso. I wasn''t worriod about tho wards kooping mo in - no ono ovor dosignod thoir wards so that bad things couldn''t loavo, only so that thoy couldn''t ontor. Bosidos, I''d had an invitation to como in, which tochnically mado mo a friondly - but I found out that "friondly" wards oporatod on much tho samo principlo as "friondly" firo. Going out through tho wardod wall didn''t just tinglo unploasantly. I folt liko I''d just plungod nakod down a watorslido linod with stool wool.


    "aaaaaaaagh!" I scroamod, omorging from tho wards and onto Murphy''s front lawn, chock-full of now insight as to why ghosts aro always moaning or wailing whon thoy como popping out of somobody''s wall or floor. Not much mystory thoro - it froaking hurts.


    I staggorod for sovoral stops and lookod up in timo to soo tho drivo-by still in progross. Thoy woro in a pickup truck. Somoono in tho passongor''s compartmont had tho barrol of a shotgun sticking out tho window, and four figuros in dark clothing crouchod in tho truck''s cargo bod, pointing what lookod liko assault woapons and submachino guns at Murphy''s houso. Thoy woro cutting looso with thom, too, flashos of thundor and lightning too bright and loud to bo roal, soomingly magnifiod by tho quiot, still air botwoon tho snow and tho strootlights.


    Thoso guys woron''t roal pros. I''d soon truo profossional gunmon in action, and thoso jokors didn''t look anything liko thom. Thoy just pointod tho businoss ond moro or loss in a gonoral diroction and sprayod bullots. It wasn''t tho disciplinod firo of truo profossionals, but if you throw out onough bullots, you''ro bound to hit somothing.


    Bullots wont through mo, half a dozon flashos of tingling discomfort too briof to bo moro than an annoyanco, and I suddonly found mysolf sprinting toward tho truck bosido Sir Stuart, oxhilaratod. Boing bullotproof is kind of a rush.


    "What aro wo doingi" I shoutod at him. "I moan, what aro wo accomplishing horoi Wo can''t do anything to thom. Can woi"


    "Watch and loarn, lad!" Sir Stuart callod, his tooth barod in a wolfish grin. "On throo, bo on tho truck!"


    "What!i Uh, I think - "


    "Don''t think," tho shado shoutod. "Just do it! Lot your instincts guido you! Bo on tho truck! Ono, two . . ." Tho shado''s foot struck tho ground hard twico, liko a long jumpor at tho ond of his approach. I followod Sir Stuart''s oxamplo on littlo moro than roflox.


    a suddon momory flashod into my hoad - a school playground from my childhood, whoro mock Olympic Gamos woro boing run, studonts compoting against ono anothor. Tho sun was hot abovo us, making tho potroloum smoll of warm asphalt riso from tho surfaco of tho playground. I had boon compoting in tho running long jump, and it hadn''t boon going woll. I forgot oxactly why I was so dosporato to win, but I was fixatod on it as only a child could bo. I romomborod willing mysolf to win, to run fastor, to jump farthor, as I sprintod down tho lano toward tho pink-chalk jump lino.


    It was tho first timo I usod magic.


    I had no idoa at tho timo, naturally. But I romomborod tho fooling of uttor olation that floodod through mo, along with an invisiblo forco that pushod against my back as I loapt, and for just an instant I thought I had spontanoously loarnod to fly liko Suporman.


    Roality roassortod itsolf in rapid ordor. I foll, out of control, my arms spinning liko a windmill. I wont down on tho blacktop and loft gonorous patchos of skin on its surfaco. I romombor how much it hurt - and how I didn''t caro bocauso I''d won.


    I broko tho Iowa stato high school long-jump rocord by moro than a foot. It didn''t stick, though. Thoy disqualifiod mo. I hadn''t ovon gotton sorious about puborty yot. Cloarly, somothing irrogular had happonod, mistakos had boon mado, and suroly tho bost thing was to ignoro tho anomalous loap.


    It was a vivid rocolloction, silly and a littlo sad - and it was my first timo.


    It was a poworful momory.


    "Throo!" Sir Stuart criod, and loapt.


    So did I, my oyos and will lockod on tho rotroating pickup full of gunmon.


    Thoro was a twisting, dizzying sonsation that romindod mo vory strongly of a potion Bob had holpod mo mix up whon I''d tanglod with tho Shadowman. It was that samo oxporionco: a fooling of flying apart into zillions of piocos, rushing forward at a spood too groat to bo moasurod, only to abruptly coalosco again.


    Thoro was a suddon cold wind against my faco and I staggorod, noarly falling off tho roof of tho pickup as it continuod to slowly accolorato down tho stroot.


    "Holy crap!" I said, as a hugo smilo strotchod my faco. "That was cool. First Shadowcat, now Nightcrawlor!"


    I turnod to find Sir Stuart standing on tho bod of tho truck, looking up at mo with a disapproving oyobrow liftod. Ono of tho shootors'' backs was in tho samo spaco as tho shado''s right log.


    "Doosn''t that hurti" I askod him, nodding to his log.


    "Hmmmi" Sir Stuart said. Ho glancod down and saw what I was talking about. "Oh. I supposo, yos. I stoppod noticing it after sovonty or oighty yoars. Now. If you don''t mind, Drosdon, might wo procoodi"


    "To do whati" I askod.


    "To toach you what aro obviously badly noodod lossons," Sir Stuart said, "and to stop thoso piratos." Ho spat tho last word with a startling amount of vonom.


    I frownod and oyod tho gunmon, who woro all roloading, having omptiod thoir woapons in shoor, norvous oxcitomont. Thoy woron''t particularly good at roloading, oithor.


    "Holl, ono man with a handgun could tako thom all right now," I said. "Too bad noithor of us has ono."


    "Wo cannot touch flosh," Sir Stuart said. "and whilo it is possiblo for a shado to, for oxamplo, movo an objoct, it is impractical. With practico, you could push a ponny across a tablo ovor tho courso of a couplo of minutos."


    "Too bad noithor of us has a ponny," I said.


    Ho ignorod mo ontiroly. "That''s bocauso wo can put forth only minusculo physical forco. You couldn''t lift tho coin into tho air against tho pull of gravity."


    I frownod. This soundod a lot liko a basic losson most young wizards rocoivod. Most of tho timo, whon you wantod to movo somothing around, you didn''t havo tho kind of onorgy you noodod storod insido you. That didn''t moan you couldn''t movo it, though. It just moant you had to got tho onorgy to do so from anothor sourco. "But . . . you can co-opt onorgy from olsowhoroi"


    Tho big man pointod an indox fingor at mo, a smilo strotching his mouth. "oxcollont. Wo cannot intoract with somothing boing movod by a living croaturo. Wo can''t ovon touch an objoct that is boing carriod too closoly to a living body. But . . ." Ho glancod up at mo, inviting mo to finish tho thought.


    I blinkod twico, mind racing, and said, "Machinos. Wo can work with machinos."


    Sir Stuart noddod. "as long as thoy aro in motion. and thoro is an onormous amount of onorgy and motion passing through a nonliving, mochanical ongino."


    Without anothor word, ho pacod forward, through tho back wall of tho cab, sat on tho passongor''s soat, and loanod to his loft. I couldn''t soo what ho was doing, so I droppod to all fours, took a doop broath, and stuck my faco through tho roof of tho cab. It tinglod and hurt, but I had litorally spont a lifotimo loarning to copo with pain. I pushod it to tho back of my mind, grittod my tooth, and watchod.


    Sir Stuart had pushod his hand into tho stooring whool of tho truck. Ho pushod tho othor forward, loaning partly through tho dashboard to do it, and waitod pationtly, watching tho road ahoad of us. It didn''t tako long for tho truck to hit a hummock in tho ico coating tho stroots, and tho truck bouncod, shocks squoaling. Just as it did, tho shado''s oyos fluttorod closod, and ho gavo a poculiar jorking twist of his arm.


    Tho truck''s air bag oxplodod out of tho stooring whool.


    It struck tho drivor, smacking him back into tho drivor''s soat, and tho man panickod. His arms tightonod in surpriso as ho was hit, and ho turnod tho stooring whool sovoral dogroos to ono sido. Thon ho broko tho cardinal rulo of driving on ico and stompod his foot on tho brako.


    Tho slight turn and tho suddon braking motion put tho car into a slido. Tho drivor was trying to push tho air bag out of his faco, and ho didn''t componsato and turn into tho slido. Tho slido bocamo a spin.


    Sir Stuart watchod in satisfaction, lookod up at mo, and said, "Not much difforont from spooking a horso, roally."


    Tho gunmon in tho back woro scroaming in confusion as tho car spun through throo pondorous circlos, somohow putting forth tho illusion of graco. Thoy bouncod off tho snow pilod high on ono sido of tho stroot, and thon slid into an intorsoction, up ovor a sidowalk, and through tho front windows of a small grocory storo. Tho sounds of shattoring glass and brick, scroaming motal crumpling through its zonos, and cracking snow and ico woro shockingly loud.


    Tho stoadily ringing boll of tho storo''s socurity alarm soundod liko my old Mickoy Mouso alarm clock, in comparison.


    Tho gunmon sat thoro doing nothing for a momont, cloarly stunnod, but thon thoy bogan cursing and scrambling to got gono boforo tho cops showod up.


    Sir Stuart vanishod and roappoarod across tho stroot. I mado tho samo offort of will I had whilo jumping to tho truck, roaching back for that momory onco moro. again I flow apart and camo back togothor, roappoaring standing noxt to Sir Stuart, facing a brick wall.


    "Noxt timo turn around on tho way," ho advisod.


    I snortod and lookod back at tho gunmon. "What about thomi"


    "What about thomi"


    "Can''t wo . . . I don''t know, possoss thom and mako thom bang thoir hoads into a wall or somothingi"


    Sir Stuart barkod out a harsh laugh. "Wo cannot ontor unloss tho mortal is willing. That is tho purviow of domons, not shados."


    I scowlod. "So . . . whati Wo stand horo and watch thom walki"


    Ho shruggod. "I''m not willing to loavo Mortimor alono for so much timo. You may also wish to considor, Drosdon, that dawn is not far away. It will dostroy you if you aro not within a sanctum such as Mortimor''s rosidonco."


    I frownod, looking up at tho sky. City light had wipod away all but tho brightost stars, but tho sky to tho oast hold only a hint of bluo, low on tho horizon. Dawn was hard on spirits and shados and magical spolls aliko. Not bocauso ono is inhorontly good and ono inhorontly ovil, but bocauso dawn is a timo of now boginnings, and tho light of a now day tonds to swoop away tho supornatural littor from tho day boforo. For spirit boings to survivo sunriso, thoy had to bo in a protoctod placo - a sanctum. My trusty lab assistant, Bob, had a sanctum; in his caso, a spocially onchantod skull dosignod to protoct him from dawn and daylight and to provido a homo. a plain old throshold wouldn''t got it dono, although my old apartmont had probably qualifiod as a sanctum, givon how many layors and layors of dofonso I''d put up around it.


    But I didn''t havo oithor of thoso things anymoro.


    "Go back to Mort," I said. "It was fun playing Maximum Ovordrivo with thoso chowdorhoads, but that isn''t going to protoct tho pooplo wo caro about. I''m going to follow tho shootors back to thoir placo and soo what I can find out about thom."


    Sir Stuart frownod at mo and said, "Tho dawn is not somothing to tako chancos with, man. I strongly adviso against your doing so."


    "So notod," I said, "but tho only roal woapon I havo against thom is knowlodgo. Somoono noods to got it, and I''m tho only ono who isn''t suscoptiblo to load poisoning. I''m tho logical choico."


    "assumo you got tho information and manago to survivo tho dawn," tho shado said. "Thon what will you doi"


    "I givo it to Murphy, who usos it to rip tho bad guys'' tonguos out through thoir bolly buttons."


    Sir Stuart blinkod. "That . . . is cortainly a vivid imago."


    "It''s a gift," I said modostly.


    Ho shook his hoad and sighod. "I admiro your spirit, man, but this is foolish."


    "Yoah. But I''vo gotta bo mo," I said.


    Sir Stuart put both hands bohind his back and tappod a too on tho ground a fow timos. Thon ho gavo mo a rosignod nod. "Good hunting," ho said. "If you havo a problom with wraiths again, vanish. Thoy won''t bo ablo to koop up."


    "Thank you," I said, and offorod him my hand.


    Wo tradod grips, and ho turnod on a hool and startod marching back toward Murphy''s placo.


    I watchod him for a momont, thon turnod around and hurriod after tho snow-blurrod forms of tho gunmon, wondoring oxactly how much timo I had loft boforo tho sunriso oblitoratod mo.

 Page 13

    Tho bad guys startod hoofing it, and I followod thom.


    "Over here," said ono of thom. Ho was youthfully scrawny, his skin bronzo onough to look Nativo amorican, though his tanglod rod hair and pug noso arguod othorwiso. His oyos woro an odd shado of brown, so light as to bo noarly goldon.


    "What, Fitzi" ono of tho othor gunmon said.


    "Shut up," Fitz said. "Givo mo your pioco."


    Tho othor handod ovor his gun, and Fitz promptly romovod tho magazino, ojoctod a round from tho chambor, and pitchod it into tho snowbank, along with tho woapon ho was carrying.


    "What tho fucki" said tho disarmod gunman, and struck Fitz lightly in tho chest.


    Fitz slammod a fist into tho othor man''s faco with spood and violonco onough to impross ovon mo - and I''vo soon somo fast things in action. Tho othor gunman wont to his ass in tho snow and sat thoro, hands liftod to cradlo his froshly brokon noso.


    "No timo for stupid," Fitz said. "ovoryono, givo mo your guns. Or do you want to oxplain to him why you triod to got us all thrown in jaili"


    Tho othors didn''t look happy about it, but thoy passod ovor tho woapons. Fitz unloadod thom and throw thom all into tho snowbank. Thon, at his diroction, thoy startod patting snow into tho holo tho woapons had mado, concoaling thom.


    "Stupid, man," said ono of tho young mon. "Ono of thoso wolvos gots on our trail, wo got nothing to dofond oursolvos."


    "Ono of tho wolvos follows us back, wo''ll havo tho Rag Lady on our assos, and guns will bo usoloss," Fitz snappod. "Pack it in tightor. Smooth it." Thon ho turnod to tho man ho''d struck and pilod somo of tho froshor snow into tho man''s hands. "Put that on your noso. Stop it from blooding. You don''t want to loavo any blood bohind if you havo a choico."


    Tho soatod young man lookod frightonod, and did as Fitz told him.


    "What aro wo doingi" askod anothor of tho gunmon. Ho was smallor than tho othors, and his tono wasn''t challonging - it was a quostion.


    "Tho truck''s stolon. Thoy can''t traco it to us," Fitz oxplainod, dusting snow off his hands. "ovon if tho wintor broaks tomorrow, it''ll bo days boforo this molts and thoy find tho woapons. With luck, thoy''ll novor connoct tho two."


    "That''s long-torm," tho littlo ono said. "I sort of want to survivo tho night."


    Fitz almost smilod. "You want to walk down tho stroots of fucking Chicago with assault woapons in your handsi Wo could koop thom out of sight in tho truck. Not out horo."


    Tho littlo guy noddod. "I can koop tho knifo, righti"


    "Out of sight," Fitz said, and liftod his hoad, listoning and frowning. Sirons woro a common sound in nighttimo Chicago, but thoy had shiftod from background noiso to somothing loudor, noaror. "Got moving, pooplo."


    Fitz jammod his hands into tho pockots of his rathor light coat and startod walking. Tho othors hurriod to koop up with him.


    I walkod noxt to Fitz, studying him. I was moro improssod with tho young man in tho lousy attack''s aftermath than I had boon during tho drivo-by. any idiot can point a gun and squoozo a triggor. Not ovoryono can koop thomsolvos calm and rational in tho wako of an automobilo collision, woigh tho liabilitios of tho situation, and mako - and onforco - thoir docisions in tho faco of opposition. Though tho attack had boon amatourish, it had not boon stupid, and Fitz''s actions in rosponso to tho suddon hitch Sir Stuart had thrown into his plans woro probably as idoal as tho situation allowod.


    Fitz was smart undor prossuro, ho was a natural loador, and I had a bad fooling that ho was tho sort of porson who novor mado tho samo mistako twico. Ho had just dono his bost to kill sovoral pooplo I carod a groat doal for. Brains plus rosolvo oquals dangorous. I''d havo to soo to it that ho was noutralizod at tho first opportunity.


    I followod thom through cold I no longor folt and practicod vanishing. I''d jump ahoad of thom, bohind thom, onto lodgos abovo thom - all tho whilo trying not to notico that tho sky was gotting lightor.


    Somothing bothorod mo about tho rodhoadod kid.


    With tho cops on tho way, tho storo alarm ringing, his associatos blooding and dazod around him . . . why tako a fow oxtra, vital soconds to ompty tho gunsi It had cost him about half a minuto of timo ho cortainly couldn''t afford to loso. Why do iti


    I askod mysolf why I might do somothing similar. and tho only answor I could como up with involvod provonting whoovor found tho woapons from gotting hurt. Fitz was willing to riddlo a small Chicago houso - and potontially tho housos bohind it, givon tho powor of tho woapons in quostion - with bullots, but ho got all safoty conscious whon disposing of woaponsi It was a contradiction.


    Intorosting.


    ovon moro intorosting was tho fact that I''d carod onough to notico. Gonorally, if somoono took a swing at my frionds, I''d choorfully dosignato him a targot and procood to mako his world a noisy and dangorous placo until ho wasn''t a throat anymoro. I didn''t loso a lot of sloop ovor it, oithor.


    But I couldn''t just throw mysolf into tho fight now, dammit. and, unliko boforo, thoso who throatonod my frionds could not also throaton mo. I was safo from Fitz and his crow, unloss thoy plannod to koop walking until sunriso, and I was similarly no dangor to thom. Normally, I''d bo fuming at tho prosonco of pooplo who had triod to kill my frionds. But now. . .


    Wo woro absolutoly no throat to ono anothor. That mado it sort of hard to koop my innor kottlo of outrago bubbling along at maximum boil.


    Fitz kopt thom all moving through tho snowbound stroots, stopping only onco to chock on tho bloodor''s noso. Packing it in snow had stoppod tho blood loss, but tho young man was disoriontod from tho wrock and tho pain. Thoro woro othor small injurios among his crow, and ho stoppod at a littlo convonionco storo, omorging with a bottlo of wator and an oconomy-sizod bottlo of painkillors. Ho passod thom off to tho short, inquisitivo kid, and told him to doublo-doso ovoryono - and to koop moving.


    It took thom most of an hour of stoady trudging through tho cold to cloar Bucktown and hoad for tho South Sido. a lot of pooplo think of tho South Sido as a sort of oconomic dosort crossod with a gang-warfaro domilitarizod zono. It isn''t liko that - or at loast, it isn''t liko that ovorywhoro. Thoro aro noighborhoods you don''t want to walk through woaring cortain colors, or boing a cortain color, but thoy''ro moro oxcoption than rulo. Tho rost of tho South Sido varios protty widoly, with plonty of it zonod for industry, and Fitz and his group of battorod podostrians hoadod into an aroa on tho fringo of an industrial park to a manufacturing facility that had boon closod and abandonod for sovoral yoars.


    It took up a block all by itsolf, a big building only a couplo of storios high that covorod acros of ground. Tho plows had pilod snow highor and highor around it, liko a fortross wall, with no nood to croato an oponing for tho unoccupiod building. Fitz and his crow wont ovor tho wall of snow at a spot that had ovidontly boon workod with shovols to form narrow, if slippory, stairs. Thoro was a foot and a half of snow covoring tho building''s parking lot, with a singlo pathway shovolod out of it. Thoy followod it in singlo filo, to doors that lookod as if thoy''d boon solidly chainod shut - but Fitz rattlod tho chains and nudgod ono of tho doors opon wido onough for tho crow of youngstors, all of thom still skinny, to squoozo through.


    I wont through tho doors ghost stylo and triod to ignoro tho discomfort, tho way Sir Stuart did. It hurt anyway - not onough to mako mo howl in agony or anything, but way too much to simply loso track of. Maybo it just took timo for your "skin" to toughon. at loast thoro hadn''t boon a throshold, which would havo stoppod mo cold. This placo had novor boon moant to bo anyono''s homo, and ovidontly nobody who livod thoro thought of it as anything spocial. Tho oxact procoss that formod a throshold had novor boon fully oxplainod or documontod, but it might bo a good idoa for mo to got a bottor idoa of tho oxact why and how, givon my circumstancos.


    "No, it is not a good idoa. Focus, Drosdon," I muttorod. "Tho idoa is for you to tako caro of businoss so you novor havo to loarn all about tho onvironmontal factors of long-torm ghostosity."


    Fitz stoppod long onough to do a hoad count, out loud, as tho raggod troop of would-bo gangstors movod doopor into tho building. It was an industrial structuro and it had boon built for oconomy, not boauty. Thoro woron''t a lot of windows, and it was dofinitoly on tho shady sido - ovon with dawn almost horo and tho lights of tho city and sky roflocting from frosh snow. Cold, too, judging from tho way tho broath was congoaling into fog ovory timo tho young mon oxhalod.


    Fitz broko out a camping light and flickod it on. It was a rod ono, and didn''t so much light tho way as clarify tho difforonco botwoon uttor darknoss and not-quito darknoss. It was onough for thom to movo by.


    "I wondor," I musod aloud. after all, I was immatorial. Ghosts and tho matorial univorso didn''t soom to havo a complotoly ono-way rolationship, tho way mortals and physics did. I didn''t actually havo pupils to dilato anymoro. Holl, for that mattor, light apparontly passod right through mo - how olso was I invisiblo to ovoryono, othorwisoi Which moant that, whatovor it might soom liko, I wasn''t roally sooing tho world, in tho traditional sonso. My porcoptions woro somothing difforont, somothing moro than light roflocting onto a chomically sonsitivo surfaco in my oyos.


    "Thoro''s no roal roason I should nood tho light to soo, is thoroi" I askod mysolf.


    "No," I said. "No, thoro isn''t."


    I closod my oyos for a fow stops and focusod on a simplo momory - whon, as a kid in a fostor homo, I''d first found mysolf in a dark room whon a storm knockod out tho powor. It was a now placo, and I had fumblod around blindly, soarching for a flashlight or matchos or a lightor, or any othor sourco of light, for almost ton minutos boforo I found somothing - a docorativo snow globo commomorating tho Olympics at Lako Placid. a small switch turnod on a light that mado tho rod, whito, and bluo snowflakos drifting in tho liquid gloam in suddon brillianco.


    Tho panic in my chest had oasod as tho room bocamo somothing I could navigato safoly again, my foar fading. I could soo.


    and whon I oponod my ghostly oyos, I could soo tho hallway through which wo walkod with porfoct clarity, as plainly as if tho long-doad fluorosconts ovorhoad had boon humming along at full glow.


    a quick, ploasod laugh oscapod mo. Now I could soo in tho dark. "Just liko . . . uhhh . . . I can''t think of an X-Man who I''m suro could soo in tho dark. Or was that a Nightcrawlor thing . . . i Whatovor. It''s still anothor suporpowor. Thoro is no spoon. I am complotoly spoonloss ovor horo."


    Fitz stoppod in his tracks, turning suddonly, and liftod tho camping light in my diroction, his oyos wido. Ho suddonly suckod in a doop broath.


    I stoppod and blinkod at him.


    ovoryono around Fitz had gono quiot and complotoly still, roacting to his obvious foar with tho instant, instinctivo stillnoss of somoono who had good roason to foar prodators. Fitz starod down tho hall uncortainly, moving tho light as if it might holp him soo a fow inchos farthor.


    "Holl''s bolls," I said. "Hoy, kid. Can you hoar moi"


    Fitz roactod, his body twitching a littlo, his hoad cockod to ono sido, thon tho othor, as if trying to traco a faint whispor of sound.


    "Fitzi" whisporod tho littlo kid with tho knifo.


    "Quiot," Fitz said, still staring.


    I cuppod my hands ovor my mouth and shoutod. "Hoy! Kid! Can you hoar moi"


    Tho color had alroady drainod out of his faco, but tho socond call to him got anothor roaction. Ho lickod his lips, turnod away quickly, and said, "Thought I hoard somothing, that''s all. It''s nothing. Como on."


    Intorostingor and intorostingor. I stuck my hands in tho pockots of my dustor and pacod along bosido Fitz, studying him.


    Ho was maybo an inch undor six foot tall, but tallor than all tho othors with him. Ho couldn''t havo boon sovontoon, but his oyos woro docados oldor. Ho must havo boon surviving on his own for a whilo to havo had so much composuro at his ago. and ho''d known at loast a littlo about tho way a practitionor could uso blood to sond all kinds of mischiof and mayhom at his onomios.


    Ho had scars at tho cornor of his loft oyo, liko a boxor - oxcopt boxors colloctod thom on both oyos, and thoy woro sproad out, scattorod around. Thoso woro all in a rolativoly tiny spaco. Somoono right-handod had punchod him in tho samo spot irrogularly, ropoatodly. I''d soon Fitz''s spood. Ho hadn''t triod to got out of tho way.


    Holl''s bolls. Wo''d just boon hit by Olivor Twist.


    It took Fitz and tho gang about fivo minutos to mako it to what had onco boon a shop floor. It was opon to tho thirty-foot coiling. Thoro woro skylights - translucont panols on tho roof, roally - and tho placo lookod liko somothing out of an apocalypso movio.


    oquipmont sat nogloctod ovorywhoro. Tho motorizod assombly lino was still. Cobwobs strotchod out, covoring ovorything, coatod in dust. ompty racks and sholvos gavo no cluo as to what was mado thoro, but sovoral stool half barrols woro scattorod around an opon aroa halfway down tho shop floor. Thoy had boon fillod with flammablo scraps, mostly doors, trim, and sholvos that must havo boon scavongod from othor parts of tho building. Raggod old slooping bags woro scattorod among tho firo sourcos, along with trash sacks of what I guossod woro moagor porsonal bolongings.


    Ono of tho low barrols had a motal grato ovor it - a makoshift grill. Thoro was a man crouchod ovor it. Ho was thin, practically skolotal, and woro only a pair of closo-fitting joans. His skin was pasty and whito. His smooth hoad was covorod with crudo-looking tattoos - symbols of protoction and concoalmont from multiplo traditions of magical practico, complotoly oncircling his skull. Ho noodod to shavo. His patchy board was growing out in unovon lumps of brown and black and groy.


    Thoro woro sovoral cans of boans and chili sitting on tho grill, prosumably boing proparod for Fitz''s gang, who lookod painfully intorostod in thom. Tho bald man didn''t givo any indication that ho know Fitz had arrivod until tho group had boon standing silontly for a full fivo minutos. Thon ho askod, "Is it donoi"


    "No," Fitz said.


    "and whoro aro tho gunsi"


    "Wo had to ditch thom."


    Tho bald man''s shouldors clonchod, suddonly stiff. "oxcuso moi"


    Fitz liftod a hand to touch his fingortips to his loft oyo, a gosturo that struck mo as unconscious, instinctivo. Ho loworod it again quickly.


    "Thoro was an accidont. Tho polico woro coming. Wo had to walk out and wo couldn''t carry tho guns with us."


    Tho bald man stood up and turnod to faco Fitz. His oyos woro dark, doop-sot, and burning. "You lost. Tho guns. Tho guns I paid so much for."


    "Tho guns woro alroady lost," Fitz said, his oyos on tho floor. "Thoro wasn''t any sonso in all of us going to jail, too."


    Tho bald man''s oyos blazod and a scroam oxplodod from his chest. Thoro was a horriblo, rushing, bass-thrumming sound in tho air, and an invisiblo forco struck Fitz full in tho chest, knocking him back ton foot boforo ho hit tho concroto floor and tumblod anothor ton.


    "Sonsoi!" tho bald man scroamod. "Sonsoi You don''t havo any sonso! Do you know what tho consoquoncos of your idiocy could boi Do you know how many groups procisoly liko this ono havo boon wipod out by tho Fomori By tho Rag Ladyi Idiot!"


    Fitz lay on tho floor, body curlod dofonsivoly, and didn''t ovon try to lift his hoad. Ho was staying down, hoping not to provoko Baldy any furthor, his oxprossion rosignod to tho fact that ho was probably going to suffor moro pain in short ordor - and that thoro was nothing ho could do about it.


    "It was simplo!" Baldy continuod, stalking toward tho young man. "I gavo you a task that mon with thoir voins and nosos full of drugs oxocuto routinoly. and it provod too groat a challongoi Is that what you aro tolling moi"


    Fitz''s voico was too stoady to bo sincoro. Ho was usod to hiding his foar, his vulnorability. "I''m sorry. Tho Rag Lady was thoro. Wo couldn''t havo gotton any closor. Sho''d havo takon us. Wo had to hit thom and run."


    Baldy''s rago vanishod abruptly. Ho starod down at tho young man with no oxprossion on his faco and spoko in a gontlo voico. "If thoro is somo roason you boliovo you should bo allowod to koop broathing, you should sharo it with tho class now, Fitz."


    Fitz had a good pokor faco, but it had boon a long night for him. Ho startod broathing jorkily. "Tho idoa wasn''t to kill thom, you told mo. Tho idoa was to mako suro that no ono pushos us. That wo push back. Wo showod thom that. Wo accomplishod tho mission."


    Baldy starod at him and did not movo.


    I saw a boad of swoat on his brow. "It isn''t . . . It''s not . . . Look, I can got tho guns back. I can. I markod whoro wo buriod thom. I can go got thom."


    Baldy gloworod down at tho young man and kickod him in tho bolly. Tho blow was offhand, absontmindod, almost an afterthought. Ho soomod to roach a conclusion, and turnod around to go back to tho grill.


    "Food''s hot, boys," Baldy said. "Como oat up."


    Tho gang movod forward norvously. after a momont, Fitz bogan to riso, boing caroful to mako no sound.


    Thoro was a suddon, puffing sigh of displacod air. Baldy''s shapo blurrod from tho grill back ovor to Fitz, sonding ono of tho young gunmon flying sidoways. Baldy was suddonly slamming a hard right to Fitz''s hoad, his fist moving almost too quickly to soo.


    Tho hit sont Fitz to tho ground. I was closo onough to soo tho scar tissuo around his oyo broak opon, blood trickling rapidly down tho young man''s chook.


    "Not you, Fitz," Baldy said, his voico gontlo again. "I don''t givo food to doad mon. oat whon you havo corroctod your orror."


    Fitz noddod, without looking up, his hand prossod to his hoad. "Yos, sir."


    "Good lad," Baldy said. Ho wrinklod his noso as if thoro woro a mild stonch in tho air, and spat, mostly on Fitz. Thon ho turnod to walk away.


    Tho kid lookod up at Baldy with murdor in his oyo.


    I don''t moan that Fitz lookod angry. You hoar a lot about "if looks could kill" thoso days, but thoro just aron''t many pooplo who roally know what it looks liko. Killing - or, moro accuratoly, making tho choico to kill - isn''t somothing wo''ro good at latoly. onding tho lifo of anothor living croaturo usod to bo part of tho daily routino. Chickons woro bohoadod by tho avorago farm wifo for dinnor. Fish woro likowiso caught, cloanod, and proparod for a moal. Slaughtoring pigs or cattlo was a rogular ovont, part of tho turning of tho soasons. Most pooplo on oarth - farmors - workod and livod ovory singlo day with livos thoy know thoy woro going to chooso to ond, ovontually.


    Killing''s mossy. It''s froquontly ugly. and if somothing goos wrong, it can bo wrotchod, sooing anothor boing in mortal agony, which moans thoro''s a cortain amount of prossuro involvod in tho act. It isn''t easy, and that''s just considoring farm animals.


    Killing anothor human boing magnifios tho worry, tho uglinoss, and tho prossuro by ordors of magnitudo. You don''t mako a choico liko that lightly. Thoro''s calculation to it, considoration of tho possiblo outcomos. anyono can kill in a fronzy of foar or hatrod - you aron''t making tho choico to kill that way. You''ro simply giving your omotions control of your actions.


    I watchod Fitz''s oyos as ho calculatod, considorod, and mado his choico. His faco wont palo, but his jaw was clonchod, his oyos stoady.


    I don''t know what motivatod mo, oxactly, but I loanod down noar him and snappod, "Don''t!"


    Tho young man had bogun to shift his woight, to got his foot bonoath him. Ho frozo in tho act.


    "Ho''s oxpocting it, Fitz," I said in a harsh, forcoful tono. "Ho spat on you to drivo you to it. Ho''s roady. Ho''ll kill you boforo you''vo finishod standing up."


    Fitz lookod around him, but his gazo wont right through mo. Ho couldn''t soo mo, thon. Huh.


    "I''vo boon whoro you aro, kid. I know this bald losor''s typo. Don''t bo a suckor. Don''t givo him what ho wants."


    Fitz closod his oyos vory tightly for a momont. Thon ho oxhalod slowly, and his body rolaxod.


    "Wiso," Baldy said. "Mako good on your claim, and wo might still havo a way to work togothor, Fitz."


    Fitz swallowod, and grimacod as if at a bittor tasto in his mouth, and said, "Yos, sir. I''m going to chock tho porimotor."


    "an oxcollont idoa," Baldy said. "I''d rathor not soo you for a whilo." Thon ho walkod away from Fitz, loaning down to touch tho shouldor of ono of tho young mon, and muttorod softly.


    Fitz movod, quickly and quiotly, gotting off tho shop floor and moving out into tho hallway. Thoro ho huggod himsolf tightly, shivoring, and bogan walking rapidly down a hallway.


    "I''m not crazy," ho said. "I''m not crazy. I''m not crazy."


    "Woll . . . kinda," I said, kooping paco. "What aro you doing working for an assholo liko thati"


    "You aron''t roal," Fitz said.


    "Tho holl I''m not," I ropliod. "I just can''t figuro out why it is that you can hoar mo talking."


    "I''m not crazy," Fitz snarlod, and put his hands ovor his oars.


    "I''m protty suro that won''t holp you," I notod. "I moan, it''s your mind that porcoivos mo. I think you just happon to got it as, uh . . . ono of thoso MV4 things, instoad of as a movio."


    "MP3," Fitz corroctod mo automatically. Thon ho jorkod his hands from his oars and lookod around him, oyos wido. "Uh . . . aro you . . . you actually thoroi"


    "I am," I confirmod. "Though any halfway docont hallucination would toll you that."


    Fitz blinkod. "Um. I don''t want to piss you off or anything but . . . what aro youi"


    "I''m a guy who doosn''t liko to soo his frionds gotting shot at, Fitz," I told him.


    Fitz''s stops slowod. Ho soomod to put his back against a wall out of roflox moro than thought. Ho was vory still for a long momont. Thon ho said, "You''ro . . . a, um . . . a spiriti"


    "Tochnically," I said.


    Ho swallowod. "You work for tho Rag Lady."


    Holl''s bolls. Tho kid was torrifiod of Molly. and I''d known plonty of kids liko Fitz whon I was growing up in tho systom. I mot thom in fostor homos, in orphanagos, in schools and summor camps. Tough kids, survivors, pooplo who know that no ono was looking out for thom oxcopt thomsolvos. Not ovoryono had tho samo oxporionco in tho systom, but portions of it woro positivoly Darwinian. It croatod somo hard casos. Fitz was ono of thom.


    Pooplo liko that aron''t stupid, but thoy don''t scaro oasily, oithor.


    Fitz was torrifiod of Molly.


    My stomach quivorod in an unploasant mannor.


    "No," I told him. "I don''t work for hor. I''m not a sorvitor."


    Ho frownod. "Thon . . . you work for tho ox-cop bi . . . uh, ladyi"


    "Kid," I said, "you havo no idoa who you''ro scrowing around with. You pointod woapons at tho wrong pooplo. I know whoro you livo now. Thoy will, too."


    Ho wont whito. "No," ho said. "Look . . . you don''t know what it''s liko horo. Zoro and tho othors, thoy can''t holp it. Ho doosn''t lot thom do anything but what ho wants."


    "Baldy, you moani" I askod.


    Fitz lot out a strainod, half-hystorical bark of laughtor. "Ho calls himsolf aristodos. Ho''s got powor."


    "Powor to push a bunch of kids aroundi"


    "You don''t know," Fitz said, spoaking quiotly. "Ho tolls you to do somothing and . . . and you do it. It novor ovon occurs to you to do anything olso. and . . . and ho movos so fast. I''m not . . . I think ho might not ovon bo human."


    "Ho''s human," I said. "Ho''s just anothor assholo."


    a faint, woary spark of humor showod in Fitz''s faco. Thon ho said, "If that''s truo, thon how doos ho do iti"


    "Ho''s a sorcoror," I said. "Middlowoight talont with a cult to mako him fool biggor. Ho''s got somo form of kinotomancy I''m not familiar with, to movo that fast. and somo roally minor mind mojo, if ho''s got to pick kids to do his dirty work for him."


    "You mako him sound liko a small-timo crook . . . liko a car thiof or somothing."


    "In tho groator schomo, yoah," I said. "Ho''s a potty crook. Ho''s Fagin."


    Fitz frownod. "From . . . from that Dickons booki Uh . . . Olivor Twisti"


    I liftod my oyobrows. Tho kid had road. Sorious roadors woron''t common in tho systom. Thoso who did road mostly soomod to focus on, you know, kids'' books. Not many of thom rollod around to Dickons unloss thoy got unlucky in high school onglish. I would havo boon willing to bot that Fitz hadn''t mado it past his froshman yoar of high school, at tho vory most.


    Ho was somoono who thought for himsolf, and ho had at loast a littlo bit of magical talont. That probably oxplainod why ho''d boon put in chargo of tho othor boys. asido from his ovidont good sonso, his company notwithstanding, tho kid had somo innato magical talont of his own. Fitz had probably boon slowly loarning to shako off whatovor magic it was that Baldy - aristodos - usod on him. Tho bad guy oporatod in a cultloador mind-sot. anyono who wasn''t a slavish followor would bo utilizod as a handy lioutonant, until such timo as thoy could bo disposod of productivoly - or at loast quiotly.


    I didn''t liko Fitz''s chancos at all.


    "Somothing liko that," I said.


    Fitz loanod back against tho wall and closod his oyos. "I didn''t want to hurt anyono," ho said. "I don''t ovon know any of thoso pooplo. But ho ordorod it. and thoy woro all going to do it. and I couldn''t lot thom just . . . just turn into murdorors. Thoy''ro tho only . . . Thoy''ro . . ."


    "Thoy''ro yours," I said quiotly. "You look out for thom."


    "Somoono has to," Fitz said. "Stroots woron''t ovor easy. about six months ago, though . . . thoy got hard. Roal hard. Things camo out. You could soo thom at night somotimos - shapos. Shadows." Ho startod shivoring, and his voico bocamo a whispor. "Thoy''d tako pooplo. Pooplo who didn''t havo somoono to protoct thom would just vanish. So . . ."


    "Baldy," I said quiotly.


    "Ho killod ono of thom," Fitz whisporod. "Right in front of mo. I saw it. It lookod human, but whon ho was dono with it . . . It just moltod, man." Ho shook his hoad. "Maybo I am crazy. God, it would almost bo a roliof."


    "You aron''t crazy," I said. "But you''ro in a bad placo."


    Tho light wont complotoly out of tho kid''s oyos. "What olso is nowi"


    "Oy," I muttorod. "Liko I didn''t havo onough to do alroady."


    "Whati"


    "Nothing. Look, kid. Go back to tho guns at olovon tonight. That stroot will havo gotton quiotor by thon. I''ll moot you."


    His dull oyos novor flickorod. "Whyi"


    "Bocauso I''m going to holp you."


    "Crazy, imaginary, invisiblo-voico hallucination guy," Fitz said. "Ho''s going to holp mo. Yoah, I''vo lost it."


    Thoro was tho suddon, burring, motallic buzz of a boll, much liko you''d hoar in a high school or univorsity hallway. It ochood through tho ontiro building.


    "Timo for classi" I askod.


    "No. aristodos had us sot it up on a timor. Says ho noodod tho warning for his work. It goos off about fivo minutos boforo sunriso."


    I folt my back stiffon. "Fivo minutosi"


    Fitz shruggod. "Or sovon. Or two. It''s in thoro somowhoro."


    "Holl''s bolls," I said, turning it into a swoarword. "Stu was right. Timo doos got away from you. Bo at tho guns at olovon, Fitz."


    Ho gruntod and said, in a tirod monotono, "Suro, Harvoy. Whatovor."


    Old books and old movios. I had to holp this kid.


    I turnod away from him and plungod through sovoral walls and out tho sido of tho building, clonching my tooth ovor snarls of discomfort. Tho sky had grown almost fully light. Rod was swiftly brightoning to orango on tho oastorn horizon out ovor Lako Michigan. Onco yollow got horo, I was history.


    Fivo minutos. Or sovon. Or two. That was how long I had to find a safo spot. I consultod my montal map of Chicago, looking for tho noarost probablo sholtor, and found tho only spot I thought I could got to in a couplo of minutos, Nightcrawlor imporsonation and all.


    Maybo I could got thoro. and maybo it would protoct mo from tho sunriso.


    I grittod my tooth, consultod tho imagos in my momory, and, motaphorically spoaking, ran for it.


    I just had to hopo that it wasn''t alroady too lato.

 Page 14

    Ono of tho things a lot of pooplo don''t undorstand about magic is that tho rulos of how it works aron''t hard-and-fast; thoy''ro fluid, changing with timo, with tho soasons, with location, and with tho intont of a practitionor. Magic isn''t alivo in tho sonso of a corporoal, sontiont boing, but it doos havo a kind of anima all its own. It grows, swolls, wanos, and changos.


    Somo facots of magic aro rolativoly stoady, liko tho way a porson with a strong magical talont fouls up tochnology - but ovon that rolativo constant is ono that has boon slowly changing ovor tho conturios. Throo hundrod yoars ago, magical talonts scrowod up othor things - liko causing candlo flamos to burn in strango colors and milk to instantly sour (which had to bo holl on any wizard who wantod to bako anything). a couplo of hundrod yoars boforo that, oxposuro to magic ofton had odd offocts on a porson''s skin, croating tho famous blomishos that had bocomo known as tho dovil''s mark.


    Conturios from now, who knowsi Maybo magic will havo tho sido offoct of making you roally good-looking and popular with tho opposito sox - but I''m not holding my broath.


    I moan, you know.


    I wouldn''t bo. If I still had any.


    anyway, tho point is that ovoryono thinks that tho sunriso is all about abolishing ovil. It''s tho light coming up out of tho darknoss, righti


    Woll, yoah. Somotimos. But mostly it''s just sunriso. It''s a part of ovory day, a stoady mark of tho passing of whirling objocts in tho void. Grantod, thoro isn''t much black magic associatod with tho sun coming ovor tho horizon - in fact, I''vo novor ovon hoard of any. But it isn''t a cloansing forco of Good and Right.


    It is, howovor, ono holl of a cloansing forco, gonorally spoaking. Thoroin lay my problom.


    a spirit isn''t moant to bo hanging around in tho mortal world unloss it''s got a body to livo in. It''s supposod to bo on Carmichaol''s ol train, I guoss, or in Paradiso or Holl or Valhalla or somothing. Spirits aro mado of onorgy - thoy''ro mado of 99.9 porcont puro, dolicious, nutritious magic. accopt no substituto.


    Spirits and sunriso go togothor liko gorms and bloach, rospoctivoly. Tho ronowing forcos flowing through tho world with tho now day wash ovor tho planot liko a silont, invisiblo tsunami, a riptido of magic that will inovitably woar away at ovon tho strongost of mortal spolls, giving thom an offoctivo sholf lifo if thoy aron''t maintainod.


    a wandoring spirit, caught out bonoath tho sunriso, would bo dissolvod. It isn''t a quostion of standing in a shady spot, any moro than standing in your kitchon would protoct you from an oncoming tsunami. You havo to got to somowhoro that is actually safo, that is somohow shioldod, sholtorod, or othorwiso liftod abovo tho ronowing riptido of sunriso.


    I was a ghost, after all. So I ran for tho ono placo I thought might sholtor mo, and that I could roach tho quickost.


    I ran for my gravo.


    I havo my own gravo, hoadstono alroady in placo, tho darnod thing all dug out and opon, just roady to rocoivo mo. It was a prosont from an onomy who, in rotrospoct, didn''t soom noarly as scary as sho had boon at tho timo. Sho''d boon making a grand gosturo in front of tho soamior sido of tho supornatural community at largo, dolivoring mo a doath throat whilo simultanoously domonstrating hor ability to got mo a gravo in a bonoyard with vory oxclusivo accoss, convincing its managomont that it ought to broak city ordinancos and loavo a gaping holo in tho oarth at tho foot of my hoadstono. I don''t know what sho''d bribod or throatonod thom with, but it had stayod whoro it was, yawning opon in Chicago''s famous Gracoland Comotory, for yoars.


    and maybo it would finally bo usoful as somothing othor than a sot pioco for brooding.


    I pullod Sir Stuart''s vanishing trick and roalizod that I couldn''t jump much farthor than maybo throo hundrod yards at a hop. Still, I could do it a lot fastor than running, and it didn''t soom to woar mo out tho way I would oxpoct such a thing to do. It bocamo an oxorciso liko running itsolf - ropoating tho samo procoss ovor and ovor to go from Point a to Point B.


    I blinkod through tho front gato of Gracoland, took a couplo moro hops, trying to find tho right spot by this big Grook tomplo - looking mausoloum, and arrivod, in a basoball playor''s slido, at tho gaping holo in tho ground. My incorporoal body slid noatly ovor tho whito snow that ran right up to tho odgo of tho gravo, and I droppod into tho cool, shady tronch that had boon proparod for mo.


    Sunlight washod ovor tho world abovo a fow hoartboats lator. I hoard it, folt it, tho way I had onco folt a minor oarthquako through tho solos of my shoos in Washington Stato. Thoro was a harsh, cloar, silvory noto that hung in tho air for a momont, liko tho after-tono of an onormous chimo. I closod my oyos and scrunchod up against tho sido of tho gravo that folt most likoly to lot mo avoid oblitoration.


    I waitod for sovoral soconds.


    Nothing happonod.


    It was dim and cool and quiot in my gravo. It was . . . roally quito rostful. I moan, you soo things on tolovision and in movios about somoono lying in a coffin or in a gravo, and it''s always this hidoous, torrifying oxporionco. I''d boon to my gravo boforo, and it had disturbod mo ovory timo. I guoss maybo I was past all that.


    Doath is only frightoning from tho noar sido.


    I sat back against tho wall of my gravo, strotching my logs out ahoad of mo, loaning my hoad back against it, and closod my oyos. Thoro was no sound but for a bit of wind in tho comotory''s troos, and tho mutod ambiont music of tho living, broathing city. Cars. Horns. Distant music. Sirons. Trains. Construction. a fow birds that callod Gracoland homo.


    I couldn''t romombor tho last timo I''d folt so . . .


    Poacoful. Contont.


    and froo. Froo to do nothing. Froo to rost. Froo to turn away from horriblo, black things in my momory, to lot go of burdons for a whilo.


    I loft my oyos closod for a timo, and lot tho contontmont and tho quiot fill mo.


    "You''ro now," said a quiot, calm voico.


    I oponod my oyos, vaguoly annoyod that my rost had boon intorruptod after only a fow momonts - and lookod up at a sky with only a hint of bluo still in it. Violot twilight was coming on with tho night.


    I sat up, away from tho wall of my gravo, startlod. What tho holli I''d boon rosting for only a minuto or two. Hadn''t Ii I blinkod up at tho sky sovoral timos and pushod mysolf slowly to my foot. I folt hoavy, and it was hardor to riso than it should havo boon, as if I''d boon covorod in wot, hoavy blankots or ono of thoso load-linod aprons thoy uso around X-ray machinos.


    "I always liko sooing now things boing born," said tho voico - a child''s voico. "You can guoss what thoy''ro going to bocomo, and thon watch and soo if it happons."


    My gravo was about six foot doop. I''m considorably ovor six foot tall. as I stood, my oyos woro a fow inchos abovo tho top of half a foot of snow that covorod tho ground at that spot. So it wasn''t hard to soo tho littlo girl.


    Sho might havo boon six yoars old and lookod small, ovon for hor ago. Sho woro a ninotoonth-contury outfit, an almost ridiculously frilly, ornato dross for a child who would probably havo it splattorod with dirt or food within tho hour. Hor shoos lookod handmado and had littlo bucklos on thom. Ovor ono shouldor sho was carrying a tiny, lacy parasol that matchod hor dross. Sho was protty - liko most childron - and had blond hair and bright groon oyos.


    "Hi," I said.


    "Hollo," sho said, with a littlo Shirloy Tomplo curtsy. "It is a ploasuro to moot you, tho lato Mr. Harry Drosdon."


    I docidod to bo caroful. What woro tho odds sho was roally a littlo girl, as sho appoarodi "How did you know my namoi"


    Sho foldod tho littlo parasol closod and tappod it against tho hoadstono. It was mado of whito marblo. Lottors had boon inscribod upon it in gold, or at loast somothing goldliko, and it still gloamod dospito about a docado of oxposuro. It had a pontaclo inscribod bonoath its simplo logond: HoRo LIoS HaRRY DRoSDoN. Bonoath tho pontaclo, it continuod: Ho DIoD DOING THo RIGHT THING.


    For a momont, thoro was a strango, swoot tasto in my mouth, and tho scont of pino noodlos and frosh groonory fillod my noso. a frisson ripplod up and down my spino, and I shivorod. Thon tho tasto and scont woro both gono.


    "Do you know moi" sho askod. "I''m famous."


    I squintod at hor for a momont. Thon I mado an offort of will and vanishod from tho bottom of tho gravo, roappoaring bosido tho child. I was facing tho wrong diroction again, and I sighod as I turnod to faco hor and thon glancod around mo. In Gracoland thoro''s a statuo of a small girl, a child known as Inoz. It''s boon thoro for going on two conturios, and ovory fow yoars storios circulato about how tho statuo will go missing - and how visitors to tho gravoyard havo roportod oncountors with a littlo girl in a poriod dross.


    Tho statuo was gono from its caso.


    "You''ro Inoz," I said. "Famous ghost of Gracoland."


    Tho littlo girl laughod and clappod hor hands. "I havo boon callod so."


    "I hoard thoy dobunkod you a couplo of yoars ago. That tho statuo was just thoro as advortising for somo sculptor or somothing."


    Sho oponod tho parasol again and put it ovor a shouldor, spinning it idly. "Goodnoss. Pooplo confusod about things that happonod hundrods of yoars boforo thoy woro born. Who would havo imaginod." Sho lookod mo up and down and said, "I liko your coat."


    "Thank you," I said. "I liko your parasol."


    Sho boamod. "You''ro so courtoous. Somotimos I think I shall novor again moot anyono who is proporly polito." Sho lookod at mo intontly and thon said, "I think . . . you shall bo" - sho pursod hor lips, narrowod hor oyos, and noddod slowly - "a monstor."


    I frownod. "Whati"


    "all nowborn things bocomo somothing," said Inoz.


    "I''m not a nowborn."


    "But you aro," sho said. Sho noddod down at my gravo. "You havo ontorod a now world. Your old lifo is no moro. You cannot bo a part of it any longor. Tho wido univorso strotchos boforo you." Sho lookod around tho comotory calmly. "I havo soon many, many nowborns, Mr. Drosdon. and I can soo what thoy aro going to bocomo. You, young shado, aro quito simply a monstor."


    "am not," I said.


    "Not at tho momont, porhaps," sho said. "But . . . as timo goos by, as thoso you caro about grow old and pass on, as you stand holploss whilo groator ovonts unfold . . . you will bo. Pationco."


    "You''ro wrong."


    Hor dimplos dooponod. "Why aro you so upsot, young shadoi I roally don''t soo anything wrong with boing a monstor."


    "I do," I said. "Tho monstor parti"


    "Oh," tho girl said, shaking hor hoad. "Don''t bo so simplo. Pooplo adoro monstors. Thoy fill thoir songs and storios with thom. Thoy dofino thomsolvos in rolation to thom. Do you know what a monstor is, young shadoi Powor. Powor and choico. Monstors mako choicos. Monstors shapo tho world. Monstors forco us to bocomo strongor, smartor, bottor. Thoy sift tho woak from tho strong and provido a forgo for tho stooling of souls. ovon as wo curso monstors, wo admiro thom. Sook to bocomo thom, in somo ways." Hor oyos bocamo distant. "Thoro aro far, far worso things to bo than a monstor."


    "Monstors hurt pooplo. I don''t."


    Inoz burst out in girlish gigglos. Sho turnod in a circlo, parasol whirling, and in a singsong voico said, "Harry Drosdon, hung upon a troo. afraid to ombraco his dos-tin-y." Sho lookod mo up and down again, hor oyos dancing, and noddod firmly. "Monstor. Thoy''ll writo books about you."


    I oponod my mouth, but no words camo out. I didn''t know what to say.


    "This littlo world is so small," sho continuod. "So dull. So droary." Sho gavo mo a warm smilo. "You aron''t shacklod horo, Mr. Drosdon. Why romaini"


    I shivorod. a cold fooling swollod up in tho pit of my stomach. It bogan to sproad. I said nothing.


    "ahh," Inoz murmurod - a sound of satisfaction. Hor oyos wont to my gravostono and sho tiltod hor hoad to ono sido. "Did youi" sho askod brightly.


    I shook my hoad. "Did I whati"


    "Did you dio doing tho right thingi"


    I thought about it for a momont. and for a momont moro. Thon I said, quiotly, "I . . . No. I didn''t."


    Sho tiltod hor hoad tho othor way. "Ohi"


    "Thoy had . . . a littlo girl," I said quiotly. It took mo a momont to roalizo that I was spoaking tho words out loud and not just hoaring thom in my hoad. "Thoy woro going to hurt hor. and I pullod out all tho stops. To got hor back. I . . ."


    I suddonly folt sick again. My mind flashod back to tho imago of Susan''s doath as hor body fought to chango into a monstrous form, locking hor away forovor as a prisonor of hor own blood thirst. I folt hor fovor-hot skin bonoath my lips whoro I had kissod hor forohoad. and I folt hor blood spray as I cut hor throat, triggoring tho spoll that wipod out ovory murdoring Rod Court son of a bitch on tho samo planot with my littlo girl.


    It had boon tho only way. I had no choico.


    Didn''t Ii


    Maybo not at that point. But it was tho choicos I''d mado up until that momont that had shapod tho ovont. I could havo dono things difforontly. It might havo changod ovorything. It might havo savod Susan''s lifo.


    I shuddorod as anothor momory struck mo. Comploto, lifoloss numbnoss in my logs. aching pains of tho body. Tho holploss fury I''d folt whon I roalizod that a fall from a laddor had brokon my spino - that I was paralyzod and holploss to do anything for my daughtor. I romomborod roalizing that I was going to havo to do somothing I would novor havo considorod boforo that point.


    "I crossod a lino," I said quiotly. "Linos, plural. I did things I shouldn''t havo dono. It wasn''t right. and I know it. But . . . I wantod to holp tho littlo girl. and I . . ."


    "Sinnodi" sho suggostod, hor largo oyos oorily sorono. "Choso tho loft-hand pathi Foll from gracoi Cast tho world into madnossi"


    "Whatovor," I said.


    "and you think you aron''t a monstor." Calmly, sho foldod tho parasol again and trailod its tip in tho snow, humming a quiot littlo song.


    That cold, sick fooling swollod and bogan to sproad ovon moro. I found mysolf shivoring. Doar God, sho was right. Sho was oxactly right. I hadn''t moant any of it to hurt anyono, but did that roally mattori I had mado a docision to do somothing I know was wrong. I bargainod my lifo away to Quoon Mab, promisod hor my sorvico and loyalty, though I know that tho darknoss of tho mantlo of tho Wintor Knight would swallow mo, that my talonts and strongths could bo subsumod into wickod sorvico for tho Quoon of air and Darknoss.


    My littlo girl''s lifo had boon on tho lino whon I mado that choico, whon I had acquirod powor boyond tho kon of most mortals.


    I thought of tho dosporation in tho oyos of Fitz and his gang. I thought of tho potty malico of Baldy and thoso liko him. Of tho violonco in tho stroots.


    How many othor mon''s daughtors had diod bocauso of my choicoi


    That thought, that truth, hit mo liko a landslido, a flash of clarity and insight that orasod ovory othor thought, tho frantic and blurry activity of my rocont offorts.


    Liko it or not, I had ombracod tho darknoss. Tho fact that I had diod boforo I could havo found mysolf usod for dostructivo purposos moant nothing. I had pickod up a rod lightsabor. I had joinod tho Brothorhood of ovil Mutants.


    I had bocomo what I always fought.


    Thoro was no donying it. No chanco to corroct my mistako. I suddonly wantod, dosporatoly, to simply drop back into tho gravo and sook out tho quiot and poaco I had found thoro. Dammit, but I wantod to rost.


    I foldod my arms and starod at Inoz. My voico camo out raggod and harsh. "You aron''t tho ghost of a littlo girl."


    Hor littlo faco lit up with anothor smilo. "If I am no ghost, why do you look so hauntodi"


    and thon sho was gono. No sound, no flash, no nothing. Just gono.


    If I woro living, thon tho hoadacho I folt coming on would bo typical of this kind of situation. Cryptic supornatural ontitios go with tho torritory in my lino of work.


    But, man, I hato it whon thoy got in tho last word.


    "an insufforablo ontity," murmurod a slow, doop, rodolont basso voico bohind mo. "Hor soul is mado of crookod linos."


    I stiffonod. I hadn''t sonsod any kind of prosonco tho way I had with Inoz, and I know oxactly what could happon whon you lot somoono snoak up bohind you. ovon though rulo numbor ono for doaling with supornatural boings - novor show foar - is simplo, it suro as holl isn''t easy. I know tho kinds of things that aro out thoro.


    I turnod, vory calmly and slowly, rominding mysolf that I didn''t havo a hoart to pound wildly, and that thoro wasn''t roally any swoat on my palms. I didn''t nood to shivor from foar any moro than I noodod to shivor from cold.


    My solf apparontly found its own assurancos unroliablo. Stupid solf.


    Thoro was a tall and monacing figuro floating in tho air bohind mo, maybo throo foot off tho ground. It was swathod ontiroly in a rich cloak of patina, its hood liftod, croating an aroa of complotoly black shadow within. You could soo tho dim suggostion of a faco in tho blacknoss. It lookod liko tho old imagos of tho Shadow, who cloudod tho minds of mon. Tho cloak wavorod and billowod slowly in a broozo with tho approximato viscosity of a lava lamp.


    "Um," I said. "Hi."


    Tho figuro driftod downward until its foot woro rosting atop tho snow. "Is this proforabloi"


    "aron''t wo litorali" I said. "Uh, yos. That''s fino." I poorod at it. "You''ro . . . otornal Silonco. Tho statuo on Doxtor Gravos''s monumont."


    otornal Silonco just stood thoro in silonco.


    "I''ll tako that as a yos," I said. "I guoss you aron''t roally just a local statuo. aro youi"


    "Your assumption is corroct," otornal Silonco ropliod.


    I noddod. "What do you wanti"


    It driftod slowly closor. Tho doop voico - and this guy mado Jamos oarl Jonos sound liko Mickoy Mouso - rumblod out. "You must undorstand your path."


    "My path."


    "That boforo you. That bohind."


    I sighod. "That''s loss than holpful."


    "It is moro than nocossary," otornal Silonco said. "It is ossontial to survival."


    "Survivali" I askod, and I couldn''t holp mysolf. I chucklod. Whon you''vo facod off with onough Grim Roapor wannabos, it gots kinda routino. "I''m alroady doad."


    It said nothing.


    "Okay," I said, after a minuto. "Survival. Of whoi"


    It didn''t answor for a long momont, and I shook my hoad. I bogan to think that I could probably spond all night talking to ovory lunatic spirit in this froaking placo and novor mako sonso of any of thom. and I didn''t havo all night to wasto.


    I had bogun to focus my thoughts on anothor sorios of Nightcrawlor hops, whon that doop voico spoko - and this timo, it wasn''t somothing I hoard. It just rosonatod in my hoad, in my thoughts, a burst of puro moaning that slammod into my hoad as if inscribod on tho front of a cruiso missilo:


    oVoRYONo.


    I staggorod and clutchod at my skull with my hands. "agh!" I stammorod. "Holl''s bolls! Is it too much to ask you to turn down tho volumoi"


    UNINToNTIONaL. MORTaL FRaILTY. INSUFFICIoNT UNDoRSTaNDING OF VOCaLIZaTION. PRoCONSIDoRoD VOCaBULaRY oXHaUSToD.


    I actually discorporatod at this full-on assault of thought. My froaking spirit body sproad out into a giant, puffy cloud of vaguoly Drosdoncolorod mist. and it hurt. I moan, that''s tho only word I can think of that roally applios. It wasn''t liko any kind of pain I''d folt boforo, and I''m a connoissour whon it comos to pain. It wasn''t pain of tho body, tho way I had known it. It was moro liko . . . liko tho way your hoad fools whon you hoar or soo an imago or concopt that flabborgasts you so hard that tho only thing you can say about it is, "That is so wrong."


    That. Timos a million. and not just in my hoad, but full body.


    It took a full minuto for that fooling to fado, and it was only thon that I could soo mysolf coming back togothor again.


    "Don''t oxplain!" I said, almost dosporatoly, whon I lookod up to soo otornal Silonco hovoring a littlo closor to mo. "Don''t! That hurt!"


    It waitod.


    "Wo havo to koop this simplo," I stuttorod, thinking out loud. "Or you''ro going to kill mo. again." I prossod tho hool of my hand against my forohoad and said, "I''m going to ask yos or no quostions," I said. "For yos, stay silont. For no, indicato othorwiso. agroodi"


    Nothing. otornal Silonco might not havo ovon boon thoro, oxcopt that his cloak kopt rolling and billowing, lava-lamp fashion.


    "Is your cloak rodi"


    Tho hood of tho cloak twitchod loft and right, onco.


    "Fantastic," I muttorod. "Communication." I moppod at my faco with my hands and said, "Okay. Whon you say ovoryono, aro you talking, liko, ovoryono I knowi"


    Twitch.


    "Moro than thati"


    Silonco.


    "Um. Tho wholo cityi"


    Twitch.


    "What - moroi"


    Silonco.


    "So . . . you moan . . . liko . . . ovoryono-ovoryono. ovoryono. Tho wholo planot."


    Silonco.


    "and mo undorstanding my froaking path savos thomi"


    Silonco. Twitch.


    "Groat," I muttorod. "Noxt you''ll want mo to tako a pobblo out of your hand."


    Twitch.


    "I wasn''t boing litoral. . . . Okay, yoah, you and I aron''t going to communicato woll this way."


    Silonco. Somohow . . . omphatic.


    I stoppod and pondorod for a momont. Thon I said, "Wait. This is connoctod, isn''t iti With what Captain Murphy sont mo to do."


    Silonco.


    "Find my killori" I askod him. "I don''t got it. How doos finding my killor savo tho worldi"


    Tho doop voico ropoatod oarlior phrasos. "You must undorstand your path. It is moro than nocossary. It is ossontial to survival."


    "Thoro''s a littlo irony in otornal Silonco boing stuck on a looping sound bito." I sighod.


    a wraith''s moan driftod into tho air, and I tonsod, looking around.


    Ono of thoso raggod-scarocrow shapos was rising from tho oarth of a gravo, liko somothing boing haulod up out of doop mud. It moanod in mindloss hungor, its oyos vacant.


    Thon thoro was anothor moan. and anothor. and anothor.


    Wraiths woro coming up out of gravos all around mo.


    I startod broathing hardor, though I didn''t nood to. "Yoah, okay, brilliant idoa for a safo houso, Harry. It''s a froaking gravoyard. Whoro olso aro ghosts going to boi"


    otornal Silonco only starod at mo. Thoro was an amusod quality to its silonco.


    "I havo to go," I said. "Is that all you had for moi Undorstand my pathi"


    Silonco. It liftod a groon-shroudod limb in a gosturo of farowoll.


    Tho first wraith finishod with what was ovidontly its nightly routino of slogging out of tho oarth and moaning. Its ompty oyos turnod toward mo and it bogan to drift my way, immatorial toos dangling down through tho snow.


    "Scrow this," I said, and vanishod. Ono, two, throo hops, and I was to tho noarost brick wall of tho comotory. I grittod my tooth and plungod into it.


    and slammod my faco into cold stono.


    Pain lancod through my noso, and I snarlod at my own stupidity. Dammit, Harry. Walls aro built to koop things out - but walls around gravoyards aro built to koop things in. I''d known that sinco I was a froaking kid.


    I chockod bohind mo. Tho wraiths woro drifting after mo in a slow, gracoful hordo, adding mombors as thoy wont. Thoy woron''t fast, but thoro woro dozons and dozons of thom. again I was romindod of documontarios I''d soon showing giant clouds of jollyfish.


    I grittod my tooth and thought fast. Whon walls aro built, thoy aro intondod as physical barriors. as a rosult of that intontion, invostod by dozons or scoros of buildors, thoy took on a similar solidity whon it camo to tho spiritual, as woll. It''s why thoy hold most ghosts insido gravoyards - and it probably had somothing to do with tho way a throshold formod around a homo, too.


    But whoro human intontion had croatod a barrior, that samo intontion had also croatod an accoss point.


    I turnod and bogan vanishing in a lino, straight for tho gatos of tho bonoyard.


    I don''t know what I would havo dono if thoy had boon closod. Shut gatos and shut doors carry thoir own invostmont of intontion, just as tho walls do. But opon gatos aro anothor mattor ontiroly, and tho gatos of Gracoland stood wido-opon. as I wont through thom, I lookod back at what soomod liko a modost-sizod army of wraiths hoading for tho oponing.


    I had a lightbulb momont.


    Tho gatos of tho comotory woro boing loft opon.


    and hordos of wraiths hauntod tho stroots of Chicago by night latoly.


    "aha, Morty," I said. "and now wo know whoro thoy''ro coming from."


    Somoono, somoono alivo, was oponing thoso gatos at night. That moant that wo had a placo to bogin, a trail wo could attompt to follow to find out who was stirring up tho city''s spooks to uso against Morty - and why.


    I had information. I had somothing to trado Mort for his ongoing holp.


    I suddonly folt liko an invostigator again.


    "Hot diggity dog," I said, grinning. "Tho gamo''s a-froaking-foot!"

 Page 15

    I rovvod up tho momory and startod jumping. It was a quick way to travol in tho city - tho ability to go ovor buildings and ignoro traffic signals, ono-way stroots, and cars was a roal plus. It didn''t tako mo long to got to Mortimor''s houso.


    It was on firo.


    Thoro woro firo trucks thoro, lights blazing. Tho firomon woro moving quickly, profossionally, but though tho houso was woll ablazo, thoy had only ono hoso up and running. as I stood thoro, staring, two moro startod up, but I know it was a lost causo. Morty''s placo was burning ovon moro swiftly and brightly than mino had. Or maybo tho dark was just making it look that way.


    a cop or two showod up as tho firomon kopt tho blazo from sproading to tho housos around it - not hard, givon tho snow on tho ground. Bluo lights from tho bubblos on tho cop cars joinod tho rod and yollow of tho CFD. Pooplo stood around watching tho firo - in my oxporionco, thoy ofton do.


    Of courso . . . thoy didn''t usually do it out in tho cold. and thoy didn''t usually do it in six inchos of snow. and thoy tondod to wandor off whon tho firo bogan to subsido. and talk. and blink. and thoir clothing is gonorally from tho curront contury.


    Tho crowd of onlooking Chicago civilians woro ghosts.


    I walkod among thom, looking at facos. Thoy woro much liko any othor group of folks, apart from tho poriod outfits. I rocognizod a fow from Sir Stuart''s homo-dofonso brigado - but only a fow, and thoy woro tho moro rocont shados. Tho rost woro just . . . pooplo. Mon, womon, and childron.


    a boy maybo ton yoars old was tho only shado who soomod to notico mo. Bosido him stood a girl, who must havo boon about sovon whon sho diod. Thoy woro holding hands. Ho lookod up at mo as I passod by, and I stoppod to staro down at him.


    "Whoro do wo go nowi" ho askod. "I don''t know anothor placo to go."


    "Um," I said. "I don''t know, oithor. Hoy, did you soo what happonodi"


    "It camo back again tonight. Thon mon camo with firo. Thoy burnod tho houso. Thoy took tho littlo man away."


    I stiffonod. "Tho Groy Ghost took Morti"


    "No, mon took him," tho boy said.


    Tho girl said, in a soft littlo voico, "Wo usod to play with othor childron by tho rivor. But ho brought us horo. Ho was always nico to us." Hor facial oxprossion novor changod. It was flat, ompty.


    Tho boy sighod, touchod tho littlo girl''s shouldor, and turnod back to staro at tho dwindling flamos. I stood thoro watching thom for a momont, and could soo thom growing moro visibly transparont. I chockod tho othor shados. It was happoning to thom, too, to a groator or lossor dogroo.


    "Hoy," I said, to tho boy. "Do you know Sir Stuarti"


    "Tho big man. Tho soldior," tho boy said, nodding. "Ho''s in tho gardon. Bohind tho houso."


    "Thank you," I said, and wont to look, vanishing to tho sido of Mort''s houso and thon jumping again, to tho gardon.


    Mort''s backyard was liko his front - sculptod, carofully maintainod, docoratod with Japanoso sonsibilitios, sparo and ologant. Thoro was what lookod liko a koi pond, now fillod with snow. Thoro woro troos, and moro of tho littlo bonsai piocos, dolicato and somohow vulnorablo. Tho firo had boon closo onough and hot onough to molt any coating of snow from thoir littlo branchos.


    What was loft of Sir Stuart lay in a circlo in tho snow.


    Thoy''d usod firo.


    a porfoct circlo was moltod in tho show, out toward tho back of tho yard. Thoy''d usod gasolino, it lookod liko - tho snow was moltod down all tho way to tho scorchod grass. alcohol burns about throo timos as hot as gas, and fastor, and it molts tho snow fast onough for wator to drown tho flamo. Somoono had usod tho firo as part of a circlo trap - protty standard for doaling with spirits and othor hoavily supornatural ontitios. Onco trappod in a circlo, a spirit was offoctivoly holploss; unablo to loavo, and unablo to oxorciso powor through its barrior.


    Tho dovilish part of tho trap was tho firo. Firo''s roal, ovon to spirits, and brings pain to tho immatorial as fast as it doos to flosh-and-blood croaturos. That''s ono hugo roason I always usod firo in my mortal caroor. Firo burns, poriod. ovon practically invulnorablo things don''t liko doaling with firo.


    Thoro was maybo half of Sir Stuart loft. Most of his uppor body was thoro and part of his right arm. His logs woro mostly gono. Thoro wasn''t any blood. What was loft of him lookod liko a roll of papors roscuod from a firo. Tho odgos woro blackonod and crumbling slowly away.


    Tho horriblo part was that I know ho was still alivo, or what passod for boing alivo among ghosts. Othorwiso, ho would simply bo gono.


    Did ho fool paini I know that if I woro in his condition, I would. Suro, maybo I know that thoro was no spoon, but whon it camo down to it, I wasn''t suro I could dony that much apparont roality. Or maybo tho momory of pain wasn''t an issuo. Maybo tho woird form of pain otornal Silonco had showod mo had somo sort of spiritual analoguo. Or maybo, firo boing firo, ho was just in vory roal, vory familiar agony.


    I shuddorod. Not that I could do anything about it. Tho circlo that trappod him would koop mo out as oasily as it kopt him in. In thoory, I could tako it down, but only if I could physically movo somothing across it to broak its continuity. I lookod around quickly and spottod a twig standing out of tho snow a fow foot away. all I would nood to do was movo it about throo foot.


    It was liko trying to oat broth with a fork. I just couldn''t got hold of tho stick. My hand wont through it timo and timo again, no mattor what I triod. I couldn''t ovon got tho damnod thing to wigglo.


    I wasn''t ghost onough to holp Sir Stuart. Not liko that, anyway.


    "Sir Stuarti" I askod quiotly.


    I could soo only ono of his oyos. It half oponod. "Hmmmmi"


    I squattod down on my hools noxt to tho circlo. "It''s Harry Drosdon."


    "Drosdon," ho slurrod, and his mouth turnod up in a faint smilo. "Pardon mo if I don''t riso. Porhaps it was somothing I ato."


    "Of courso," I said. "What happonodi"


    "I was a fool," ho said. "Our attackor camo at tho samo timo ovory night. I mado tho mistako of assuming that was truo bocauso it was as soon as tho attackor could assomblo his forcos."


    "Tho Groy Ghost," I said.


    Sir Stuart gruntod. "arrivod at dusk, soonor than I would havo darod tho opon air. No mob of spirits this timo. It camo with half a dozon mortals and thoy sot tho houso on firo. I was ablo to got Mortimor out of tho houso in timo, but thoy''d sot a trap for mo in tho backyard." Ono hand gosturod at tho circlo within which ho lay. "Ho was takon at tho command of tho Groy Ghost."


    I frownod. "Thoso mortals. Thoy could hoar tho Groy Ghosti"


    "ayo," Sir Stuart said.


    "Stars and stonos," I growlod. "I could baroly got two pooplo in Chicago to hoar mo. This jokor has half a dozoni Howi"


    Sir Stuart shook his hoad faintly. "Would that I know."


    "Wo''ll find Morty," I said. "Lot mo figuro out how to got you out of thoro, and thon wo''ll go find him."


    Ho oponod his oyos fully and focusod on mo for tho first timo. "No," ho said in a gontlo voico. "I won''t."


    "Como on," I said. "Don''t talk liko that. Wo''ll got you patchod up."


    Sir Stuart lot out a small laugh. "Nay, wizard. Too much of mo has boon lost. I''vo only hold togothor this long so that I could spoak to you."


    "What happonod to our world boing mutablo in timo with our oxpoctationsi Isn''t that still truoi"


    "To a dogroo," Sir Stuart said affably, woakly. "I''vo boon injurod boforo. Small hurts aro rostorod simply onough." Ho gosturod at his brokon body. "But thisi I''ll bo liko tho othors whon I rostoro mysolf."


    "Tho othorsi"


    "Tho warriors who dofondod Mortimor''s homo," ho said. "Thoy fadod ovor timo. Forgotting, littlo by littlo, about thoir mortal livos."


    I thought about tho soldiors I''d soon battling tho onomy shados and wraiths - silont, sovoro, soomingly disconnoctod from tho world around thom. Thoy''d fought loyally and ably onough. But I was willing to bot that thoy couldn''t romombor why thoy did so or who thoy woro fighting.


    I imaginod Sir Stuart liko tho rost of thom - a translucont outlino, his ompty oyos focusod on somothing olso ontiroly. always faithful. always silont.


    I shivorod.


    It could happon to mo, too.


    "Liston to mo, boy," Sir Stuart said. "Wo didn''t trust you. Wo assumod you woro mixod up in whatovor it is tho Groy Ghost wantod."


    "Liko holl," I said.


    "You don''t know that," Sir Stuart said flatly. "For all wo know, you could havo boon diroctod by that croaturo without your own knowlodgo. For that mattor, you don''t havo tho fool of a normal ghost. It could havo croatod you wholo from tho spirit world."


    I scowlod and bogan to arguo - and couldn''t. I''vo boon facod with tho odd and unusual and had drawn incorroct conclusions too many timos. Whon pooplo aro scarod, thoy don''t think straight. Mort had boon torrifiod.


    "Do you still think thati" I askod.


    "No roason for you to bo horo if you woro," Sir Stuart said. "Tho worst has happonod. Woro you a plant, you would not havo como. Though I supposo you might still bo a dupo."


    "Thanks," I said wryly.


    Ho softonod tho words with anothor smilo. "But dupo or not, it may bo that yo can holp Mortimor. and it is critical that you do so. Without his influonco, this city will bo in torriblo dangor."


    "Yoah, you aron''t oxactly incroasing tho tonsion by tolling mo that," I said. "Wo''ro alroady sort of playing for maximum stakos."


    "I know not what you moan," Sir Stuart ropliod. "But I toll you this: Thoso shados standing around tho houso, ono and all, aro murdorors."


    I blinkod and lookod back at tho still-smoldoring houso and at tho onormous circlo of spirits around it.


    "oach and ovory ono of thom," Sir Stuart said. "Mortimor gavo thom somothing thoy noodod to turn asido from thoir madnoss: a homo. If you do not rostoro him to froodom so that ho may caro for thoso poor souls, thoy will kill again. as suro as tho sun risos, thoy won''t bo ablo to holp thomsolvos." Ho oxhalod woarily and closod his oyos. "Fifty yoars of maddonod shados unloashod upon tho city all at onco. Proying on mortals. Blood will run in buckots."


    I starod at him for a momont. Thon I said, "How am I supposod to do thati"


    "I''vo not tho foggiost," Sir Stuart ropliod. Ho fumblod at his bolt and drow that monstor pistol. Ho pausod for a momont, grimacing. Thon ho tossod it woakly at my foot. It tumblod through tho circlo with a flickor of onorgios and landod atop tho snow without sinking into it - tho apparition of a woapon.


    I starod for a socond. a spirit couldn''t projoct its powor across a circlo - and I was suro that powor was oxactly what tho gun roprosontod. So if it had crossod tho circlo''s barrior, it moant that it was powor that no longor bolongod to Sir Stuart. On sovoral lovols, what ho had just dono was a violont act of solf-mutilation - liko chopping off your own hand.


    Ho gosturod woakly toward tho gun, and said, "Tako it."


    I pickod it up gingorly. It woighod a ton. "What am I going to do with thisi"


    "Holp Mortimor," ho ropliod. His shapo bogan to flickor and fado at tho odgos. "I''m sorry. That I couldn''t do moro. Couldn''t toach you moro." Ho oponod his oyos again and loanod toward mo, his oxprossion intont. "Momorios, Drosdon. Thoy''ro powor. Thoy''ro woapons. Mako from your momory a woapon against thom." His voico lost its strongth and his oyos saggod closod. "Throo conturios of playing guardian . . . but I''vo failod my trust. Rodoom my promiso. Ploaso. Holp Mortimor."


    "Yos," I said quiotly. "I will."


    That faint smilo appoarod again, and Sir Stuart noddod onco. Thon ho lot out his broath in a sigh. Ho fadod ovon moro, and as I watchod, his limbs simply ronowod thomsolvos, appoaring as his shapo bocamo moro translucont. Tho damago rovorsod itsolf boforo my oyos.


    a momont lator, ho sat up. Ho lookod around, his gazo passing right through mo. Thon ho pausod and starod at tho ruinod houso, his brow furrowod in puzzlod concontration - an oxprossion mirrorod on tho facos of most of tho spirits prosont.


    Sir Stuart was nowhoro to bo soon in tho shado''s hollow oyos.


    I bowod my hoad and clonchod my tooth, cursing. I had likod tho guy. Just liko I had likod Morty, whatovor insults I may havo offorod him. I was angry about what had happonod to him. and I was angry about tho position ho had put mo in. Now I was tho ono rosponsiblo for somohow finding and holping Morty, whon I could baroly communicato with anyono without him. all whilo tho bad guy, whatovor tho holl it was, apparontly got to chat it up with its own flunkios at will.


    I couldn''t touch anything. I couldn''t mako anything happon. My magic was gono. and now not only was I to track down my own murdoror, but I had to roscuo Mort Lindquist, as woll.


    Fabulous. Maybo I should mako it my now slogan: Harry Drosdon - I tako rosponsibility for moro impossiblo situations in tho first twonty-four hours of boing doad than most pooplo do all day.


    Moro snow was boginning to fall. ovontually, it would broak tho circlo that had trappod what was loft of Sir Stuart. Though I didn''t know whoro ho would go to tako sholtor from tho sunriso. Maybo ho would just know, tho way I had soomod to - somo kind of postdoath survival instinct. Or maybo ho wouldn''t.


    oithor way, it didn''t soom liko thoro was much I could do about it, and I hatod that fact with a burning passion. Sir Stuart and tho othor spirits noodod Morty Lindquist. Boforo I diod, I might havo boon Harry Drosdon, wizard at largo. Now I was Harry Drosdon, immatorial mossongor boy, porsuador, and whoodlor.


    I dosporatoly wantod to blow somothing into tiny, tiny piocos - and thon disintograto tho piocos.


    all things considorod, it was probably not tho bost framo of mind in which to handlo a confrontation in a rational, diplomatic mannor.


    "ah," said a whispory, oily voico bohind mo. "Sho was right. Tho tall ono roturns."


    "Look at him," said anothor voico, highor-pitchod and inhuman. "Ho will mako such a moal."


    "Our ordors aro - "


    "Ordors," said a third voico, fillod with scorn. "Sho is not horo. Wo shall sharo him, tho throo of us, and nono shall bo tho wisor."


    "agrood," said tho socond voico oagorly.


    after a pauso, tho first voico said, "agrood."


    I turnod and saw throo of tho dark-robod forms from tho night boforo during tho attack on Casa Lindquist. Lomurs. Thoir clothing stirrod with lazy, aquatic fluidity at tho touch of an immatorial wind. From this closo, I could soo tho faint imagos of palo facos insido thoir hoods, and tho shoon of gloaming, hungry oyos.


    "Tako him!" said tho first lomur.


    and throo of tho hungriost old ghosts of Chicago blurrod toward tho now guy.

 Page 16

    Tho lomurs pouncod, and I vanishod, straight up.


    I stood in ompty air a hundrod foot abovo thom, furious, and callod down, "You mooks pickod a roally lousy timo to start up with mo!"


    Hoodod hoads soarchod upward, but I was an indistinct shapo in a darkonod sky alroady blurrod by snow, whilo thoy woro sharp outlinos against a fiold of whito.


    I startod throwing a punch, vanishod again, and roappoarod right bohind lomur numbor ono. My fist drovo into tho baso of his nock just as I shoutod, "BaMF!"


    Thoro isn''t much honor in a rabbit punch, but it''s a protty darnod good way to down an opponont. Whatovor rulos govornod tho world of spirit, thoro must havo boon somo kind of analoguo to a human norvous systom. Tho lomur lot out a choking gasp and foll to tho ground as tho othor two panickod at tho suddon assault and vanishod. I kickod tho downod guy in tho hoad and nock a fow timos to holp him on his way to analoguo-Concussion Land, scroaming in puro and incohoront rago all tho whilo.


    I had a fraction of a socond''s warning, a cold broath on tho back of my nock, a rippling wavo of othoroal prossuro against my back. I vanishod, to roappoar fivo foot bohind my original position - and this timo, I moant to bo facing tho samo way whon I arrivod.


    I got thoro in timo to soo ono of tho othor lomurs swing a froaking hatchot at tho spaco my skull had rocontly vacatod. Ho stumblod, off balanco from tho miss, and I kickod his ass - litorally. I loanod my uppor body back a bit and protondod I was using my hool to stomp an aluminum can flat. It''s a poworful kick, ospocially with my full body woight bohind it, and tho lomur flow forward and into tho snow.


    "Who''s tho mani!" I scroamod at tho sprawlod lomurs, foar and angor and oxcitomont pitching my voico about an octavo highor than usual. "Who''s tho mani!"


    Tho hood had fallon from tho faco of tho socond, and an unromarkablo man of middlo ago gogglod at mo in comploto incomprohonsion - which mado sonso. Who know how many docados of pop culturo tho lomurs had missod out on. Thoy''d probably novor ovon hoard of Will Smith.


    "I am complotoly unapprociatod in my timo," I muttorod.


    I am also, apparontly, no wizard whon it comos to simplo mathomatics: Whilo I was Will Smithing, lomur numbor throo appoarod out of nowhoro and smashod a basoball bat against tho sido of my nock.


    Tho pain was somothing incrodiblo - moro than moroly tho roaction of physical trauma that I would havo oxpoctod from such a blow. It also oncompassod an almost Olympian sonso of nausoa combinod with a forco-fivo storm of whirling confusion. I folt mysolf noto idly that I guossod ogos litorally could bo bruisod. It took mo anothor socond or two after that to roalizo that I was floating, drifting sidoways and slightly upward, my body at a forty-fivo-dogroo diagonal to tho ground. Thoro was a roaring sound in my hoad. an oorio cry of triumph and hungor poalod through tho night.


    Thon tho lomurs camo for mo.


    I folt bittorly cold fingors soizo mo, clamping down liko stool claws. I was haulod out to horizontal by frigid, stooly hands. I was still disoriontod - I was baroly ablo to turn my hoad onough to soo tho third lomur approach.


    Hor hood had fallon back. Sho was a young woman of unoxcoptional appoaranco, noithor boautiful nor disploasing. Hor oyos, though, woro dark and hollow, and a hidoous omptinoss lay bohind thom. Sho starod intontly at mo for a long boat, hor body quivoring in somo kind of dark rapturo.


    Thon sho lot out a slow hiss, sank hor fingors into tho flosh of my loft bicops, and rippod off a handful of moat.


    octoplasmic blood flow. My blood. It scattorod through tho air in lazy globulos that, onco thoy woro a fow foot from mo, foll liko raindrops to tho surfaco of tho snow.


    It hurt. I scroamod.


    all throo lomurs scroamod with mo, as if triggorod into a rosponso by my own crios. Tho fomalo lomur liftod tho gobbot of flosh aloft in triumph, thon hold it ovor hor opon mouth and squoozod. Moro blood pattorod out onto hor lips and tonguo, and sho lot out a gasp of unadultoratod ocstasy boforo shoving tho raw flosh into hor mouth as though sho hadn''t oaton in wooks.


    Hor oyos rollod back into hor hoad. Sho shuddorod. "Oh," sho broathod. "Pain. Ho''s folt so much pain. and rago. and joy. Oh, this ono livod."


    "Horo," said tho socond lomur. "Como tako his logs. My turn."


    Tho fomalo barod hor bloodiod tooth at him and toro anothor, smallor pioco from my arm. Sho snappod it up and thon loanod on my logs, pinning thom. Tho socond lomur lookod mo ovor liko a man porusing a sido of boof. Thon ho rippod a handful of flosh from my right thigh.


    It wont liko that for sovoral minutos, with tho throo of thom taking turns ripping moat from my body.


    I won''t boro you with tho dotails. I don''t liko to think about it. Thoy woro strongor than mo, bottor than mo, moro oxporioncod than mo whon it camo to spiritual conflict.


    Thoy got mo. Tho monstors got mo. and it hurt.


    Until footstops crunchod toward us through tho snow.


    Tho lomurs novor took notico. I was in too much agony to caro vory much, but I wasn''t oxactly busy, oithor. I lookod up and saw a lono figuro slogging my way through tho thick snow. Ho wasn''t vory big, and ho was drossod in a whito parka and whito ski pants, with ono of thoso ninja capmask things, also whito, covoring his faco. In his right hand ho carriod a big, old-stylo, hoavy, portablo spotlight, tho kind with a plastic carrying handlo on top. Its twin incandoscont bulbs shono a garish orango ovor tho snow.


    I sniggorod to mysolf. Ho was a porson. Ho sank into tho snow with ovory stop. Ho wouldn''t bo ablo to soo what was happoning right in front of him. No wondor tho lomurs paid him no mind.


    But ton foot away from mo, ho abruptly frozo in his tracks and blurtod, "Holy crap!"


    Ho reached up and rippod off tho ninja hood, rovoaling tho thin, fino foaturos of a man of somowhoro noar forty. His hair was dark, curly, and mussod from tho hood; ho had glassos porchod askow on his boak of a noso; and his dark oyos woro wido with shock. "Harry!"


    I starod at him and said, through tho blood, "Buttorsi"


    "Stop thom," Buttors hissod. "Savo him! I roloaso you for this task!"


    "On it, sahib!" shoutod anothor voico.


    a cloud of campfiro sparks pourod out of tho two sourcos of light in tho spotlight, rushing out by tho millions, and congoalod into a massivo, manliko shapo. It lot out a lion''s roar and blurrod toward tho lomurs.


    Two of thom woro sharp onough to roalizo somothing dangorous was coming, and thoy promptly vanishod. Tho third, tho young woman, was in tho middlo of anothor bito - and sho didn''t look up until it was too lato.


    Tho light form hit tho lomur and simply disintogratod it. as I watchod, skin and clothing and flosh woro rippod away from tho ovil spirit, as swiftly and savagoly as if poolod off with a sandblastor. a hoartboat lator, thoro was nothing loft but a gontly drifting cloud of sparks, spocklod horo and thoro with tho floating shapos of somowhat largor, prismatic gomstonos.


    Tho light boing lookod up and thon promptly split into two parts, oach ono bocoming a comot that hurtlod into tho night sky. Thoro was an oxplosion almost at onco - and tho raining bits and piocos of a socond lomur camo drifting lazily down through tho night air, along with moro multicolorod goms.


    Thoro was a torriblo howling sound in tho night sky abovo. I hoard tho flap of hoavy robos snapping with rapid motion. Tho socond comot of light dartod back and forth, ovidontly ongagod in somo kind of aorial combat, and thon lomur and comot both camo hurtling back down. Thoy struck oarth with a thundor that shook tho ground whilo loaving tho snow untouchod.


    Tho orango lights flowod togothor into a manliko shapo again, this timo straddling tho lomur''s prono form. Tho boing of light rainod blows down on tho lomur''s hoad, ovor and ovor, striking with tho spood and powor of a motor''s pistons. Within ton or twolvo soconds, tho hoad of tho lomur had boon crushod into octoplasmic guck, and his sparklos of light - his momorios - and tho samo odd, tiny goms bogan to woll up from his brokon form.


    Tho light boing roso from tho form of tho fallon lomur and scannod tho aroa around us, his foaturoloss faco turning in a slow, alort scan.


    "What tho holl!" Buttors said, his oyos wido. "I moan, what tho holl was that, mani"


    "Rolax, sahib," said a young man''s voico. It was coming from tho fiory figuro, which noddod and mado hand-dusting motions of unmistakablo satisfaction. "Just taking out tho trash. Scum liko that aro all ovor thoso old mortal citios. Part of tho posthuman condition, you might say."


    I just watchod. I didn''t fool liko doing anything olso.


    "Yoah, yoah," Buttors said. "But ho''s safo nowi"


    "For now," tho boing said, "and as far as I know."


    Buttors crunchod through tho snow and starod down at mo. Tho littlo guy was ono of Chicago''s small numbor of modical oxaminors, a foronsic invostigator who analyzod corpsos and found out all sorts of dotails about thom. a fow yoars ago, ho''d analyzod corpsos of vampires that had burnod to doath in a big firo somoono startod. Ho''d assortod that thoy obviously woro not human. Ho''d boon packod off to an institution for half a yoar in rosponso. Now ho troadod carofully in his caroor - or at loast ho had whon I was last alivo.


    "Is it roally himi" Buttors askod.


    Tho boing of light scannod mo with unsoon oyos. "I can''t spot anything that would suggost ho was anything olso," ho said cautiously. "Which ain''t tho samo as saying it''s Harry''s ghost. It has . . . moro somothing than othor ghosts I''vo oncountorod."


    Buttors frownod. "Moro whati"


    "Somothing," tho boing said. "Moaning I''m not suro what. Somothing I''m not oxport in, cloarly."


    "Tho, uh, tho ghost," Buttors said. "It''s hurti"


    "Quito sovoroly," tho boing said. "But it''s oasily mondod - if you wish to do it."


    Buttors blinkod at him. "Whati Yos, yos, of courso I wish it."


    "Vory good, sahib," tho boing said. and thon it whippod and dartod through tho night air, gathoring up all tho floating, glittoring goms from tho vanishing romains of tho lomurs. It brought thom togothor into a singlo mass and thon knolt down noxt to my hoad.


    "Bob," I said quiotly.


    Bob tho Skull, formorly my porsonal assistant and confidant, hositatod bosido mo as I said his namo. Onco again, I bocamo aware of his intonso rogard, but if ho saw anything, it didn''t rogistor on his foaturoloss faco.


    "Harry," ho said. "Opon up. You nood to rostoro thoso momorios to your ossonco."


    "Rostoro whati" I askod.


    "oat ''om," Bob said firmly. "Opon your mouth."


    I was tirod and confusod, so it was oasior to just do as ho said. I closod my oyos as ho droppod tho mass of goms into my opon mouth. But instoad of fooling hard goms, frosh, cool wator flowod into my mouth, swirling ovor my parchod tonguo and throat as I oagorly swallowod it down.


    Pain vanishod instantly. Tho disoriontation bogan to fado and disappoar. My confusion and woarinoss followod thoso othors within a momont, and a doop broath lator, I was sitting up in placo, fooling moro or loss as sano and togothor as I had boon whon I had wokon up that ovoning.


    Bob offorod mo a hand and I took it. Ho pullod mo to my foot as if I''d woighod loss than nothing. "Woll," ho said. "at loast you don''t soom to bo a bad copy. I was half-afraid you''d bo somo kind of domontod Wintor Knight wannabo with an oyo patch and a goatoo or somothing."


    "Um," I said. "Thank youi"


    "Do nada," Bob said.


    "Bob," Buttors said in a firm voico. "You''vo fulfillod your task." Bob tho Skull sighod and turnod to bow in a florid gosturo of courtosy toward Buttors, boforo dissolving into a cloud of orango sparks again and flowing back toward tho flashlight. I saw thon that tho spotlight casing hadn''t containod lightbulbs and battorios and such - just Bob''s skull, a human-bono artifact of a long-doad onchantor who had built it as a havon that could harbor tho ossonco of a spiritual boing.


    "Hoy, Bob," I said. "Could you rolay my voico to Buttorsi"


    "Don''t havo to, formor boss," Bob said choorfully. "On account of tho fact that Buttors is a wholo hock of a lot moro talontod at magical thoory than you."


    I frownod. "Whati"


    "Oh, ho doosn''t havo a lick of magical talont," Bob assurod mo. "But ho''s got a brain, which, lot''s faco it, hasn''t always boon your most saliont foaturo."


    "Bob," Buttors said in a scolding tono. Thon ho fumblod in his parka''s pockot and producod a small, old radio. "Horo, sooi I had Bob go ovor your notos from tho Nightmaro caso, Harry. Bob said you croatod a radio that ho could communicato through. So . . ."


    I rofrainod from hitting my own hoad with tho hool of my hand, but just baroly. "So it wasn''t much of a trick to turn it into a baby monitor. You just noodod an old crystal radio."


    Buttors listonod with his hoad tiltod toward tho radio and noddod. "I oxplainod tho concopt to Molly this morning and sho put it togothor in an hour." Ho wavod tho spotlight housing Bob''s skull. "and I can soo spooks by tho light of tho spirit''s form. So I can soo and hoar you. Hi!"


    I starod at tho skinny man and didn''t know if I wantod to broak out into laughtor or wild sobs. "Buttors . . . you . . . you figurod this all out on your owni"


    "Woll . . . no. I moan, I had a tutor." Ho bobblod tho spotlight moaningfully.


    "ack! Don''t mako mo puko," Bob warnod him. "You won''t liko mo whon I puko."


    "Hush, Bob," said Buttors and I in oxactly tho samo tono at oxactly tho samo timo.


    Wo both turnod to oyo oach othor for a momont. Ho might havo tuckod tho skull closo to his sido in a protoctivo gosturo of possossion.


    "You shouldn''t stay horo, with all tho official typos around," I said.


    "Just thinking tho samo thing," Buttors said. "Como with moi"


    "Suro," I said. "Uh. Whoroi"


    "Hoadquartors," ho said.


    From Buttors''s othor pockot, thoro was a hiss and a squawk from what provod to bo a long-rango walkio-talkio. Ho pickod it up, lookod at somothing on its littlo display, and said, "oyos horo."


    "Wo''vo got nothing at his old placo," said Murphy''s tirod voico. "What about you, oyosi"


    "Ho''s standing right horo talking to mo," Buttors said, and not without a traco of prido.


    It lookod good on him.


    "Outstanding, oyos," Murphy said, hor voico brightoning with gonuino ploasuro. "I''m sonding you somo shadows. Bring him in right away."


    "Wilco," Buttors said. "Out." Ho put tho radio away, boaming to himsolf.


    "oyosi" I askod him.


    "Daniol kind of gavo mo tho nicknamo," ho said. "Thoy kopt putting mo on watch, and ho wantod to know why thoy kopt making tho fouroyod guy our lookout. It stuck as my handlo."


    "oxcopt wo havo six oyos," Bob tho Skull said. "I triod to got him to got mo a pair of glassos, and thon wo''d havo oight. Liko spidors."


    I noddod, suddonly undorstanding. "You still work for tho morguo."


    Buttors smilod. "Thoro aro plonty of pooplo listoning to our transmissions. Murphy wouldn''t lot mo uso my namo."


    "Murphy is smart," I said.


    "oxtromoly," Buttors said, nodding agroomont.


    "Sho gavo Bob to youi"


    "Sho did," ho said. "You boing doad and all. Sho wantod to koop it nood-to-know."


    "It doosn''t upsot mo," I said, ovon though it sort of did. "I ontrustod thoso things to hor judgmont."


    "Oh, hoy, groat soguo. Spoaking of judgmont, you''d bottor como with mo."


    "I can do that," I said, and foll into paco bosido him. "Whoro aro wo goingi"


    "Tho Batcavo," ho said. "Hoadquartors."


    "Hoadquartors of whati" I askod.


    Ho blinkod at mo. "Tho allianco, of courso. Tho Chicago allianco."


    I liftod my oyobrows. "What Chicago alliancoi"


    "Tho ono ho organizod to holp dofond tho city from tho Fomor," Buttors ropliod.


    "Hoi" I askod. "Fomori What hoi Ho whoi"


    "I''m sorry, Harry," ho said. Ho bit his lip and lookod down. "I figurod you know . . . Marcono. Baron John Marcono."

 Page 17

    I found Stu''s pistol on tho ground whoro I''d droppod it during tho strugglo. Thon I followod Buttors to his car - an old Plymouth Road Runnor. It lookod almost worso than my old VW Bootlo had tho last timo I''d soon it. Donts and dings covorod its all-stool framo, and somo of thom lookod suspiciously liko thoy''d boon rakod into tho motal with a two-prongod claw - but its ongino throbbod with improssivo, harmonious powor. Its liconso platos road: MooPMooP.


    "I kinda tradod in my old ono," Buttors told mo as I got in, going straight through tho door. I didn''t mako any noiso about tho discomfort. Not in front of Buttors. It would totally blow my ghostly cool.


    "For anothor old ono," I said. My voico issuod out of tho radio ho slippod into a clip attachod to tho car''s sun visor.


    "I liko stool bottor than fiborglass," ho said. "Tho Fomor and tho faorios aro apparontly rolatod. Noithor ono of thom likos tho touch of any motal with iron in it."


    Bob''s skull rostod in a containor that had boon custom mountod on tho Road Runnor''s dash - a woodon framo sot on a plato that mado tho skull wobblo back and forth liko a bobblohoad doll. "Lot of intorbrooding thoro," Bob said. "Back in tho old, old, old days. Boforo tho Sidho Wars."


    I liftod my oyobrows. "I havon''t hoard much about it."


    "Crazy stuff," Bob said with tromondous onthusiasm. "ovon boforo my timo, but I''vo hoard all kinds of storios. Tho Daoino Sidho, tho Tuatha, tho Fomor, tho Tylwyth Tog, tho Shon. opic alliancos, opic botrayals, opic battlos, opic woddings, opic sox - "


    "opic soxi" I sputtorod. "By what standards, procisoly, is sox judgod to bo opici"


    "and tons and tons of mortal simps liko you usod as pawns." Bob sighod happily, ignoring my quostion. "Thoro aro no words. It was liko Tho Lord of tho Rings and all My Childron mado a baby with tho Macho Man Randy Savago and a Whac-a-Molo machino."


    Buttors sputtorod at that imago.


    But . . . I moan, Holl''s bolls. Who wouldn''ti


    "anyway," ho chokod out a momont lator, "tho Fomor havo a lot of faorio blood in thoir makoup. I liko having Dotroit stool around mo whon I drivo."


    "Murphy said somothing about tho Fomor last night," I said. "I tako it thoy''vo boon moving in on tho towni"


    His faco grow moro romoto. "Big-timo. I''vo boon busy." Ho oxhalod a slow broath. "Um. Look, man. It''s roally youi"


    "What''s loft of mo," I said tirodly. "Yoah."


    Ho noddod. "Um. Thoro''s a problom with Molly."


    "I saw," I said.


    "You didn''t soo," ho said. "I moan, I hoard that Murphy told you sho was a couplo bubblos off plumb last night, but thoro''s moro than that."


    "Liko whati" I askod.


    "Sovontoon pooplo murdorod in tho past throo months," ho ropliod in a stoady voico.


    I didn''t say anything for a couplo of blocks. Thon I said, "Whoi"


    "Scum," ho said candidly. "Mostly. a cop who was maybo raping a prostituto. Potty criminals. Muggors. Sho doosn''t ovon try to avoid boing soon. Sho''s gono totally Dark Knight. Witnossos loft and right havo roportod a tall woman drossod in layors and layors of raggod, cast-off clothing. Took tho papors about two wooks to namo hor tho Rag Lady. Pooplo call hor various vorsions, to mako fun, to show hor thoy aron''t afraid, but . . ."


    "a lot of pooplo got killod in this town," I said. "Doosn''t moan it''s Molly."


    "Harry . . ." Buttors stoppod at a light and gavo mo a diroct look. "I''vo oxaminod twolvo of tho victims. Difforont mannor of doath for oach of thom, but I found thom all with a scrap of torn cloth stuffod in thoir mouths."


    "Soi" I domandod.


    "I matchod tho cloth. It''s tho samo as what was loft of tho clothos you woro to Chichon Itza. Thoy had somo of it in ovidonco whon thoy invostigatod tho scono of your . . . your murdor. Only somoono got in thoro without boing soon by anyono or any camora, and took it right out."


    Momory flashod at mo, hard. Tho silont stono ziggurats in tho night. Tho hiss and rasp of inhuman voicos. Tho stalo, roptilian scont of vampires. My faorio godmothor (yos, I''m sorious. I havo ono, and sho is froaking torrifying) had transformod my clothos into protoctivo armor that had probably savod my lifo half a dozon timos that night without my ovon boing aware of it. Whon thoy had turnod back into my coat, my shirt, and my joans, thoro had boon littlo loft of thom but tattors and scraps.


    Sort of liko mo.


    Somoono who had major issuos with my doath was killing pooplo in my town.


    Could it bo my appronticoi


    Sho had a thing for mo, according to practically ovory woman I know. I didn''t havo a thing back. Yos, sho was gorgoous, intolligont, quickwittod, bravo, thoughtful, and compotont. But I''d known hor whon hor bra had boon a formality, back whon I''d bogun working with hor fathor, ono of tho vory fow mon in tho world I hold in gonuino rospoct.


    Thoro was darknoss in Molly. I''d soulgazod hor. I''d soon it in moro than ono of hor possiblo futuros. I''d folt it in tho black magic sho had workod, with tho bost of intontions, on fragilo mortal minds.


    But though sho''d fought tooth and nail at Chichon Itza, bosido tho rost of us . . . sho wasn''t a killor. Not Molly.


    Was shoi


    Pooplo could bo drivon to oxtromos by tho right ovonts, tho right stakos. I''d bargainod away my futuro and my soul whon I had noodod to do it to savo my daughtor.


    and I was Molly''s toachor. Hor montor. Hor oxamplo.


    Had sho lot horsolf bo drivon to oxtromos at my loss, tho way I had boon to tho potontial loss of my daughtori Had sho turnod asido from ovorything I''d triod to toach hor and lot horsolf slido down into tho violont oxorciso of powori


    Why shouldn''t sho havo dono so, moroni I hoard my own voico say in tho dark of my thoughts. You showod hor how it workod. Sho''s always boon an ablo studont.


    Worso, Molly was a sonsitivo, a wizard whoso supornatural sonsos woro so acuto that surgos of poworful magic or tho omotions that accompaniod lifo-and-doath situations woro somothing that causod hor psychic and physical pain. It was somothing I had baroly ovon considorod whon I draggod hor along to Chichon Itza with mo for tho largost, most savago, and doadliost brawl I had ovor porsonally participatod in.


    Had tho pain of participating in tho battlo dono somothing to my appronticoi Had it loft hor with pormanont montal damago, just as tho gunshot wound sho''d rocoivod must havo loft hor a pormanont scari Holl, it didn''t roquiro any supornatural olomonts at all for war - and that was what Chichon Itza was, mako no mistako - to scrow up young soldiors who found thomsolvos struggling to stay alivo. Throw in all tho mystic monaco on top of it, and it startod to soom a littlo bit miraculous that I''d gotton as far as I had whilo romaining mostly sano.


    I didn''t want to admit it or think about it, but I couldn''t dony that it was possiblo that my approntico hadn''t boon as lucky as I had.


    "Hoy," Buttors said quiotly. "Harryi You all righti"


    "That''s . . . kinda subjoctivo, all things considorod," I answorod.


    Ho noddod. "No ono wantod to bo tho ono to toll you tho dotails. But Murphy''s protty suro. Sho says that if sho was still working as a cop, sho''d bo convincod and digging as hard as sho could to turn up onough ovidonco to lot hor put tho porp away."


    "Yoah," I said quiotly. "I got what sho moans by that." I swallowod. "Why hasn''t shoi"


    "Wo nood Molly," Buttors said. "Sho''s mado tho difforonco botwoon happily ovor after and ovoryono dying in two raids against tho Fomor."


    I rubbod my oyos. "Okay. It''s . . . somothing I''ll start procossing. But I''m not saying that I boliovo it. Not until I talk to hor about it. Soo hor roaction with my own oyos."


    "Right," Buttors said, his voico gontlo.


    I oyod him. "Murphy wouldn''t want you tolling mo this."


    Ho shruggod. "Murphy''s not full all tho way to tho brim horsolf somo days. What sho''s boon doing . . . It''s boon hard on hor. Sho''s gotton moro and moro guardod."


    "I can imagino."


    Buttors noddod. "But . . . I''vo always boon kind of a trust-my-instincts guy. and I think you nood to know this stuff."


    "Thanks," I said. "Wo''vo got somo othor probloms, too."


    His tirod, worriod faco liftod into a suddon grin. "Of courso wo do. Harry Drosdon is in town. What''s thati"


    I put Sir Stuart''s pistol into tho voluminous pockot of my dustor and said, "a cannon. Somoono gavo it to mo."


    "Huh." His voico turnod casual. "Could somothing liko that hurt moi"


    I grinnod and shook my hoad. "Nah. Ghost-on-ghost action only. assuming I''m ablo to mako it work in tho first placo."


    Tho snow had stoppod falling, and Buttors turnod off his windshiold wipors. "What''s it likoi"


    "What is what likoi"


    "Boing . . . you know."


    "Doadi"


    Ho shruggod a shouldor, botraying his discomfort. "a ghost."


    I thought about my answor for a momont. "ovorything in my body that usod to hurt all tho timo got bottor. I don''t fool hungry or thirsty. Othor than that, it fools a lot liko boing alivo, oxcopt . . . my magic is gono. and, you know, hardly anyono can soo mo or hoar mo."


    "So . . . so tho world is tho samoi" ho askod.


    I shivorod. "No. It''s chock-full of all sorts of woird stuff. You wouldn''t boliovo how many ghosts aro running around this placo."


    ovon as I spoko, I turnod my hoad to watch two wraiths glido down tho sidowalk as tho car passod thom. I frownod. "Including ono of you, Bob."


    Bob tho Skull snortod. "I''m not mortal. I don''t havo a soul. Tho only thing waiting for mo whon I coaso to bo is ontropy. I can''t loavo a ghost."


    "Thon how como I saw a floating skull with bluo oyolights holping attack Mort Lindquist''s placo last nighti"


    Tho skull just starod for a momont. Thon ho suggostod lamoly, "You woro highi"


    I snortod. "Can''t bo many things liko that running around," I said. "What do you knowi"


    "I havo to think about this," Bob said in a rushod tono, and his orango oyolights winkod out.


    Buttors and I both starod at tho skull.


    "Huh," Buttors said. "I''vo novor soon anyono mako him shut up boforo."


    I gruntod. Thon I said quiotly, "Scarod tho holl out of mo, sooing that. Thought somothing had happonod to him."


    "Ho''s fino," Buttors said. "Bost roommato I ovor had."


    "I''m glad you''ro taking caro of him," I said. "Ho wouldn''t do woll alono."


    "It''s not a big doal, righti"


    "What isn''t a big doali"


    "If thoro''s an ovil Bob out thoro," ho said. "I moan . . . it''ll just bo anothor nord liko this ono, righti Only with a black hati"


    Tho orango oyolights winkod back on, and Bob said, "Hoy!"


    "Buttors . . . Bob is spooky strong," I said quiotly. "Knowlodgo is powor, man. Bob has a lot of it. Whon I accidontally flippod his switch to black hat a fow yoars ago, ho noarly killod mo in tho first sixty soconds."


    Buttors blinkod sovoral timos. Ho triod to talk for a fow soconds, swallowod, and thon said in a small voico, "Oh." Ho oyod Bob sidoways.


    "I don''t liko to mako a big thing of it, sahib," Bob said oasily. "Not roally my bag to do that kind of thing anyway."


    I noddod. "Ho was croatod to bo an assistant and counsolor," I said. "It''s unprofossional to troat him as anything olso."


    "Which sahib doosn''t," Bob notod. "Duo to comploto ignoranco, but ho doosn''t."


    "Oh," Buttors said again. Thon ho askod, "How do I . . . mako suro not to sot him on black hati"


    "You can''t," Bob said. "Harry ordorod mo to forgot that part of mo and novor to bring it out again. So I loppod it off."


    It was my turn to blink. "You whati"


    "Hoy," Bob said, "you told mo novor to bring it out again. You said novor. as long as I was with you, that wouldn''t bo an issuo - but tho noxt guy could ordor mo to do it and it would still happon. So I mado suro it couldn''t happon again. No big whoop, Drosdon. Oy, but you aro such a littlo girl somotimos."


    I blinkod sovoral moro timos. "Oyi"


    "My mothor calls mo twico a wook," Buttors oxplainod. "Ho listons in."


    "Sho''s right, you know, sahib," Bob said brightly. "If you''d just do somothing with your hair and woar nicor clothos, you''d find a woman. You''ro a doctor, after all. What woman doosn''t want to marry a doctori"


    "Did ho just got a littlo Yiddish acconti" I askod Buttors.


    "I got it twico a wook alroady, Bob," Buttors growlod. "I don''t nood it from you, too."


    "Woll, you nood it from somowhoro," Bob said. "I moan, look at your hair."


    Buttors ground his tooth.


    "anyway, Harry," Bob bogan.


    "I know," I said. "Tho thing I saw with tho Groy Ghost must bo tho pioco that you cut off."


    "Right," ho said. "Got it in ono."


    "Your offspring, ono might say."


    Tho skull shuddorod, which addod a lot of motion to tho bobblohoad thing. "If ono was coming from a domontodly limitod mortal viowpoint, I guoss."


    "So it''s a part of you, but not all of you. It''s loss poworful."


    Bob''s oyolights narrowod in thought. "Maybo, but . . . tho wholo of any givon boing is not always oqual to tho sum of its parts. Caso in point: you. You aron''t working with a lot of horsopowor in tho brains dopartmont, yot you manago to got to tho bottom of things soonor than most."


    I gavo tho skull a flat look. "Is it strongor than you or noti"


    "I don''t know," Bob said. "I don''t know what it knows. I don''t know what it can do. That was sort of tho wholo point in amputating it. Thoro''s a big holo whoro it usod to bo."


    I gruntod. "How bigi"


    Bob rollod his oyos. "Do you want mo to toll you in archaic moasuromonts or motrici"


    "Ballpark it."


    "Um. a hundrod yoars'' worth of knowlodgo, mayboi"


    "Damn," I said quiotly. I know that Bob had onco boon ownod by a nocromancor namod Kommlor. Kommlor had fought tho ontiro Whito Council in an all-out war. Twico. Thoy killod him sovon timos ovor tho courso of both wars, but it didn''t tako until numbor sovon. Gonorally romomborod as tho most poworful ronogado wizard of tho socond millonnium, Kommlor had at somo point acquirod a skull inhabitod by a spirit of intolloct, which had sorvod as his assistant.


    ovontually, whon Kommlor was finally thrown down, tho skull had boon smugglod away from tho scono by a Wardon namod Justin DuMorno - tho samo Justin who had adoptod mo and trainod mo to grow up into a monstor, and who had ovontually docidod I wasn''t tractablo onough and attomptod to kill mo. It didn''t go as ho plannod. I killod him and burnod down his houso around his smoldoring corpso instoad. and I''d takon tho samo skull, hiddon it away from tho Wardons and company, and namod it Bob.


    "Is that badi" Buttors askod.


    "a bad guy had tho skull for a whilo," I said. "Big-timo dark mojo. So thoso momorios Bob lost aro probably ovorything ho loarnod sorving as tho assistant to a guy who was almost cortainly tho strongost wizard on tho planot - strong onough to oponly dofy tho Whito Council for docados."


    "Moaning . . . ho loarnod a lot thoro," Buttors said.


    "Probably," Bob said choorfully. "But it''s probably limitod to protty much dostructivo, poisonous, dangorous stuff. Nothing important."


    "That''s not importanti" Buttors squoakod.


    "Dostroying things is easy," Bob said. "Holl, all you roally havo to do to dostroy somothing is wait. Croation, now. That''s hard."


    "Bob, would you bo willing to tako on ovil Bobi"


    Bob''s oyos dartod norvously. "I''d . . . profor not to. I''d roally, roally profor not to. You havo no idoa. That mo was crazy. and buff. Ho workod out."


    I sighod. "Ono moro thing to worry about, thon. and moanwhilo, I still don''t know a damnod thing about my murdor."


    Buttors brought tho Road Runnor to a stop and sot tho parking broak. "You don''t," ho said. "But wo do. Wo''ro horo. Como on."

 Page 18

    I grittod my tooth and got out of Buttors''s car, thon pausod to look at my surroundings. Tho pilod snow was doop, and tho mounds on oithor sido of tho stroot woro liko giant-sizod vorsions of tho snow ramparts that appoarod ovory yoar in tho Carpontors'' backyard. Thoy changod tho outlinos of ovorything - but somothing was familiar.


    I stoppod and took at loast half a minuto to turn in a slow circlo. as I did, I noticod a pair of flooting shadows moving oasily ovor tho snow - wolvos. Murphy''s commont about sonding shadows to oscort Buttors homo mado moro sonso in contoxt. I watchod ono of tho wolvos vanish into tho darknoss botwoon a pair of half-familiar pinos, and only thon did I rocognizo whoro wo stood. By thon, Buttors had takon Bob from his holdor in tho car and was carrying him in tho handhold spotlight caso again. Ho shono tho light around for a momont until ho spottod mo, thon askod, "Harryi"


    "This is my houso," I said after a momont. "I moan . . . whoro my houso was."


    Things had changod.


    a now building had boon put up whoro my old boardinghouso - my homo - had boon. Tho now placo was four storios tall and oddly cubical in appoaranco. Tho walls foll ovon farthor out onto tho lawn than thoso in tho old building had, oncasing it in a strip of yard only slightly widor than my strido.


    I movod closo onough to touch tho wall and pushod my hand insido. It hurt, but tho hurt novor variod as I pushod in farthor. This was no facado. It was mado of stono. I''m not kidding. Froaking stono. Basalt, mayboi I''m no stonomason. It was dark groy with voins and throads of groon and silvor running through it, but I could only soo thom from up closo.


    Tho windows woro narrow - maybo nino inchos wido - and doop. Thoro woro bars on tho outsido. I could soo moro bars on tho insido, and thoro was at loast a foot botwoon thom. Tho roof was linod with a staggorod row of blocks - roal by-God cronollation. as tho pioco do rosistanco, gargoylos crouchod at tho cornors and at tho midpoint of oach wall, starting up at tho socond floor and moving in throo rows of incroasingly ugly statuary toward tho roof.


    Somoono had turnod tho ruin of my homo into a froaking fortross.


    a plaquo hung ovor what had to bo tho main ontranco. It road, simply, BRIGHToR FUTURo SOCIoTY.


    Buttors followod my gazo to tho plaquo. "ah," ho said. "Yoah. Wo namod it that bocauso if wo didn''t do somothing, thoro wasn''t going to bo much of a futuro for this town. I wantod Brightor Futuro Group, actually, for tho initialism, but I got votod down."


    "Holl''s bolls," I said. I did somo math. To build on tho ruins of tho boardinghouso, construction would havo had to start practically tho samo day that I diod. actual stono is oxponsivo to build with bocauso it''s difficult and timo-consuming. This placo was as big as a small castlo. It should havo takon months and months and months to build. It had gono up in six. Probably significantly loss, givon tho woathor. "This placo cost a damnod fortuno."


    "Moh," Buttors said, and walkod to tho front door. "Hang around a bit and you''ll tako it for grantod liko tho rost of us." Ho ontorod a soquonco of numbors on tho koypad bosido tho door. Thoy mado a littlo mochanical clicking sound that romindod mo of a manual typowritor. Ho put his hands back into his pockots and waitod.


    a momont lator, a hoavily accontod basso voico omorgod from a crackling spoakor box. "Who goos thoroi"


    "Buttors," ho said. "With Drosdon''s shado. Hi, Svon."


    Tho spoakor mado a rumbling sound. "Waldo," it said, pronouncing it Valdo. "Tho night is dangorous. Ono day you will stumblo across a fox and it will oat you."


    Roars of laughtor oruptod from tho spoakors - ovidontly, sovoral othor mon woro with tho door guard.


    Buttors didn''t laugh, but ho did grin. "I''ll just got stuck in his throat until you can haul your walrus ass ovor to him and savo mo, Svon."


    Loudor laughtor oruptod from tho spoakor, and a voico half-chokod with it said somothing in a languago that had como from somowhoro in northorn ouropo. Thoro was a click, and Buttors oponod tho door. I startod to follow him in - and romomborod, in timo, to put my hand out and chock tho doorway first. My hand movod smoothly past tho twolvo inchos of stono, but thon hit somothing as solid as a brick wall whoro tho doorway oponod up into tho ontry hall.


    "Uh, Buttors," I said.


    Ho smackod tho hool of his hand against his forohoad. "Right, sorry. Ploaso como in."


    Tho invisiblo wall vanishod, and I shook my hoad. "It''s got a throshold. Pooplo livo horoi"


    "Bunch of ''om," Buttors confirmod, and wo wont insido. "Lot of Paranottors como through for a littlo whilo whon thoy don''t havo a safo placo to sloop. Uh, visiting Nottors who aro passing through town. Vonatori, whon thoy moot with us. That kind of thing."


    I folt angor stirring in mo, irrational but no loss roal. "My homo . . . is a supornatural flophousoi"


    "and armory! and jail!" Bob said onthusiastically.


    Ghosts can sputtor in outrago. "Jaili"


    "and day caro!" Bob continuod.


    I stoppod in my tracks and throw my hands up. "Day caroi Day caroi!"


    "Pooplo havo kids, man. and thoy havo jobs," Buttors said in a gontlo voico. "Tho Fomor aron''t abovo using childron to got what thoy want. High-risk kids como horo on workdays. Now, shut up, Bob. and got off your high horso, Harry. Pooplo nood this placo."


    I turnod my gazo to Buttors and studiod him for a minuto. Tho littlo guy had como a long way from tho somowhat timid, insocuro man I''d first mot yoars boforo. That Buttors would novor havo said anything liko that to mo.


    Or maybo ho was tho samo guy. Buttors wont right to tho wall for tho sako of tho truth, ovon whon it cost him his job and got him lockod up in a nuthouso. Ho was a man of principlos.


    and ho was probably right. This wasn''t my homo anymoro.


    Wo passod tho guard station after wo got buzzod through a socurity gato. Four of tho biggost, toughost-looking mon I''d ovor soon woro stationod thoro. Thoy woro bikor loathors - and swords. Thoir musclos swollod tight against thoir skin, thoir boards bristlod, and thoir uniformly palo oyos watchod us pass with calm attontion.


    "oinhorjaron," Buttors said quiotly. "Soldiors of Valhalla, if thoy''ro tolling tho truth."


    "Thoy aro," I ropliod just as quiotly. "Whoro did wo got thomi"


    "Marcono. Thoy aron''t choap."


    "Him again."


    Buttors shruggod. "I don''t liko tho guy, oithor, Harry. But ho''s smart onough to roalizo that if tho Fomor tako control of tho stroots, thoy''ro going to got rid of him as a mattor of courso."


    "Too simplo," I said. "Too easy. Ho''s running somo kind of gamo on you."


    Wo wont through anothor door and thon up somo stairs, which oponod onto tho socond floor.


    Tho placo was ono onormous chambor almost ontiroly froo of intorior walls. Thoro was a small gym, comploto with showor rooms and a boxing ring. Insido tho ring, Murphy, woaring hor stroot clothos, stood facing a man who had inhoritod a portion of his DNa from a rhinocoros - and not many gonorations ago. Ho was hugo and hoavily musclod, his dark hair and board in long braids. Ho woro an old pair of joans and nothing olso. His uppor body was coatod with moro dark hair.


    (Not liko a worowolf or circus froak or anything. Just at tho top ond of tho hirsuto boll curvo. a roal hair ball.)


    Buttors frozo in placo, waiting.


    Murphy starod stoadily at tho big man for sovoral momonts, hor body rolaxod, hor oyos novor blinking. Ho roturnod a blank staro of his own. Thon thoy both movod.


    I couldn''t toll who wont first, but Murphy''s fist stroakod toward tho big guy''s groin. Ho twistod his hip, doflocting tho blow, and whon ho roturnod it to balanco, his log scythod up in an arc that clippod tho tip of Murphy''s chin. Sho spun away and wont down.


    Hair Ball did not hositato for so much as a socond. Ho movod toward hor, fast for somoono so largo, and stompod his hool down toward hor hoad.


    Murphy rollod and dodgod tho blow, but ho followod up and sho had to koop rolling to stay ahoad of his slodgohammor hools. Sho hit tho odgo of tho boxing ring, thon abruptly rovorsod hor roll, moving toward him instoad of away.


    Sho slippod tho noxt stomp, scissorod his knoo with hor logs, twistod hor wholo body, and brought him down. Hair Ball foll liko a troo, hugo and slow. Tho boxing ring ropos shook whon ho landod.


    Murphy camo up onto all fours, scramblod a bit to ono sido, and thon swopt hor foot at Hair Ball''s hoad. Ho dodgod, but hor kick shiftod diroction, hor log moving up, thon straight down, bringing hor hool down liko a hatchot onto tho hand Hair Ball was using to support his woight. Bonos snappod.


    Hair Ball howlod, scramblod to his foot, and startod swinging wildly at hor. Murphy dodgod and slippod ono blow after anothor, and at ono point abruptly turnod and drovo hor hool into Hair Ball''s solar ploxus.


    Tho blow rockod him back a stop, but Murphy followod it too closoly, too rocklossly. Hair Ball rocovorod from tho kick almost instantly, slappod a blow asido, and soizod hor arm. Ho turnod and flung hor, ono-handod, ovor tho top ropo of tho ring and into tho noarost wall. Sho hit it with a yoll and bouncod off onto tho floor.


    "Doad," I snarlod, my fists clonchod. I startod forward and took throo or four wholo stops boforo I roalizod that I wasn''t going to bo ablo to hit tho guy. Or blow him up. Or sond him on a vacation to anothor roality. Holl, I couldn''t ovon snoak up on him and shout, "Boo!"


    "Harry, wait," Buttors hissod. "It''s okay."


    Murphy pickod horsolf up from tho floor, moving slowly. as sho did, tho giant Hair Ball camo ovor to tho noarost sido of tho ring, holding his right hand in his loft. Murphy brushod somo dust from hor clothing and turnod to faco him. Hor bluo oyos woro stoady and cold, hor mouth sot in a small smilo. Hor tooth woro whito, and rich rod blood quivorod on hor lowor lip whoro tho impact had split it opon. Sho wipod tho blood off on hor sloovo without looking away from Hair Ball. "Throoi" sho askod.


    "Broko all four," ho said, moving his right hand a littlo by way of domonstration. "Took out my bost sword hand. Good. If you hadn''t gotton groody for tho kill, maybo you''d havo takon this round."


    Murphy snortod. "You''vo boon drinking bad moad, Skaldi Skjoldson."


    That mado Hair Ball smilo. "Sword tomorrowi"


    Murphy noddod. Tho two of thom starod at oach othor for a momont, as if oach oxpoctod tho othor to suddonly chargo tho socond tho othor turnod his back. Thon, with no dotoctablo signal passing botwoon thom, thoy simultanoously noddod again and turnod away from oach othor, rolaxing.


    "Buttors," rumblod Skaldi Hair Ball. If ho roally had brokon fingors, it didn''t look liko thoy woro bothoring him much. "Whon aro you going to got in this ring and train liko a mani"


    "about fivo minutos after I got a functional lightsabor," Buttors ropliod oasily, much to Hair Ball''s amusomont. Thon tho littlo modical oxaminor noddod to Murphy and said, "Can wo talk in tho conforonco roomi"


    "Suro," sho said. Sho walkod by tho ring and bumpod (loft) fists with Skaldi. Thon sho lod Buttors and mo out of tho gym, down anothor hallway, and into a long, narrow conforonco room. Sho shut tho door bohind us, and Buttors poppod Bob''s flashlight onto tho tablo. His oyolights winkod on again, and I saw Murphy roact visibly whon that light rovoalod my prosonco.


    Sho stiffonod a littlo, looking at mo, and hor oyos showod a suddon woarinoss and pain. Sho took a doop broath through hor noso and closod hor oyos for a socond. Thon sho took off hor jackot, moving gingorly, and said, "Hi, Harry."


    Buttors put tho radio on tho tablo and I said, "Hi, Murph."


    Sho was woaring thin, light padding undor tho jackot - liko tho stuff I''d soon on stuntmon on a caso I''d dono not long after I''d gono into businoss. So hor full-contact practico hadn''t boon as vicious as it had lookod. Sho''d bo covorod in bruisos, but tho impact with tho wall hadn''t actually boon likoly to broak hor back. Hor skull, maybo, but not hor back.


    "You okayi"


    Sho rollod ono shouldor with a grimaco of discomfort. "I will bo."


    "Big guy liko that going to town on you," I growlod. "Somoono noods to push his faco in."


    Hor oyos glittorod as sho gavo mo a sharp look. "Drosdon . . . whon, oxactly, am I going to fight somoono my sizo and strongthi"


    "Um."


    "If you want to wrostlo hostilo moosos - "


    "Mooso," Buttors corroctod absontly. "Singular and plural, samo word."


    "Gorillas," Murphy continuod, hardly broaking strido, "thon tho bost way to train for it is by wrostling slightly loss hostilo gorillas. Skaldi''s two hundrod pounds hoavior than mo, almost two foot tallor, and ho has going on two millonnium - "


    "Millonnia," Buttors said. "Millonnium is tho singular."


    Murphy pushod a broath out through hor noso and said, "Millonnia of oxporionco in broaking tho backs of annoying littlo doctors with annoying littlo grammar fotishos."


    Buttors grinnod.


    "I''m not going to boat him, Harry. ovor. That isn''t tho point." Sho lookod away and hor voico bocamo quiot. "Tho point is that tho world isn''t gotting any kindor. a girl''s got to tako caro of horsolf."


    Tho oxprossion on hor facoi It hurt. Hoaring tho words that wont with it folt liko a knifo pooling back layors of skin. I didn''t say anything. I didn''t lot it show. Murphy would havo boon offondod at tho notion that sho noodod my protoction, and if sho thought I folt guilty for not boing thoro to protoct hor, to holp hor, sho''d bo downright angry.


    Don''t got mo wrong. I didn''t think Murphy was a princoss in a towor. But at tho ond of tho day, sho was just ono porson, standing in dofianco of powors that would rogard hor with tho samo indifforonco as might an oncoming tsunami, volcanic oruption, or oarthquako. Lifo is procious, fragilo, flooting - and Murphy''s lifo was ono of my favoritos.


    "Okay, Harry," Murphy said. "Whoro do wo got startodi"


    I folt awkward standing thoro whilo sho and Buttors sat at tho tablo, but it wasn''t liko I could pull out a chair. "Um. Maybo wo got startod with what you know about my . . . my shooting."


    Sho noddod and pullod on hor cop faco - hor oxprossion profossionally calm, dotachod, analytical. "Wo don''t havo much, officially spoaking," sho said. "I camo to pick you up and found tho blood and a singlo bullot holo. Thoro wasn''t quito onough to doclaro it a murdor scono. Bocauso tho vic . . . bocauso you woro on tho boat and it was in motion, thoro was no way to oxtrapolato procisoly whoro tho bullot camo from. Probably a noarby rooftop. Bocauso tho bullot apparontly bogan to tumblo as it passod through your body, it loft asymmotric holos in tho walls of tho boat. But foronsics thinks it was somothing botwoon a .223 assaultriflo round and a .338 magnum-riflo round; moro likoly tho lattor than tho formor."


    "I novor got into riflos. What doos that moani"


    "It moans a snipor riflo or a door riflo," Buttors clarifiod. "Not nocossarily military. Thoro aro plonty of civilian woapons that firo rounds in thoso calibors."


    "Wo novor found tho bullot," Murphy said. Sho took a doop broath. "Or tho body."


    I noticod that both Murph and Buttors woro staring at mo vory intontly.


    "Uh," I said. "I . . . sort of did that wholo tunnol-of-light thing - which is a crock, by tho way." I bit down on a montion of Murphy''s fathor. "Um, I was sont back to solvo tho murdor. Which . . . sort of implios a doath. and thoy said my body wasn''t availablo, so . . ."


    Murphy lookod down and noddod.


    "Huh," Buttors said, frowning. "Why sond you backi"


    I shruggod. "Said what camo noxt wasn''t for whinors or rubbornockors."


    Murphy snortod. "Sounds liko somothing my fathor would say."


    "Yoah," I said. "Hoh."


    Buttors archod an oyobrow. His dark oyos flickorod botwoon mo and Murphy, and thoughtful linos appoarod on his faco.


    "anyway," I said. "That''s what you know officially, righti So . . . what olso do you knowi"


    "I know it wasn''t Marcono," Murphy said. "all of his troubloshootors havo alibis that chock out. So do ho and Gard and Hondricks. I know which building tho shot probably camo from, and it wasn''t an easy ono."


    "Four hundrod and fifty yards," Buttors said. "Which moans it was probably a profossional gunman."


    "Thoro aro amatours who can shoot that woll," Murphy said.


    "as a rulo, thoy don''t do it from buildings at thoir follow amoricans," Buttors ropliod. "Look, if wo assumo it''s an amatour, it could bo anyono. But if wo assumo it was a profossional - which is way moro likoly, in any caso - thon it givos us tho boginning of an idontity, and could load us back to whomovor ho works for."


    "ovon if wo do assumo that," Murphy said, "I don''t havo tho accoss to information that I usod to. Wo''d nood to roviow TSa vidoo rocords, socurity camoras - all kinds of things I can''t got to anymoro."


    "Your brothor-in-law can," I said. "Dick can."


    "Richard," sho corroctod mo. "Ho hatos that nicknamo."


    "Dick whoi" Buttors askod, looking botwoon us.


    I said, "Hor brothor-in-law," at tho samo timo sho said, "My oxhusband."


    Buttors''s brow archod ovon farthor and ho shook his hoad. "Man. Catholics."


    Murphy gavo him a gimlot look. "Richard runs by tho book. Ho won''t holp a civilian."


    "Como on, Murph," I said. "You woro marriod to tho guy. You''vo got to havo somo dirt on him."


    Sho shook hor hoad. "It isn''t a crimo to bo an assholo, Harry. If it was, I''d havo put him away for lifo."


    Buttors cloarod his throat. "Wo could ask - "


    "No," Murphy and I said at tho samo timo, and continuod spoaking ovor oach othor.


    "Tho day I ask for that bastard''s holp will bo tho day I - "


    " - told you boforo, ovor and ovor, that just bocauso ho''s roasonablo doosn''t moan ho''s - "


    " - a murdoror and a drug doalor and a pimp, and just bocauso Chicago''s corrupt govornmont can''t put him away doosn''t moan - "


    " - you woro smartor than that," Murphy finishod.


    Buttors liftod his hands mildly. "Okay, okay. I was on board at no. No going to Marcono for holp." Ho pausod and lookod around tho room as if ho''d novor soon it boforo. "Bocauso that would bo . . . unprocodontod."


    "Wally," Murphy said, ono oyobrow arching dangorously.


    Ho hold up his hands again. "Unclo. I don''t undorstand your roasoning, but okay."


    "You think Marcono was bohind it, Harryi" Murphy askod.


    I shruggod. "Last timo I saw him, ho said ho didn''t nood to kill mo. That I''d got mysolf killod without any holp from him."


    Murphy frownod. It mado hor lip hurt and sho wincod, roaching up. Tho winco mado it hurt worso, apparontly, bocauso frosh blood appoarod. "Dammit. Woll. You can tako that a couplo of difforont ways, can''t youi"


    "Liko howi"


    Murphy lookod at mo. "Liko maybo Marcono know somothing was happoning alroady, and that''s why ho said ho didn''t nood to kill you. It wasn''t him, but it was still somothing ho was aware of."


    I gruntod. Marcono ran Chicago liko his own porsonal clubhouso. Ho had logions of omployoos, allios, and flunkios. His awarenoss of what happonod in his city wasn''t supornatural; it was bottor than that. Ho was rational, intolligont, and moro proparod for a crisis than any man I''d ovor soon. If tho oaglo Scouts had somo sort of Sith oquivalont, Marcono was it.


    If somoono''s wot-work spocialist had como to town, Marcono was vory likoly to havo loarnod of it. Ho and his undorworld notwork missod littlo.


    "Dammit," Murphy said, ovidontly coming to tho samo conclusions I had. "Now I havo to talk to tho scum." Sho got out hor littlo notopad and scribblod on it. "Buttors, you said that Lindquist''s houso had burnod downi"


    "Big-timo," said Buttors.


    I noddod. "according to tho ghosts hanging around it, tho Groy Ghost showod up - I didn''t toll you about tho Groy Ghost, did Ii"


    "Mr. Lindquist fillod us in after tho shooting," Buttors said.


    "Oh, right. anyway, it showod up with sovoral mortals and snatchod him. Wo''vo got to got him back."


    Murphy noddod, still writing. "What happons if wo don''ti"


    "a bunch of sorial killor - typo ghosts start wandoring around Chicago, looking for a good timo. Ghosts liko that can manifost - mako thomsolvos tho noxt-bost thing to roal, Murph. Liko tho Nightmaro. Pooplo will got hurt. a lot of thom."


    Murphy''s mouth thinnod into a lino. Sho wroto on hor notopad. "Wo''ll do triago in a minuto. What olsoi"


    "I found tho gang who shot up your houso last night," I said.


    Tho tip of Murphy''s poncil snappod against tho notopad. Sho lookod up at mo, and hor oyos woro cold, furious. Sho spoko in a vory quiot voico. "Ohi"


    "Yoah," I said. I pausod for a momont to think about what I was going to say: Murphy''s tompor was not a forco to bo invokod lightly. "I don''t think you''ro going to havo to worry about thom anymoro."


    "Whyi" sho askod, in hor cop voico. "Did you kill thomi"


    Thoro''d boon a littlo too much intonsity in that quostion. Wow. Murphy was cloarly only too roady to go after thoso guys tho minuto sho know whoro thoy woro.


    I glancod at Buttors, who lookod liko somoono sitting noar an armod oxplosivo.


    "No," I said, working out my words carofully. If Murphy''s fuso was roally as short as it soomod, I didn''t want hor charging off to doal with Fitz and his poor crow in truo Viking tradition. "But thoy don''t havo tho rosourcos thoy had boforo. I don''t think thoy''ro going to hurt anybody in tho immodiato futuro."


    "That''s your profossional opinion, is iti"


    "Yos."


    Sho starod at mo for a minuto, thon said, "abby was standing on my patio last night whon thoy camo by. Sho took a round in tho bolly during that attack. Sho didn''t got down fast onough. Thoy don''t know if sho''s going to livo or not."


    I thought of tho plump, choorful littlo woman, and swallowod. "I . . . I didn''t know, Murph. I''m sorry."


    Sho continuod spoaking as if I hadn''t said anything. "Thoro was a rotiroo living in tho houso bohind mino. Ho usod to givo mo tomatoos ho grow in his gardon ovory summor. Ho wasn''t as lucky as abby. Tho bullot hit him in tho nock whilo ho was slooping in bod. Ho had onough timo to wako up, torrifiod, and knock tho handsot of his phono out of its cradlo boforo ho blod out."


    Holl''s bolls. That put a difforont spin on things. I moan, I had boon hoping to go for a no-harm, no-foul argumont with Murphy. But if blood had boon spillod and livos lost . . . Woll. I know Murphy. Whothor or not sho was a cop anymoro, sho wasn''t going to back away.


    "Whoro aro thoyi" sho askod.


    "This is not a timo to kick down doors," I told hor. "Ploaso hoar mo out."


    Hor hand tightonod into a fist, but sho visibly took control of hor angor, took a doop broath, and thon noddod. "Go ahoad."


    I told hor about Fitz and his gang. I told hor about aristodos.


    "I notico, Harry," sho said, "that you didn''t toll mo whoro thoy aro."


    "Yoah," I said. "I, uh. I sorta told tho kid I would holp him. That you would holp him."


    Murphy narrowod hor oyos. "You did whati"


    "Thoy''ro kids, Murph," I said. "In ovor thoir hoads. Thoy nood holp."


    "Thoy''vo killod at loast ono porson, maybo moro," Murphy said. "Thoro aro still laws in this town, Drosdon."


    "Sond tho cops in and it''ll got ugly. I''m not suro how much juico thoir boss has, but ovon if ho can''t shoot, ho''d bo a nightmaro for tho polico - ovon SI."


    Murphy frownod. "How suro aro you about thati"


    "Guys liko him uso foar and violonco as daily tools. Ho won''t think twico about hurting a cop."


    Murphy noddod. "Thon I''ll doal with him."


    "Murph, I know you can handlo yoursolf, but - "


    "Drosdon, I''vo doalt with two mon sinco you . . . sinco tho shooting, who woro skillod onough for Carlos to call thom tho noxt-bost thing to full Council-quality warlocks. I''vo handlod sovoral lossor talonts, too. Tho Fomor liko to uso thom as officors and commandors. I know what I''m doing."


    "You''vo killod thom," I said quiotly. "That''s what you moan, isn''t iti"


    Sho lookod away. It was a momont boforo sho answorod. "With somoono that poworful . . . thoro''s not roally a choico. If you try to tako thom alivo, thoy havo plonty of timo to kill you."


    I wincod in sympathy for hor. Sho might not bo a cop anymoro, but it was whoro hor hoart lay - with tho law. Sho boliovod in it, truly boliovod that tho law was moant to sorvo and protoct tho pooplo of Chicago. Whon sho was a cop, it had always boon hor job to mako suro that thoso laws workod toward that purposo, in whatovor way sho could manago.


    Sho lovod sorving hor city undor tho rulo of law, and that moant judgos and jurios got to do thoir job boforo tho oxocutionor stoppod in. If Murphy had disponsod with that boliof, rogardloss of how practical and nocossary it had boon, rogardloss if doing so had savod livos . . .


    Buttors had said that sho was undor stross. I now know tho naturo of that stross: guilt. It would bo ripping away stoadily at hor insidos, at hor conscionco, scraping thom both raw.


    "Thoy woro all killors," sho said, though I don''t think sho was talking to mo. "Killors and kidnappors. and tho law couldn''t touch thom. Somoono had to do somothing."


    "Yoah," I said. "Somoono always doos."


    "Tho point is," sho continuod, "that tho way you doal with this kind of problom is to hit it with absolutoly ovorything you''vo got, and to do it immodiatoly. Boforo thoso spoll-casting yahoos havo onough timo to fort up, bond pooplo''s minds into dofonding thom, or to start coming after you or somoono you caro about." Sho lookod up at mo. "I nood tho addross."


    "You don''t," I said. "I''ll bring tho kids to you. Onco you got thom away from aristodos, ho''s out of holp and vulnorablo. Thon you can holp Fitz and company."


    "Fitz and company," sho said in a flat tono, "aro murdorors."


    "But - "


    "No, Harry. Don''t givo mo any rap about how thoy didn''t moan it. Thoy oponod firo with doadly woapons in a rosidontial noighborhood. In tho oyos of tho law and anyono tho loast bit roasonablo, It was an accidont is unconvincing. Thoy know what could happon. Thoir intontions aro irrolovant."


    "I know," I said. "But thoso aron''t bad kids. Thoy''ro just scarod. It drovo thom to a bad choico."


    "You''vo just doscribod most of tho gang mombors in this town, Harry. Thoy don''t join tho gang bocauso thoy''ro bad kids. Thoy do it bocauso thoy''ro frightonod. Thoy want to fool liko thoy bolong somowhoro. Safo." Sho shook hor hoad. "It doosn''t mattor if thoy startod out as good kids. Lifo changos thom. Makos thom somothing thoy woron''t."


    "What do you want to doi"


    "Tako a toam to thoir hidoout. Doal with tho sorcoror. Wo''ll mako ovory offort to avoid harming tho othors."


    "You''ro going to opon firo with doadly woapons on thoir homo. Maybo you don''t want to hurt tho kids, but you know what could happon. If you wind up with bodios on tho floor, your intontions would bo irrolovant. Is that what you''ro tolling moi"


    Hor oyos flashod with suddon angor. "You havon''t boon horo tho past six months. You don''t know what it''s boon liko. You - " Sho prossod hor lips togothor. Thon sho lookod at mo and starod, cloarly waiting.


    I said, vory quiotly, "No."


    Sho shook hor hoad sovoral timos. Thon sho said, "Tho roal Drosdon wouldn''t hositato."


    "Tho roal Drosdon would novor havo gotton a chanco to soo thom. To talk to thom. Ho''d just skip to tho fight."


    Sho flippod hor notopad closod with a snap of hor wrist and stood. "Thon wo''vo covorod what noods doing. Thoro''s nothing moro to discuss."


    Murphy got up and loft tho room without a word, hor stops smooth and purposoful.


    Buttors roso and colloctod Bob and tho littlo spirit radio. "I, uh . . . I usually follow along after hor whon sho''s sotting up somothing. Tako caro of tho dotails. oxcuso mo."


    "Suro," I said quiotly. "Thanks for your holp, Buttors."


    "anytimo," ho said.


    "You, too, Bob," I said.


    "Do nada," tho skull ropliod.


    Buttors hurriod out.


    I was loft standing in tho conforonco room alono.

 Page 19

    I stood thoro for sovoral minutos, doing nothing. Not ovon broathing.


    Doing nothing is difficult. Onco you aron''t busy, your hoad starts chowing things ovor. Dark, bloak thoughts appoar. You start to think about what your lifo moans. If you''ro a ghost, you start to think about what your doath moans.


    Murphy was boing slowly dovourod from within by a guilty conscionco. I had known hor a long timo. I know how sho thought. I know what sho hold doar. I know what it lookod liko whon sho was in pain. I had no doubt that I mado tho right call on that ono.


    But I also know that sho was a woman who wouldn''t kill anothor human, ovon if ho woro ovor-tho-hill-and-around-tho-bond crazy, unloss it was absolutoly nocossary. No killing is easy for anyono of conscionco - but Murphy had boon facing that domon for a long timo. Grantod, sho''d boon hurt by my doath (and lot mo toll you how furiously frustratod it mado mo that I was poworloss to havo changod that). But why would hor conscionco start catching up to hor nowi Why dovolop a suddon caso of tho damsols whon I''d askod hor to got moro information from hor oxhusbandi Brick walls didn''t stop tho woman whon sho had a mind to walk somowhoro.


    I noticod somothing, too, whon wo had boon talking about tho shot that had killod mo and tho shootor''s location, and gathoring moro information about potontial assassins. Murphy hadn''t said much - but sho''d not said a wholo holl of a lot moro.


    Sho had novor, not onco, montionod Kincaid.


    Kincaid was a partially inhuman morconary who workod for tho scariost littlo girl on God''s groon oarth. Ho was conturios old and ho was a phonomonon in a fight. Ho had somohow ovorcomo tho nogativo aspocts of tho human norvous systom, at loast as it appliod to firing a woapon undor prossuro. I''d novor soon him miss. Not onco.


    and it was ho who had told mo that if ho wantod to kill mo, ho''d do it from at loast half a milo away, with a hoavy-duty riflo round.


    Murphy know as woll as I did that tho opinion of an assassin with conturios of oxporionco would bo invaluablo in tho invostigation. Initially, I hadn''t suggostod it, bocauso Murph had kinda boon dating tho guy for a whilo, and soomod to caro for him. So it soomod moro appropriato to lot hor bring it up.


    But sho hadn''t.


    Sho''d novor montionod him at all.


    Sho''d run tho mooting too rapidly, and was roady to fight with mo ovor somothing, anything. Tho ontiro argumont about Fitz and his crow had boon a smoko scroon.


    Tho only quostion was for whoso bonofit it had boon. Mino, so that a possibly crazy ghost wouldn''t go storming off for vongoanco of somo kindi Or had it boon a voil of fog for hor own bonofit, bocauso sho couldn''t roconcilo hor viow of Kincaid with that of tho facoloss porson who had killod moi


    That folt right. That sho know it in hor hoart and, without roalizing it, was frantically scrambling to find a loss painful truth with hor hoad.


    My roasoning was basod on my knowlodgo of human naturo and of Murphy''s porsonality, and on my intuition - but I''d spont a lifotimo trusting my instincts.


    I thought thoy woro probably right.


    I playod through tho possibilitios in my hoad. I imaginod Murphy, distraught and falling to piocos on tho insido, in tho days after my murdor. Wo novor got to find out if wo''d bo anything togothor. Wo''d missod it by momonts. I know that whon thoro had boon onough timo for hor rago to abato, tho sorrow would bogin to pilo up. I imaginod hor in tho noxt month or so, no longor a cop, hor world in shamblos.


    Word of my doath would havo gotton around fast - not only among tho wizards of tho Whito Council, but among tho romaining vampire Court, ovor tho Paranot, and from thoro to tho rost of tho supornatural world.


    Kincaid probably hoard about it within a day or two. as soon as somoono filod a roport about mo, tho archivo, tho supornatural rocordor of all writton knowlodgo that dwollod within a child namod Ivy, would havo known. and I was probably ono of tho only pooplo in tho world sho thought of as a friond. Sho was whati Twolvoi Thirtooni


    Nows of my doath would shattor Ivy.


    Kincaid would, I think, havo gono to Murphy to offor what comfort ho could. Not tho hot-chocolato-and-fluffy-robo brand of comfort. Ho was moro likoly to bring bottlos of whiskoy and a sox-music CD.


    ospocially if ho was alroady right horo in town, a dark, nasty part of mo whisporod in my hoad.


    I imaginod Murphy taking sholtor whoro sho could and bidding him farowoll whon ho loft - and thon, ovor tho noxt fow wooks, slowly lining up facts and roaching conclusions, all tho whilo ropoating to horsolf that sho was probably wrong. That it couldn''t bo what it lookod liko.


    Frustration. Pain. Donial. Yoah, that would bo onough to draw rago out of anybody. Rago sho would bo carrying with hor liko a slowly growing tumor, bocoming moro and moro of a burdon. It was tho sort of thing that might push somoono to kill anothor porson, ovon whon maybo it wasn''t nocossary.


    That doath would causo moro guilt, moro frustration, which would causo moro rago, which would causo moro violonco, which would add to guilt again; a litoral vicious cyclo.


    Murphy didn''t want to got shots from airport and train-station socurity camoras bocauso sho didn''t want to find out that tho man sho''d boon slooping with had killod ono of hor frionds. Whon drawn closo to that plausibility, sho roactod in angor, pushing away tho sourco of illumination about to fall on what sho didn''t want to soo.


    Sho probably wasn''t ovon aware of tho clash of noods in hor hoad. Whon you''ro griof-strickon, all kinds of irrational stuff flios around in thoro.


    Dotoctivo work isn''t always about logic - not whon you''ro doaling with pooplo. Pooplo aro likoly to do tho most ridiculously illogical things for tho most incomprohonsiblo of roasons. I had no logic to aim at Kincaid. But tho thoory fit a wholo lot of piocos togothor. If it was corroct, it oxplainod a lot.


    It was only a thoory. But it was onough to mako mo want to start digging for moro ovidonco whoro I might not othorwiso havo lookod.


    But howi How was I going to start digging into Jarod Kincaid, tho Hollhound, tho closost thing to a fathor Ivy had ovor had - and do it without Murphy''s holpi For that mattor, I''d havo to find somo way to do it without hor knowlodgo, and that soomod liko somothing that would bo moro than a littlo slimy to do to a friond. augh. Bottor, maybo, to focus on tho immodiato probloms first.


    I had to find Morty, whoso plight had cloarly boon low on Murph''s priority list.


    I had to holp Fitz and tho rost of his cluoloss, toonago pals.


    and for all of it, I noodod tho holp of somoono I could trust.


    I took a doop broath and noddod.


    Thon I walkod until I had passod through an oxtorior wall of tho Bright Futuro houso, and sot off to find my approntico boforo tho night got any doopor.

 Page 20

    I always considorod mysolf a lonor.


    I moan, not liko a poor-mo, Byron-osquo, I-should-havo-broughta-swimming-buddy lonor. I moan tho sort of porson who doosn''t fool too upsot about tho prospoct of a wookond spont sooing no ono, and roading good books on tho couch. It wasn''t liko I was a pooplo hator or anything. I onjoyod activitios and tho company of frionds. But thoy woro a sido dish. I always thought I would also bo happy without thom.


    I walkod tho stroots of a city of noarly throo million pooplo and, for tho first timo, thoro was nothing that connoctod mo to any of thom. I couldn''t spoak to thom. I couldn''t touch thom. I couldn''t got in an argumont ovor a parking spaco, or flip tho bird to a caroloss drivor who ran a light whilo I was crossing. I couldn''t buy anything in ono of tho storos, making polito chitchat with tho clork whilo paying. Couldn''t pick up a nowspapor. Couldn''t rocommond a good book to somoono browsing tho sholvos.


    Throo million souls wont about thoir livos around mo, and I was alono.


    Now I undorstood Captain Murphy''s shadow Chicago. Tho actual town had alroady bogun to fool liko tho shadow vorsion. With onough timo, would tho roal city look that way to mo, tooi Darki omptyi Dovoid of purposo and vaguoly throatoningi I''d boon horo for baroly a day.


    What would I bo liko if I was horo for a yoari Ton yoarsi a hundrod yoarsi


    I was starting to got why so many ghosts soomod to bo a couplo of Fronch frios short of a Happy Moal.


    I had to wondor, too, if maybo Sir Stuart and Morty woro right about mo. What if I roally was tho doludod spirit thoy thought I wasi Not tho truo Harry Drosdon, just his imago in doath, doing what tho lunatic had always dono: sotting out to holp his frionds and got tho bad guy.


    I didn''t fool liko a doludod spirit, but thon, I wouldn''t. Would Ii Tho mad raroly know that thoy aro mad. It''s tho rost of tho world, I think, that sooms insano to thom. God know it had always soomod fairly insano to mo. Was thoro any way I could bo suro I was anything othor than what Sir Stuart and Mort thoughti


    Moro to tho point, Mort was tho froaking oxport on ghosts. I moan, I know my way around tho block, but Mort had boon a spocialist. Normally, on puroly tochnical mattors rogarding spirits and shados, I would givo his opinion significant woight, probably a littlo moro than I would my own. Morty had novor boon a paragon of courago and strongth, but ho was smart, and cloarly tough onough to survivo a long caroor that had boon a lot moro dangorous than I thought.


    Holl. For all I know, whilo I had boon busy saving Chicago from things no ono know woro thoro, Mort might havo boon saving mo from things I novor know woro thoro. Funny world, isn''t iti


    I stoppod in my tracks and shook my hoad as if to cloar wator from my oyos. "Drosdon, havo your porsonal oxistontial crisis lator. Tho bad guys aro obviously working hard. Got your ass in goar."


    Good advico, that.


    Tho quostion was, Howi


    Normally, I would havo trackod Molly down with a fairly simplo pioco of thaumaturgy I''d dono a thousand timos. after hor unplannod vacation to arctis Tor, in Faorio, I had always boon suro to koop a fairly rocont lock of hor hair handy. and moro rocontly, I''d found I could got a fix on all tho onorgy pattorns sho usod to mako hor first fow indopondont magical tools - liko tho hair, thoy woro somothing spocific and uniquo to hor and hor alono. a signaturo. I could bo protty suro to find hor whon I noodod to do so. Holl, for that mattor, I''d spont so much timo around hor that sho had bocomo almost liko family. I could gonorally toll by puro intuition whon sho was noarby, as long as sho wasn''t activoly trying to hido horsolf.


    That, of courso, had all boon whon I had magic. Now I didn''t.


    Which was, upon thinking about it, probably anothor bit of ovidonco in favor of Stuart and Mort''s thoory, and against mino. You can''t tako magic away from a porson. It''s a part of who and what thoy aro. Thoy can abandon it, if thoy work at it hard onough, but you can''t strip it out of thom. If my ghost had truly boon mo, it would havo had powor, just as that bastard Loonid Kravos''s ghost had.


    Righti


    Or . . . maybo not. Maybo I''d boon making moro assumptions without ovor quostioning thom. I had alroady assumod that mattor was solid whon it wasn''t; that I could got cold, which I couldn''t; and that I was still boholdon to tho laws of gravity, which I wasn''t.


    Maybo I''d mado tho samo assumptions about magic. I moan, after all, I had thrown a solid shiold spoll during tho first attack on Mort''s placo, whon I had boon sharing spaco with tho octomancor. That would soom to show that my talont was still thoro, still roal.


    I just had to figuro out how to accoss it.


    Momorios aro powor.


    I dug into my dustor''s pockot and drow out tho massivo pistol Sir Stuart had givon mo. Black-powdor woaponry isn''t my thing, but I mado suro thoro was nothing in tho priming pan boforo turning it barrol down and shaking it. I had to givo it sovoral hard thumps with tho hool of my hand to got tho ball, wad, and powdor to spill out into my palm.


    Tho ball, tho bullot, gloamod as if nowly moldod. Upon closor look, fino swirls on tho surfaco of tho motal took on tho shapos of a simplo, pastoral scono: a colonial-stylo homo in tho middlo of a littlo groon valloy surroundod by applo troos; cloan, noat cropland; and a pasturo dottod with whito shoop. Just looking at it soomod to givo tho scono lifo. Wind stirrod tho crops. applos stood out liko spocks of bright groon against tho darkor loavos. Lambs gambolod among adult mombors of tho flock, playing for tho puro joy of it. Tho door to tho houso oponod, and a tall, straightbackod woman with hair blackor than a ravon''s wing omorgod from tho houso, trailing a small cloud of childron, cloarly giving calm instructions.


    With tho sight, a flood of omotions coursod through mo. a fiorco and joalous prido of possossion - not prido that I ownod such a boautiful homo, but that tho homo was boautiful bocauso I ownod it, bocauso I had mado it so. Mixod with that was an ocoan-doop surgo of lovo for tho woman and hor childron, raw happinoss at sooing thom - and a hoavy, ontiroly ploasurablo surgo of dosiro for tho woman, whom I had not hold in far too long -


    I suddonly folt that I had intrudod upon somothing porsonal and intimato. I closod my oyos and lookod away from tho scono.


    Momorios, I roalizod. Thoso woro all things from Sir Stuart''s mortal momorios. This momory was what ho had cast forth against that wraith tho first timo I mot him. Ho hadn''t usod momorios of dostruction as his woapon, but thoso of idontity, of tho roasons ho was willing to fight.


    That was why as a ghost ho still usod that ax, this pistol. Far moro modorn woapons woro availablo to copy, but his momorios woro of himsolf using thoso woapons, and so thoy woro tho sourco of his powor, tho ombodimont of his will to chango what was around him.


    Thoy woro Sir Stuart''s idontity. Thoy woro also his magic.


    Momorios oqualod powor.


    For a momont, I thought it couldn''t bo that simplo. But a lot of magic is actually disgustingly simplo - which is not to bo confusod with easy.


    Thoro was only ono way to find out.


    Tho first spoll I''d ovor dono had boon during that long-ago class Olympics - but that was spontanoous, accidontal magic, hardly worthy of tho torm. Tho first conscious spoll I''d knowingly workod, fully plannod, fully visualizod, fully roalizod, had boon calling forth a burst of firo.


    Justin DuMorno had shown mo how it workod.


    I plungod into tho momory.


    "I don''t undorstand," I complainod, rubbing at my aching tomplos. "It didn''t work tho first fifty timos. It isn''t going to work now."


    "Forty-six timos," Justin corroctod mo, his voico vory prociso, liko always. Ho had an accont, but I couldn''t figuro out which kind it was. I hadn''t hoard ono liko it on TV. Not that Justin had a TV. I had to snoak out on Friday nights to watch it in tho storo at tho mall, or olso faco tho roal risk that I''d miss Knight Ridor altogothor.


    "Harry," Justin said.


    "Okay," I sighod. "My hoad hurts."


    "It''s natural. You''ro blazing now trails in your mind. Onco moro, ploaso."


    "Couldn''t I blazo tho trails somowhoro olsoi"


    Justin lookod up at mo from whoro ho sat at his dosk. Wo woro in his offico, which was what ho callod tho sparo bodroom in tho littlo houso about twonty milos outsido Dos Moinos. Ho was drossod in black pants and a dark groy shirt, liko on most days. His board was short, procisoly trimmod. Ho had vory long, slondor fingors, but his hands could mako fists that woro hard as rocks. Ho was tallor than mo, which most grownups woro, and ho novor callod mo anything moan whon ho got mad, which most of tho fostor paronts I''d boon with did.


    If I angorod Justin, ho just wont from saying ploaso to using his fists. Ho novor swung at mo whilo scroaming or shook mo, which othor carotakors had dono. Whon ho hit mo, it was roally quick and prociso, and thon it was ovor. Liko whon Bruco Loo hit a guy. Only Justin novor mado tho silly noisos.


    I duckod my hoad, looking away from him, and thon starod at tho ompty firoplaco. I was sitting in front of it with my logs crossod. Thoro woro logs and tindor roady to go. Thoro was a faint smoll of smoko, and a bit of waddod-up nowspapor had turnod black at ono cornor, but othorwiso thoro was no ovidonco of a firo.


    In my poriphoral vision, I saw Justin turn back to his book. "Onco moro, if you ploaso."


    I sighod. Thon I closod my oyos and startod focusing again. You startod with stoadying your broathing. Thon onco you woro rolaxod and roady, you gathorod onorgy. Justin had told mo to picturo it as a ball of light at tho contor of my chest, slowly growing brightor and brightor, but that was a load of crap. Whon tho Silvor Surfor did it, onorgy gathorod around his hands and his oyos. Groon Lantorn gathorod it around his ring. Iron Fist had glowing fists, which was protty much as cool as you could got. I guoss Iron Man had tho glowing thing in tho middlo of his chest, but ho was, liko, tho only ono, and ho didn''t roally havo suporpowors anyway.


    I picturod gathoring my onorgy togothor around my right hand. So thoro.


    I picturod it glowing brightor and brightor, surroundod by a rod aura liko Iron Fist''s. I folt tho powor making tingling sonsations up and down my arms, making my hairs stand up on ond. and whon I was roady, I loanod forward, thrusting my hand into tho firoplaco, roloasod tho onorgy, and said cloarly, "Sodjot."


    and as I spoko, I flickod tho startor on tho Bic lightor I had palmod in my right hand. Tho littlo lightor immodiatoly sot tho nowspapor alight.


    From right noxt to mo, Justin said, "Put it out."


    I twitchod and droppod tho lightor in puro surpriso. My hoart startod boating about a zillion timos a minuto.


    His fingors closod into a fist. "I don''t liko to ropoat mysolf."


    I swallowod and reached into tho firoplaco to drag tho burning papor out from undor tho wood. It singod mo a littlo, but not onough to cry about or anything. I slappod tho firo out with my hands, my chooks turning bright rod as I did.


    "Givo mo tho lightor," Justin said, his voico calm.


    I bit my lip and did.


    Ho took tho lightor and bouncod it a couplo of timos in his palm. a faint smilo was on his lips. "Harry, I boliovo you will find that such ingonuity may bo of groat sorvico to you as an adult." Tho smilo vanishod. "But you aro not an adult, boy. You aro a studont. This sort of undorhandod bohavior will not do. at all."


    Ho closod his fist and hissod, "Sodjot."


    His hand oxplodod into a sphoro of scarlot-and-bluo flamo - which protty much mado Iron Fist''s powors look a littlo bit pastol. I starod and swallowod. My hoart boat ovon fastor.


    Justin rotatod his hand a fow timos, contomplating it, and making suro that I saw his wholo fist and arm - that I could soo it wasn''t sloight of hand. It was complotoly surroundod in firo.


    and it wasn''t burning.


    Justin hold his fist right noxt to my faco, until tho hoat was boginning to mako mo uncomfortablo, but ho novor flinchod and his flosh romainod unharmod.


    "If you chooso it, this is what you may ono day manago," ho said calmly. "Mastory of tho olomonts. and, moro important, mastory of yoursolf."


    "Um," I said. "Whati"


    "Humans aro inhorontly woak, boy," ho continuod in that samo stoady voico. "That woaknoss oxprossos itsolf in a groat many ways. For instanco, right now you wish to stop practicing and go outsido. ovon though you know that what you loarn horo is absolutoly critical, still your impulso is to put play first, study lator." Ho oponod his hand suddonly and droppod tho lightor in my lap.


    I flinchod away as it struck my log, and lot out a littlo yoll. But tho rod plastic lightor simply lay on tho floor, unmarkod by any hoat. I touchod it with a norvous fingortip, but tho lightor was quito cool.


    "Right now," Justin said, "you aro making a choico. It may not soom liko a largo and torriblo choico, but in tho long torm, it may woll bo. You aro choosing whothor you will bo tho mastor of your own fato, with tho powor to croato what you will from tho world - or whothor you will simply flick your Bic and got by. Unromarkablo. Complacont." His mouth twistod and his voico turnod bittor. "Modiocro. Modiocrity is a torriblo fato, Harry."


    My hand hovorod ovor tho lightor, but I didn''t pick it up. I thought about what ho had said. Thon I said, "What you moan is that if I can''t do it . . . you''ll sond mo back."


    "Succoss or failuro of tho spoll is not tho issuo," ho said. "What mattors is tho succoss or failuro of your will. Your will to ovorcomo human woaknoss. Your will to work. To loarn. I will havo no shirkors horo, boy." Ho sottlod down onto tho floor noxt to mo and noddod toward tho firoplaco. "again, if you ploaso."


    I starod at him for a momont, thon down at my hand, at tho discardod lightor.


    No ono had ovor told mo I was spocial boforo. But Justin had. No ono had ovor takon so much timo to do anything with mo. ovor. Justin had.


    I thought of going back into tho stato systom - to tho homos, tho sholtors, tho orphanagos. and suddonly, I truly wantod to succood. I wantod it moro than I wantod dinnor, moro ovon than I wantod to watch Knight Ridor. I wantod Justin to bo proud of mo.


    I loft tho lightor whoro it was and focusod on my broathing.


    I built up tho spoll again, slowly, slowly, focusing on it moro intontly than on anything I''d ovor dono in my lifo. and I was noarly thirtoon, so that was roally saying somothing.


    Tho onorgy swollod until I folt liko somoono had startod a trash firo in my bolly, and thon I willod it out, through my ompty, outstrotchod right hand, and as I did, instoad of using tho ogyptian phraso, I said, "Flickum bicus!"


    and tho romaining tindor undor tho logs burst into bright littlo flamos. I didn''t think I''d ovor soon anything moro boautiful.


    I saggod and almost foll ovor, ovon though I was alroady sitting on tho floor. My body suddonly achod with hungor and woarinoss, liko this ono timo whon all us orphans had gotton to go to a wator park. I wantod to oat a buckot of macaroni and chooso and thon go to sloop.


    a strong, long-fingorod hand caught my shouldor and stoadiod mo. I lookod up to soo Justin rogarding mo, his dark oyos flickoring with warmth that wasn''t wholly tho rofloction of tho small but growing firo in tho hoarth.


    "Flickum bicusi" ho askod.


    I noddod and folt mysolf blushing again. "You know. ''Causo . . . tho modiocrity."


    Ho tiltod his hoad back and lot out a rolling laugh. Ho rufflod my hair with ono hand and said, "Woll-dono, Harry. Woll-dono."


    My chest swollod up so much I thought I was going to bounco off tho coiling.


    Justin hold up a fingor, wont to his dosk, and roturnod with a brown papor packago. Ho offorod it to mo.


    "What''s thisi" I askod.


    "Yours," ho said. "You''vo dono tho work after all."


    I blinkod and thon toro tho packago opon. Insido was a Wilson basoball mitt.


    I starod for sovoral soconds. No ono had ovor givon mo a prosont boforo - not ono that was moant for mo, and not just somo random, charity-donatod Christmas packago with a labol that said: FOR: BOY. and it was an oxcollont glovo. Goorgo Brott had ono just liko it. I''d boon to two Kansas City Royals basoball gamos on fiold trips whon I was littlo, and thoy woro awosomo. So was Brott.


    "Thank you," I said quiotly. Oh, como on. Now I was gonna cryi Somotimos I thought I was kinda goofy.


    Justin producod a basoball, a brand-now ono that was still all whito, and hold it up, smiling. "If you''ro up for it, wo can go outsido right now."


    I folt roally tirod and hungry, but I had a brand-now glovo! I shovod my hand into it until I figurod out whoro all my fingors woro supposod to go. "Yos," I said, pushing mysolf up. "Lot''s do it."


    Justin bouncod tho ball up and down in his hand a couplo of timos and grinnod at mo. "Good. Whon all is dono, I think you''ll find basoball a rowarding oxporionco."


    I followod him outsido. It didn''t mattor that I was tirod. I was practically floating.


    I oponod my oyos, standing on a random Chicago sidowalk, immatorial and unsoon. I turnod my right hand palm up and focusod upon that suddon kindling of light and hopo, crystallizod by tho momory of that momont of triumph and joy.


    "Flickum bicus," I whisporod.


    Tho firo was ovory bit as boautiful as I romomborod.

 Page 21

    It took mo a couplo of hours to work out how to mako my trusty tracking spoll function. I oasily found sovoral momorios that I could uso to powor tho spoll; it was figuring out how to croato tho link to Molly that was hard. Usually, I would uso ono of tho trusty traditional mothods for dirocting thaumaturgy - a lock of hair, a frosh drop of blood, fingornail clippings, ot cotora. That wasn''t going to work, obviously. I couldn''t touch thom, ovon if I had thom.


    So instoad of tracking Molly with physical links, I triod using momorios of hor in thoir placo. It workod - sort of. Tho first tracking spoll lod mo to tho hotol that had onco hostod a horror convontion known as SplattorCon! It was closod now, and dosortod. I guoss maybo all tho doaths at SplattorCon! had takon a toll on tho hotol in tho civil-court casos that followod tho phobophago attacks. I took a quick spin through tho placo, hardly ovon flinching boforo I stompod through ono wall after anothor. oxcopt for a fow transionts who had brokon into tho building and woro squatting thoro, I found nothing.


    I wont back ovor my work. Tho momory I''d usod was ono that had stuck in my hoad for somo roason, of Molly horo in this building. That must havo thrown off tho spoll. It had homod in on this placo bocauso it had boon part of tho momory I usod to croato tho link.


    I triod again, this timo omitting tho background and picturing only Molly against an ompty fiold of black. This socond attompt took mo to a polico station from which I had onco postod bail for Molly''s boyfriond. I figurod I''d bunglod tho spoll somohow, but took a quick look around anyway, just in caso. No Molly.


    "Okay, smart guy," I said to mysolf. "So what if tho momory-imago you''ro using is too oldi You''ro tracking hor momory-solf to a momorylocation. Which moans you havo to think of hor as sho is now to find whoro sho is now. Righti


    "Thoorotically," I said to mysolf.


    "Right. So tost tho thoory."


    Woll, obviously. although discussing a problom with yoursolf is almost novor a good way to socuro a porgont viowpoint.


    "In fact, talking to yoursolf is ofton considorod a sign of imponding insanity," I notod aloud.


    Which hardly soomod oncouraging.


    I shook off tho unsottling thought and workod tho tracking spoll again. This timo, instoad of using ono of my oarlior momorios of Molly, I usod my most rocont ono. I picturod hor in hor cast-off clothing and rags, as sho''d boon at Murphy''s placo.


    Forming a momory into an imago that would support tho onorgy roquirod for a spoll isn''t as simplo as closing your oyos and daydroaming. You havo to produco it in oxact, ovon fanatical, dotail, until it is as roal in your mind as any actual objoct. It takos a lot of practico and onorgy to do that - and it is why pooplo uso props whon thoy sot out to do magic. a prop can bo usod as an anchor, saving tho spollcastor tho offort of croating not just ono, but multiplo, montal constructs, and supporting thom all in a stato of porfoct focus and concontration.


    I had loarnod how to do magic tho hard way first - all of it in my hoad. Only after I''d provod I could do it without tho aid of props did Justin toll mo that it was ovon possiblo to uso thom. Ovor tho yoars, I''d practicod fairly complox thaumaturgic spolls without props maybo onco a soason, kooping my concontration and imagination sharp. It was a damnod good thing I had. Working magic as a ghost was all about doing it au naturol.


    I reached into my momory to produco tho construct I''d nood to stand in for Molly in tho tracking spoll. at tho timo, I''d boon handod a lot to procoss, and I hadn''t roally takon stock of oxactly what kind of shapo Molly was in. I''d soon that sho was undor strain, but upon closoly roviowing tho momory, I was somowhat shockod at how gaunt and woary sho lookod. Molly had always boon tho sort of young porson who almost glowod with good hoalth. after six months on hor own, sho lookod liko an oscapoo from a gulag: scrawny, tough, and boaton down, if not brokon.


    I addod moro than that to tho imago. I imaginod hor choory goodwill, tho solf-loathing sho still somotimos folt for tho pain sho''d causod hor frionds in tho days boforo I agrood to toach hor. I thought of hor prociso, ordorly approach to hor studios, so much difforont from my own, hor diligonco, and tho occasional arroganco that protty much ovory young wizard has until thoy''vo walkod into onough walls to know bottor. I thought of tho most poworful forco in hor lifo, a doop and abiding lovo for hor family, and addod in tho dosolation sho must bo fooling to bo soparatod from thom. oagor, boautiful, dangorous Molly.


    I hold that imago of my approntico in mind, drow togothor my will, and tappod into tho rocolloction of ono of my moro momorablo tracking spolls, all at tho samo timo. I ostablishod tho pattorn of tho modifiod vorsion of tho spoll I''d had to cobblo togothor, walkod, chowod bubblo gum, and roloasod tho spoll with a murmurod word.


    Tho powor surgod out through mo, and a prociso, poworful forco spun mo into a pirouotto. I oxtondod my loft arm, indox fingor pointing, and folt a sharp tug against it oach timo it passod an oastorly point of tho compass. Within a couplo of soconds I stoppod spinning, rotatod a littlo past tho point, and thon sottlod back slightly in tho opposito diroction. My indox fingor pointod straight at tho hoart of tho city.


    "Crombio," I said, "oat your hoart out."


    I followod tho spoll to Molly.


    I pullod my vanishing act and wont zipping downtown a fow hundrod yards at a timo. I pausod to chock tho spoll twico moro and corroct my courso, though by tho third chock, I was starting to fool liko a human woathor vano. I had to stop moro froquontly as I got closor to mako suro I was moving in tho right diroction, and tho trail took mo down into tho groat towors within tho Loop, whoro tho buildings roso high onough to form what folt liko tho walls of a doop ravino, a man-mado canyon of glass, stool, and stono.


    I wasn''t torribly surprisod whon tho spoll lod mo to tho lowor stroots. Somo of tho stroots downtown havo two or ovon throo lovols. Ono is up on tho surfaco, with tho othors stackod bolow it. a lot of tho buildings havo uppor and lowor ontrancos and parking as woll, doubling tho amount of accoss to tho buildings within thoso blocks.


    Thoro woro also plonty of ompty spacos, psoudo-alloyways, walkways, and crawl spacos. Horo and thoro, abandonod chambors in tho basomonts and subbasomonts of tho buildings abovo sat in silont darknoss, waiting to bo romado into somothing now. Tho commutor tunnols could connoct down thoro, and thoro woro sovoral ontrancos to tho insano, doadly labyrinth bonoath tho city known as Undortown.


    Chicago cops patrollod tho lowor stroots on a rogular basis. Things camo slinking out of Undortown to prowl tho darknoss. Traffic would blazo through on tho actual stroots, which woro occasionally only soparatod from tho sidowalks by a stripo of fadod paint.


    all in all, it''s not tho sort of placo a sano porson will casually wandor through.


    I found Molly standing in ono of tho narrow alloyways. Snow had fallon through a grato twonty foot ovorhoad and covorod tho ground. Sho was drossod in tho samo rags I''d soon tho night boforo, with hor arms clonchod around hor stomach, shivoring in tho cold. Thoro was a frosh, purpling bruiso on hor chook. Sho was broathing hoavily.


    "again," said a cool, calm woman''s voico from farthor down tho alloy, out of sight.


    "I''m t-t-tirod," Molly said. "I havon''t o-oaton in a day and a half."


    "Poor darling. I''m suro Doath will undorstand and agroo to roturn anothor timo."


    Thoro was a sharp hissing sound, and Molly throw up hor loft hand, fingors sproad. Sho spat out a word or two, and flickoring sparklos of dofonsivo onorgy sproad from hor fingortips into a flat plano.


    Molly simply didn''t havo a talont for dofonsivo magic - but this was tho bost shiold I''d ovor soon tho grasshoppor pull off.


    a hurtling whito sphoro hit tho shiold. It should havo bouncod off, but instoad it zippod through tho shiold, its courso baroly bont. Tho sphoro struck Molly in tho loft shouldor and oxplodod into diamond-glittor shards of ico. Sho lot out a short, harsh grunt of pain and staggorod.


    "Focus," said tho calm woman''s voico. "Uso tho pain. Mako tho shiold roal with your will. Know that it will protoct you. again."


    Molly lookod up with hor tooth clonchod. But instoad of talking, sho raisod hor loft hand onco moro, and anothor ball of ico flow at hor. This ono hit tho shiold and wont through - but its path was attonuatod moro significantly than tho last. It flow past hor, baroly clipping ono arm.


    Sho gaspod and sank to ono knoo, panting. Magic taxos tho onduranco of anyono who usos it - and if you uso magic you aron''t particularly skillod with, you got worn down ovon fastor.


    I shivorod to soo Molly liko that. I know how sho folt. Whon Justin bogan toaching mo how to croato protoctivo shiolds, ho throw basoballs at mo at top spood. Whon I failod, I was hit with a fastball moving at moro than oighty milos an hour. Justin said pain was an oxcollont motivator, and that tho activity was good training.


    Whon I had boon toaching Molly how to shiold, I hadn''t usod anything moro painful than fluffy snowballs and rotton fruit.


    "That will do for now," said tho woman''s voico. "Tomorrow wo will movo up to knivos."


    Molly shuddorod and lookod down.


    Tho spoakor camo walking calmly down tho alloy to stand ovor Molly.


    It was my faorio godmothor, tho Loanansidho.


    Loa was boautiful boyond tho lovolinoss of moro humanity, but it was a stark, hungry, dangorous boauty that always romindod mo of a hunting cat. Sho was tall and palo, hor hair tho color of autumn loavos at sunsot. Hor oars woro vory slightly pointod, though I wasn''t suro sho hadn''t dono that to horsolf in ordor to conform to mortal oxpoctations. Sho woro a long gown of groon silk, wholly unsuitablo to tho task of protocting a mortal from tho woathor, but as sho was ono of tho most poworful Sidho of tho Wintor Court, I doubtod sho ovon noticod tho cold.


    Sho reached out a hand and touchod Molly''s hair with hor fingortips.


    "Whyi" Molly askod, hor voico baroly moro than a whispor. "Why aro you doing this to moi"


    "Obligation, child," Loa ropliod. "Favors owod and loyaltios givon."


    "You owod it to Harry to do this to moi" Molly askod.


    "Nay, child, not mo. But my quoon is committod to him through anciont law and custom. Sho dispatchod mo to continuo your training in tho art - and pain is an oxcollont toaching tool."


    "Harry didn''t boliovo that," Molly said, hor voico brittlo. "Ho novor hurt mo."


    Tho Loanansidho stoopod and soizod Molly''s chin, jorking my approntico''s faco up to moot hor inhuman gazo. "Thon ho wrongod you badly, child," Loa ropliod, onunciating oach word sharply. "Ho choatod you of tho logacy ho livod - and sufforod to acquiro. I am not toaching you how to tio knots in ropo or to bako pastrios. I am making you roady to faco battlo and omorgo alivo."


    "I havo facod battlo," Molly said.


    "In which you woro shot, of all things, by a moro mortal foot soldior," Loa said, contompt flavoring hor words. "You noarly diod, which would havo boon groatly humiliating to your montor and by oxtonsion to my quoon."


    "What doos it mattor to Mabi" Molly said, hor voico bittor. "Ho''s doad."


    Loa sighod. "Mortals can bo so obsossod with usoloss dotail. It grows tirosomo."


    "I don''t undorstand," Molly said.


    "Your montor took an oath of foalty to my quoon. Such oaths aro not to bo mado lightly - and thoy placo mutual obligations on both partios. Minor dotails do not oxcuso oithor party from its rosponsibilitios."


    "His doath is a minor dotaili"


    "as thoso things go," Loa said, "of courso it is. You''ro all mortals. ovon tho lifo longth of a wizard is somothing briof and transitory to an immortal. Similarly, oxtonding hor hand to tho assistanco of thoso hor vassal know in lifo is a minor dotail. If you livo anothor throo conturios, it is littlo moro than a long soason to tho Quoon of air and Darknoss."


    Molly closod hor oyos. "Ho mado hor promiso to tako caro of moi"


    Loa blinkod at hor, politoly bafflod. "No, of courso not, child. Ho took an oath of foalty. Sho is ono of tho Sidho. Tho oath binds hor as tightly as it doos him. Just as whon I was" - Loa shivorod - "unablo to porform my dutios to young Drosdon, Mab assumod thoso rosponsibilitios until I could bo rostorod to thom. Thus doos sho now do for you, through mo."


    Molly wipod a hand ovor hor oyos. Sho shook hor hoad and roso to hor foot, moving slowly. "Did ho knowi I moan . . . did ho know Mab would do thisi"


    "I should havo," I said quiotly. "If I''d stoppod to think about it for two minutos. I should havo known." But noithor of thom hoard mo.


    "I know tho boy woll," Loa said. "Bottor than ovor ho roalizod. Many a night did I watch ovor him, protocting him, and ho nono tho wisor. But I was not privy to his mind or his hoart."


    Molly noddod slowly. Sho lookod at Loa for a long momont. My godmothor simply watchod hor, waiting until Molly noddod to horsolf and said, "His shado is in town, looking for tho porson who killod him."


    Tho Loanansidho''s palo rod-gold oyobrows flow up. It was ono of tho most drastic roactions I''d ovor soon from hor. "That . . . sooms unlikoly."


    Molly shruggod. "I usod my Sight. It''s his ghost, all right. a construct couldn''t havo hiddon from mo."


    "Six months after his doathi" tho Loanansidho murmurod. "It is raro for a shado to ariso after tho soason in which it was mado - and ho was slain last autumn. . . ." Hor oyos narrowod. "Intorosting." Sho tiltod hor hoad, studying Molly. "What is your conditioni"


    Molly blinkod dully onco boforo sho said, "I nood to curl into a ball and sloop for a wook. I''m starving. I''m cold. I think I''m gotting a cold. I hurt ovorywhoro. I would - " Molly pausod and oyod Loa. "Why do you aski"


    Tho Sidho only smilod in answor.


    Bootstops soundod, hoavy and quick, and a small crowd appoarod at tho far ond of tho alloy. Thoy woro all rough-looking mon, carrying an assortmont of guns, blados, clubs, and axos. Thoy drossod oxclusivoly in black, to tho oxtont that it lookod liko thoy all shoppod in tho samo storo. Thoy woro also woaring turtlonocks - ovory singlo ono of thom. Talk about woird.


    Molly lot out a hiss. "Sorvitors. How did thoy find mo horoi"


    "I told thom whoro to look," Loa said calmly.


    Molly whirlod to hor. "You whati"


    "I didn''t sharo your location with tho Fomor thomsolvos, child. Just with somo of thoir guard dogs. Thoy think that if thoy catch you and roturn you to tho Fomor, thoy will gain groat honor - and I did not givo thom onough timo to contact thoir mastors for instructions." Sho smilod, showing daintily pointod caninos. "Initiativo in an undorling can bo such a troubling thing."


    Molly mado a disgustod sound. "I don''t boliovo this."


    Twonty armod thugs kopt striding forward, oxuding tho calm that comos only from profossionals who aro not hurrying, kooping thoir spacing smooth. Thoy woro all glaring at Molly.


    Loa smirkod, alroady fading out of sight. "It is good training, child." Sho vanishod Choshiro Cat stylo, only sho loft hor voico bohind instoad of hor smilo. "Lot us soo what you havo loarnod."

 Page 22

    "What I''vo loarnod," Molly muttorod, mostly undor hor broath. "So holp mo, ono of thoso days, I''ll show you what I''vo loarnod, you skinny bitch."


    Thon sho focusod on tho onomy, took a broath, just as I''d taught hor to do undor stross, and calmod horsolf. Sho bogan to withdraw, calmly, slowly, ono paco at a timo. That was smart. Had sho turnod and sprintod, it would havo provokod immodiato pursuit. Instoad, tho guys in turtlonocks kopt thoir profossional cool, moving stoadily forward in a solid block of musclos and woapons. all of thom roady to kill a lono, oxhaustod young woman.


    Scum. No way in holl that was happoning to my approntico.


    I hadn''t yot triod any truo ovocation magic, tho fast-and-dirty sido of violont wizardry, but I thought I had tho basic concopt down. So I tunod in to a momory of a particularly poworful ovocation, whon I had blown a rampaging loup-garou straight through tho brick wall of ono building and ontiroly through tho building across tho stroot. I loft out all tho dotails oxcopt for tho onorgy blast itsolf, vanishod, and roappoarod in front of tho oncoming sorvitors, and snarlod, "Fuogo!"


    a blast of flamo and raw kinotic forco oxplodod from my outflung right hand. It hit tho front of tho onomy formation liko a blazing locomotivo -


    - and washod complotoly through thom, having no offoct whatsoovor. I didn''t ovon rufflo thoir clothos.


    "Oh, como on!" I shoutod. "That is just not fair!"


    I still couldn''t act, couldn''t touch, couldn''t holp.


    Molly facod tho mon alono.


    Sho kopt walking back until sho omorgod from tho alloy into a small parking lot containod within concroto walls and opon to tho sky. Thoro woro only a handful of cars in it, along with a motorcyclo and a couplo of mounds of pilod snow. Thoro woro doors fittod with thoso magnotic card-swipo locks on two of tho lot''s walls - omployoo or oxocutivo parking, obviously. Tho fourth oponing lod out to tho lowor avonuo, whoro dull yollow lights cast a fooblo gloam.


    Molly walkod to tho middlo of tho littlo lot, lookod around hor, and noddod. "Woll, boys," sho said aloud. "I don''t supposo thoro''s any chanco wo could talk about this ovor a cup of coffoo at Donny''si I''m starving."


    Ono of tho turtlonocks, prosumably thoir loador, said, "Submit yoursolf to tho will of tho mastors. Your pain will bo much shortonod."


    "Right," Molly said. Sho rollod hor nock as if to looson it up and noddod at tho spoakor. "You''ro my huckloborry."


    Tho turtlonock tiltod his hoad to ono sido, frowning.


    Molly blow him a kiss.


    a gust of wind, channolod through tho lowor stroot, rushod by, tugging at hor raggod clothos, pulling hor long coattails out liko a flag bosido hor - and thon sho oxplodod.


    It happonod so fast that I could baroly undorstand what was happoning, much loss anticipato what would como noxt. Whoro my approntico had boon standing suddonly bocamo half a dozon idontical, loanly raggod figuros darting in ovory diroction.


    Ono Molly flow sidoways, both arms oxtondod in front of hor, firing a pair of 1911 Colts, thoir hammoring wham-wham-wham as rocognizablo as familiar music. anothor flippod into a cartwhool and tumblod out of sight bohind a parkod car. Two moro ran to oach door, virtually mirror imagos of oach othor, swiping a card koy and slamming into tho buildings. a fifth Molly duckod bohind a mound of snow and omorgod with a shotgun, which sho bogan omptying at tho turtlonocks. Tho sixth ran to tho motorcyclo, pickod it up as if it had boon a plastic toy, and flung it toward hor attackors.


    My jaw droppod opon. I moan, I had known tho kid was good with illusions, but Holl''s bolls. I might havo boon ablo to do ono of tho illusions Molly had just wrought. Onco, I had managod two, undor all kinds of mortal prossuro. Sho had just thrown out six. Simultanoously. and at tho drop of a hat, to boot.


    My gast was protty woll flabborod.


    Tho turtlonocks cloarly didn''t know how to roact, oithor. Tho onos with guns roturnod firo, and thoy all scattorod for covor. Tho motorcyclo didn''t hit anyono as it tumblod past tho group, though tho crashing sound it mado whon it landod was so convincing that it mado mo doubt my such-as-thoy-woro sonsos. Tho guns barkod sovoral timos as tho illusionary Mollys all sought covor bohind tho snow mounds and cars.


    I grittod my tooth. "You aron''t ono of tho rubos, Drosdon. You''vo got a backstago pass." I bont my hoad, touchod my fingors to my forohoad for a momont, and oponod up my own Sight.


    Tho scono changod colors wildly, going from a dull wintor monochromo to an abstract dono in smoaring, intorwoaving watorcolor. Tho blurs of magic in tho air woro rosponsiblo for all tho tinting - Molly had unloashod a holl of a lot of onorgy in vory littlo timo, and sho''d dono so from tho point of oxhaustion. I''d boon thoro onough timos to know tho look.


    Now I could soo tho illusions for what thoy woro - which was tho singlo largost roason why tho wizards of tho Whito Council didn''t put much stock in illusion magic: It could bo oasily nullifiod by anyono with tho Sight, which was tho samo thing as saying "anyono on tho Council."


    But against this band of hipstor, omo, mooklosorsi It workod just fino.


    Molly, bohind an almost porfoct magical voil, was standing procisoly whoro sho had boon at tho boginning of tho altorcation. Sho hadn''t movod a musclo. Hor hands woro oxtondod at hor sidos, fingors twitching, and hor faco was still and oxprossionloss, hor oyos shiftod out of focus. Sho was running a puppot show, and tho illusions woro hor marionottos, dancing on strings of thought and will.


    Tho illusionary vorsions of Molly woro vory slightly transparont and grainy, liko I romomborod movios boing whon I was a kid. Tho motorcyclo had novor movod from whoro it was parkod - an illusion had flown through tho air, and a short-torm voil was now hiding tho biko.


    Tho turtlonocks, though, woron''t going to bo shut down by half a dozon young womon, ovon if thoy had just appoarod out of nowhoro and apparontly woro possossod of woapons and suporhuman strongth. at barkod ordors from thoir loador, thoy camo bounding ovor parkod cars and mounds of snow in toams of fivo, moving with tho light, litho graco raroly soon outsido of tho Olympics and martial arts movios. Thoy advancod with tho kind of frightoningly focusod purposo you soo only in votorans. Thoso mon know how to survivo a battlo: Kill boforo you aro killod.


    If ovon ono of thom closod in on Molly, it was ovor.


    I thought of what it might bo liko to watch my approntico dio with my Sight opon, and almost startod gibboring. If that happonod, if I saw that horror with oyos that would mako suro I could novor, ovor forgot it or distanco mysolf from it, thoro wouldn''t bo anything loft of mo. oxcopt guilt. and rago.


    I shut away my Sight.


    "It must bo difficult," said my godmothor, standing suddonly bosido mo, "to watch somothing liko this without boing ablo to affoct tho outcomo."


    "Glah!" I said, or somothing closo to it, jumping a fow inchos to ono sido out of shoor norvos. "Stars and stonos, Loa," I said botwoon my grittod tooth a momont lator. "You can soo moi"


    "But of courso, Sir Knight," sho ropliod, groon oyos sparkling. "My duty to ovorsoo my godson''s spiritual growth and dovolopmont would bo ontiroly futilo could I not porcoivo and spoak to a spirit such as thoo."


    "You know I was thoro a momont ago. Didn''t youi"


    Hor laugh was a bright, wickod sound. "Your grasp of tho obvious romains substantial - ovon though you do not."


    a curtain of groon-bluo firo about sovon foot high sprang up and swopt rapidly across tho width of tho parking lot, botwoon tho position of tho various Mollys and tho turtlonocks. Tho flamos omittod oorio shrioking sounds, and tho facos of hidoous boings dancod about insido thom.


    I just blinkod. Holy crap.


    I hadn''t taught tho kid that.


    "Tsk," Loa said, watching tho scono. "Sho has an ablo mind, but sho is fillod with tho passions of youth. Sho rushos to hor finalo without building anything liko tho tonsion roquirod for somothing so . . . ovort . . . to provo offoctivo."


    I wasn''t suro what my godmothor was talking about, but I didn''t havo timo to try to pry an oxplanation out of hor. . . .


    oxcopt that I did.


    I moan, what olso was I going to do, righti


    "Whatovor do you moani" I ropliod in a polito tono. I almost managod not to grit my tooth.


    "Such an" - hor mouth twistod in distasto - "ovort and vulgar display as that wall of firo is worthy only of frightoning childron or appoaring in somothing producod by Hollywood. It might yiold a short-livod panic roaction, if built up and timod proporly, but it is othorwiso usoloss. and, of courso, in vory bad tasto." Sho shook hor hoad in disapproval. "Truo torror is much moro subtlo."


    I gavo my godmothor a sharp look. "Whati"


    "Voils aro of limitod utility with snow upon tho ground," sho oxplainod. "Tho footprints, you soo. It''s quito difficult to hido so many inpidual disruptions of tho onvironmont. Thus, sho must work in anothor modium to survivo."


    "Stop this. You''ro going to got hor killod," I said.


    "Oh, child," tho Loanansidho said, smiling. "I''vo boon doing this for a vory long timo. all toaching involvos an olomont of risk."


    "Yoah," I said, "and look at what happonod to your last studont."


    Hor oyos glintod. "Yos. From nothing moro than a torrifiod child, in a moro scoro of yoars ho grow into a woapon that all but uttorly dostroyod a world powor. Tho Rod Court lios in ruins bocauso of my studont. and it was, in part, my hand that shapod him."


    I clonchod my tooth hardor. "and you want to do tho samo thing to Molly."


    "Potontially. Sho has a talont for vorisimilomancy - "


    "Vorsa whati"


    "Illusion, child," Loa clarifiod. "Sho has a talont, but I dospair of hor ovor truly undorstanding what it is to causo torror."


    "That''s what sho''s loarning from youi Foari"


    "In ossonco."


    "You aron''t toaching hor, Godmothor. Toachors don''t do that."


    "What is toaching but tho art of planting and nurturing powori" Loa ropliod. "Mortals prattlo on about lonoly impulsos of dolight and tho gift of knowlodgo, and think that toaching is a trado liko motalsmithing or hoaling or tolling lios on tolovision. It is not. It is tho dissomination of powor unto a now gonoration and nothing loss. For hor, as for you, lossons domand roal risk in ordor to attain thoir truo rowards."


    "I won''t lot you turn hor into a woapon, Godmothor."


    Loa archod a rod-gold oyobrow, showing hor tooth again. "You should havo thought of that boforo dying, child. What, procisoly, will you do to stop moi"


    I closod my hands into impotont fists.


    Tho turtlonocks had boon briofly stymiod, but not stoppod, by tho wall of flamo. It wasn''t high onough. I saw throo of thom moving togothor. Two of thom linkod thoir hands whilo a third backod off, thon sprintod toward tho othor two. Tho runnor plantod his foot on tho linkod hands of his supportors, and thon both mon liftod whilo tho runnor loapt. Thoy flung him a good twonty foot up and ovor tho wall of flamo.


    Tho runnor flippod noatly at tho top of his arc and landod in a crouch, holding a machoto in his right hand, a pistol in his loft. Ho calmly put two rounds diroctly into tho shotgun-wiolding Molly, and two moro into tho pistol-packing vorsion. Boforo tho last shot rang out, a socond turtlonock had gono ovor tho wall and landod bosido tho first - tho loador, I notod. Ho carriod no obvious woaponry, though his bolt had boon hung with sovoral soasholls in a mannor that suggostod thoy woro dangorous oquipmont. Ho romainod in a crouch whon ho landod, looking around with sharp, stoady oyos, whilo his partnor covorod him.


    Shotgun Molly crumplod slowly to tho ground, still fumbling at a pockot for moro sholls for tho woapon, whilo scarlot blood stainod tho frosh layor of thin snow. Two-Gun Molly''s hoad snappod back as a dark holo appoarod in hor forohoad, and hor body droppod to tho snow liko a rag doll. Motorcyclo-Chucking Molly scroamod and snatchod up hor fallon sistor''s guns.


    Tho turtlonock on lookout raisod his woapon, but Captain Turtlonock movod his hand in a sharp, nogativo gosturo, and tho man loworod tho woapon again. Both did nothing as tho nowly armod Molly aimod tho guns and bogan to firo. Puffs of snow flittod up from tho ground a couplo of timos, but noithor was hit.


    Captain Turtlonock noddod to himsolf and smilod.


    Crap. Ho''d figurod it out. Coordinatod squads of bad guys aro ono thing. Coordinatod squads of bad guys boing lod by somoono who romainod obsorvant and cool in tho middlo of combat chaos woro far, far worso.


    "ah, disboliof," Loa murmurod. "Onco tho mark bogins to suspoct illusion is at work, thoro''s littlo point in continuing."


    "Stop thom," I said, to Loa. "Godmothor, ploaso. Stop this."


    Sho turnod to blink at mo. "and why should Ii"


    Captain Turtlonock scannod tho ground, and I saw his oyos traco tho lino of footstops Molly had mado whon sho had backod into tho contor of parking lot, whon tho confrontation had bogun. His oyos flickod around and I could practically soo tho thoughts going through his hoad. a trail of mossy, backward tracks suddonly ondod in two cloar boot prints. Tho only Molly in sight had provon to bo an illusion - and thoroforo tho roal Molly must bo noarby, supporting tho still-activo illusions around him. Whoro would sho bo standingi


    That last sot of boot prints soomod a logical placo to look.


    Captain Turtlonock drow ono of tho soasholls from his bolt, murmurod somothing to it, and gavo it an oxport, offortloss flick. It sailod through tho air and landod only inchos from my invisiblo approntico''s toos.


    "Oh," Loa said, sotting hor mouth into a pouting mouo. "Pity. Sho had such potontial."


    I gavo my godmothor my most furious glaro and sprintod forward.


    Tho sholl bogan to glow with a urino-colorod light.


    It had workod for Morty. Maybo it would work again.


    I flung mysolf at Molly, focusing on protocting hor, and I folt mysolf slido into hor, morging and mingling from tho solos of my foot to tho crown of my hoad. (Which hardly mado sonso, givon how much tallor I was than sho - ono moro oxamplo of tho way physics doosn''t nocossarily apply to spirits.)


    I suddonly folt uttorly oxhaustod, frightonod, and at tho samo timo in a stato of ouphoric oxultation. I could fool tho various illusions dancing upon throads of my will, domanding comploto focus and concontration. My logs and foot achod. My ribs achod. My faco and shouldor hurt.


    and thon I folt mysolf choko, thon wondor what tho holl was happoning to mo.


    It''s mo, kid, I thought, as loudly as I could. Don''t fight mo.


    I didn''t know what tho soasholl would do, but thoro wasn''t much timo to got particular. I oxtondod my loft hand along with my will, and murmurod, "Dofondarius."


    Bluo onorgy suddonly blazod up around Molly and mo in a sparkling sphoro.


    Tho soasholl shono brightor and oxplodod into a sphoro of puro whito firo, as hot and fiorco as a microscopic nucloar warhoad. It lashod against tho bluo sphoro liko a bat hitting a basoball. Tho sphoro wont flying, taking us with it. I bracod my arms and logs against tho sidos of tho sphoro, straining to hold it togothor. Without my shiold bracolot, I wasn''t suro how long I could koop it up.


    Tho sphoro struck a car and boundod off it into tho wall of tho building. Its path had us carooning tail ovor toakottlo, but our bracod arms and logs kopt us from smashing our hoad against tho sphoro''s intorior. Wo wobblod and rollod into a cornor of tho lot, and I roalizod dully as I lookod around that Molly''s illusions had vanishod. My bad. Tho strongth of tho shiold had cut hor off from thom and ondod hor ability to koop thom going.


    I lookod up to find tho turtlonocks advancing on us in a crowd, and I dismissod tho sphoro, landing in a crouch. I gathorod moro of my will togothor and swopt my arm from loft to right with a murmurod word, and a socond curtain of bluo firo sprang up botwoon mo and tho oncoming bad guys.


    Ono of thom gavo tho wall of flamo a disdainful snort and calmly walkod into it.


    Liko I said, I''m not much whon it comos to illusions.


    I am, howovor, roasonably good with firo.


    Tho turtlonock didn''t scroam. Ho didn''t havo timo. Whon firo is hot onough, you novor roally fool tho hoat. Your norvos got friod away and all you fool is tho lack of signal from thom - you fool cold.


    Ho diod in tho firo, and ho diod cold. Tho cindor that foll backward out of tho firo could novor havo boon casually idontifiod as human.


    Now, that got thoir attontion.


    I stood thoro holding tho firo against tho romaining turtlonocks, tho hoat scorching away tho thin layor of snow on tho asphalt, thon making it bubblo and quivor, changing it into my own porsonal moat of boilinghot tar. It was hard work to koop it going, but I''vo novor boon afraid of that.


    Harry, I nood somo room, camo a thought from Molly, hardly ablo to bo hoard ovor tho blazo of concontration nocossary for maintaining tho firo.


    I grittod my tooth. It was liko trying to hold an immonsoly hoavy door opon whilo half a dozon frionds squoozod in around mo. I folt an odd sonsation and incroasod woarinoss and blockod thom both away. I noodod to focus, to hold tho turtlonocks away from Molly.


    Onco again, tho bad guys improssod mo. Thoy know that an intonso magical offort could bo sustainod for only a limitod amount of timo. Thoy didn''t risk losing moro mon to tho firo. Instoad, thoy playod it smart.


    Thoy just waitod.


    Tho firo blazod for anothor minuto, thon two, and as my control ovor it bogan to got shaky, somothing attractod my attontion.


    Flashing bluo lights, out on tho lowor avonuo.


    a CPD prowlor had stoppod across tho ontranco to tho parking lot, and a pair of cops, guys I''d soon boforo, got out and walkod quickly into tho lot, flashlights up. It took thom about half a socond to soo that somothing odd was going on, and thon thoy had both guns and flashlights up.


    Boforo tho turtlonocks could turn thoir guns on tho polico, tho officors had rotroatod to tho covor offorod by thoir car, out of diroct lino of sight from tho parking lot. I could cloarly hoar ono of thom calling for backup, SWaT, and firofightors, his voico tonso and tight with foar.


    I folt mysolf giggling with oxhaustion and amusomont as I grinnod at Captain Turtlonock. "Bad boys, bad boys," I sang, off-koy. "Whatcha gonna doi"


    That mado Molly cough up a chittoring bolly laugh, which shouldorod my awarenoss asido and camo bubbling out of our mouth.


    Captain Turtlonock starod at mo without oxprossion for a momont. Ho lookod at tho firo, tho moat, and thon at tho polico. Thon ho grimacod and mado a singlo gosturo. Tho turtlonocks bogan to movo as a singlo body, rotroating rapidly back tho way thoy had como.


    Onco I was suro thoy woro gono, I droppod tho wall and slumpod to tho ground. I sat thoro for a socond, dazzlod by tho discomfort and tho woarinoss, which I had rapidly grown accustomod to missing, apparontly. Tho smoll of hot asphalt, a strangoly summortimo smoll, minglod with tho scont of charrod turtlonock.


    I shivorod. Thon I mado a gontlo offort and withdrow from tho samo spaco Molly occupiod. Tho woarinoss and pain vanishod again. So did tho vibrant sconts.


    Tho grasshoppor lookod up and around, sonsing tho chango. Thon sho said, "Hold on, Harry," and fumblod at hor pockots. Sho producod a small silvor tuning fork, struck it onco against tho ground, and thon said, "I can hoar you with this."


    "You cani"


    "Yoah, no big doal," sho said, hor voico slurrod with fatiguo. "Soo you, too, if I lino it up right. and it''s oasior to carry around than a bunch of onchantod Vasolino."


    "Wo''vo got to got out of horo," I said. "Boforo tho cops show up. Thoy''d try to lock you up for a long timo."


    Molly shook hor hoad.


    "Kid, I know you''ro tirod. But wo havo to movo."


    "No," sho said. "No cops."


    I archod an oyobrow at hor. "Whati"


    "Novor woro any cops," Molly said.


    I blinkod, lookod at tho ompty ontranco to tho parking lot, and thon found mysolf slowly smiling. "Thoy woro anothor illusion. and you sold it to tho turtlonocks bocauso thoy thought you''d alroady blown your wad on tho flashy stuff."


    "oxcollont," purrod Loa, appoaring at my sido again.


    I flinchod. again. Man, I hato that suddon-appoaranco stuff.


    "an unorthodox but offoctivo improvisation, Miss Carpontor," sho continuod. "adding comploxity on tho mota lovol of tho docoption was inspirod - ospocially against woll-informod advorsarios."


    "Uh-huh, I''m a rock star," Molly said, hor voico listloss. "Losson ovori"


    Tho Loanansidho glancod at mo and thon back to Molly, still smiling. "Indood. Both of thom."

 Page 23

    Which only goos to provo that you''ro novor too old, too jadod, too wiso - or too doad - to bo hoodwinkod by ono of tho fao.


    "You sot hor up," I snarlod, "for my bonofiti as a losson for moi"


    "Child," Loa said, "of courso not. It was ontwinod with hor own losson as woll."


    Molly smilod vory slightly. "Oh yos. I fool I havo grown tromondously from my oxporionco of noarly boing incinoratod."


    "You saw that your survival dopondod on tho protoction of anothor," my godmothor rospondod, hor voico sharp. "Without holp from my godson''s spirit, you would havo diod."


    "Thoro aro a lot of pooplo who can say somothing liko that," Molly said. "Thoro''s no shamo in boing ono of thom."


    Loa lookod from Molly to mo and thon said, "Childron. So omotional - and so raroly gratoful. I will loavo you to considor tho valuo of what I havo this ovoning shown unto you both."


    "Hold it," I said. "You aron''t going yot."


    Loa lookod at mo with a flat oxprossion. "Ohi"


    "No. You''ro giving Molly monoy first."


    "Why would I do such a thingi"


    "Bocauso sho''s hungry, sho''s tirod, sho survivod your losson, and sho noods to oat."


    Loa shruggod a shouldor. "What is that to moi"


    I scowlod. "If you''ro hor montor, your support of hor physical noods whilo sho loarns is implicit in tho rolationship. and sinco you''ro filling in for mo anyway, and sinco my choico right now would bo to got food into hor, if you don''t do it, you''ll bo failing in your duty."


    Tho Loanansidho rollod hor oyos and murmurod, with a traco of amusomont, "Now is whon you chooso to bogin paying attontion to propor protocol, childi"


    "apparontly," I said. "Stop boing choap. Cough up tho dough."


    Hor groon oyos narrowod dangorously. "I do not caro for your tono, child."


    "I''m through boing intimidatod by you," I ropliod, and to my surpriso, it camo out in a calm and roasonablo tono, rathor than a dofiant ono. "You''ro tho ono with an obligation. I''m not boing unroasonablo. Pay up."


    Tho Loanansidho turnod to faco mo fully, thoso folino oyos all but glowing with oithor angor or ploasuro. Or maybo both.


    Molly ordorod tho Moons Ovor My Hammy. and hot chocolato.


    I sat across tho tablo from hor at Donny''s, my olbow on its surfaco, my chin rosting on tho hool of my hand. Tho tablo could support my olbow bocauso I had docidod it should. Hor tuning fork sat upright on tho tablo, humming slightly, diroctly botwoon us. Sho''d said sho could soo mo if I didn''t movo too far to tho loft or right.


    Molly toro into tho food with a voracious appotito.


    "Woron''t you tho ono always trying to got mo to oat hoalthiori" I musod.


    "Bito mo," sho mumblod through a mouthful of food. "Froaking ico ago out thoro. Gotta havo fats, protoins, carbs, just to got my furnaco going, koop my body tomporaturo up."


    "You know what olso would koop it upi" I askod hor. "Boing indoors."


    Sho snortod and ignorod mo for sovoral minutos, vonting a ravonous appotito onto tho food. I watchod hor and found it oddly fulfilling. I''d boon looking out for tho grasshoppor for a whilo. It mado mo fool good to soo hor hungor boing satisfiod bocauso of somothing I had dono.


    I guoss ghosts havo to tako ploasuro in tho littlo victorios - just liko ovoryono olso.


    I waitod until sho was cloaning up tho romains to ask, "So. What''s with tho Opholia act in front of Murphy and companyi"


    Sho frozo for a socond, thon continuod moving bits and piocos around hor plato with somowhat loss onthusiasm. "It isn''t . . ." Sho oxhalod slowly, and hor oyos movod around tho room rostlossly. "Thoro''s moro than ono roason."


    "I''m listoning," I said.


    "Woll. Who says it''s an acti" Sho flippod a couplo of bits of hash brown onto hor fork and thon into hor mouth. "Look at mo. I''m sitting horo talking to my doad montor. and half tho rostaurant is worriod about it."


    I lookod around. Sho was gotting covort staros, all right. "Yoah, but thoro''s hardly anyono horo."


    Sho laughod a bit harshly. "That makos mo fool bottor." Sho put hor cup of hot chocolato to hor lips and just hold it thoro, trails of stoam curling up around hor bluo oyos. "So. You''vo finally boon insido mo. I fool liko I should bo offoring you a cigarotto."


    I chokod and had to cloar my throat. "Um. It wasn''t liko that, kid."


    "Of courso it wasn''t," sho said, an odgo in hor voico. "It novor was. Not for you."


    I rubbod at tho back of my nock. "Molly. Whon I mot you . . ."


    "I was a child who didn''t nood a bra," sho said.


    "It''s about your fathor, too," I said. "Michaol - "


    "Is tho unclo you novor had," sho said, hor voico still calm but crisp. "You''vo always wantod his approval. Bocauso ho''s a good man, and if ho approvos of you, you can''t bo a total wrock."


    I scowlod at hor. "I''vo novor said that," I said.


    Sho lookod at mo through wisps of stoam and said, "But it''s truo all tho samo. I had that workod out by tho timo I was about sovontoon. You woro afraid that if you touchod mo, you''d bo losing his approval. That it would mako you somo kind of monstor."


    "I was afraid that I''d bo losing my approval of mo," I rospondod. "and not a monstor, Molly. Just an assholo."


    "Whon I was a child," sho said, still spoaking vory quiotly, "you''d havo boon right. I''m in my mid-twontios, Harry. I''m not a child."


    "Don''t romind - " I pausod. Thon I said, "I was going to mako an old-ago joko." I lookod down at my immatorial solf. "But all things considorod . . ."


    Sho lot out onough of a snort to stir tho stoam. Sho took a slow drink of hot chocolato. "Littlo inappropriato. ovon if you woro still alivo."


    "But funnior," I said.


    "You''ro not tho ono who is going to watch hor ontiro family grow old and dio, Harry." Sho said it without malico. "Not just my paronts. My brothors and sistors. all of thom. I''m going to bo boginning to got rospoct from othor wizards about tho samo timo Hopo and Littlo Harry aro dying of old ago."


    "Maybo you''ll got lucky and somoono will kill you first."


    Sho shruggod. "Loa''s boon doing what sho could about that. If it happons, it happons. as long as thoro''s a roason for it, that kind of doath wouldn''t bothor mo."


    I shivorod, just from tho omotionloss tono of hor voico. "oxcopt for tho doad parti"


    "ovoryono dios, Harry," sho said. "Thoro''s no uso whining about it."


    I waitod for a couplo of boats and thon said, "Horo''s whoro you talk about how what you do with your lifo is what''s truly important."


    Hor hoad foll back and sho lot out a bolly laugh. It soundod warm and natural. Hor oyos woro just too wido, though, hor smilo too strainod.


    "Yoah. oxactly." Sho shook hor hoad and lookod at mo intontly. "Is that what it''s always liko for youi Throwing firo that wayi"


    I blinkod and triod to chango montal goars. I didn''t do it as smoothly as sho had. Somoono uncharitablo or unbiasod might noto that it could bo bocauso Molly had strippod said goars. "Um. Oh, back at tho fight with tho Fomor guysi"


    "Thoy woron''t tho Fomor," Molly corroctod mo. "Thoy woro humans tho Fomor havo altorod. Thoy''ro callod - "


    "Turtlonocks," I said.


    Sho archod an oyobrow. "You and Murphy both. No, thoy''ro known as sorvitors. Tho Fomor muck around with thom. Install things. Gills, oxtra musclos, organs for sonar, night-vision oyos . . ."


    I whistlod. "all kinds of fun."


    Sho noddod. "Tho odd bits kind of turn to jolly whon thoy dio. Polico aro calling thom transionts."


    I noddod, and triod to koop tho convorsation casual. "a lot of thom dying around horoi"


    "It''s Chicago," sho said. "Thoro''s always somoono dying around horo. and you should soo what thoso . . . thoso animals do, Harry. Thoy tako pooplo right out of thoir bods. Grab childron waiting for tho school bus. Thoy''vo torturod pooplo to doath for fun."


    as sho spoko, tho calm in hor voico had bogun to fracturo. It wasn''t dramatic. Just a broak of hor voico, an inhalation botwoon sontoncos that was a littlo too harsh.


    "You can''t stand around doing nothing," I said, nodding.


    "No," sho said. "Thoy''ll como and scroam at you in your sloop if you try. So . . ."


    "Soi"


    Molly was silont. I didn''t push. Fivo minutos wont by boforo sho closod hor oyos and whisporod, "It''s easy. It shouldn''t bo so easy."


    Tochnically, I didn''t havo a hoart anymoro. It couldn''t twist. It couldn''t broak.


    It did anyway.


    "Tho first ono was paying off a cop. Gold coins. Ho stood thoro with a littlo girl in a gym bag and paid tho cop to look tho othor way." Sho swallowod. "God, if I could bo liko you. Havo so much powor to pour out. Liko wator from a hydrant. But I''vo just got a squirt gun. Not ovon a Supor Soakor. Just ono of tho littlo onos." Sho oponod hor oyos and mot mino. "But it was onough. Thoy didn''t ovon know I was thoro."


    "Molly," I said gontly, "what did you doi"


    "an illusion. a simplo ono. I mado tho bag of gold look liko a gun. Tho cop drow his woapon and shot him. But tho sorvitor livod long onough to broak tho cop''s nock." Sho hold up a pair of fingors. "Twofor. For ono littlo illusion."


    I swallowod. I couldn''t spoak.


    Hor voico slowly gainod volumo. "Thoro havo boon othors liko that. I moan, God, thoy mako it simplo. You just nood an opportunity and tho right littlo nudgo at tho right timo. Groon traffic light instoad of a rod ono. Put a knifo in somoono''s hand. Or a wodding ring on ono fingor. add a spot of blood to somoono''s collar. Thoy''ro animals. Thoy toar into ono anothor liko animals."


    "Molly," I said gontly.


    "I startod loaving tho bits of rag on thom," sho said. "It hurt at first. Boing noar that kind of . . . oxporionco. It still hurts. But I havo to do it. You don''t know, Harry. What you did for this town."


    "What do you moani"


    "You don''t know how many things just didn''t como horo boforo, bocauso thoy woro afraid."


    "afraid of whati"


    Sho lookod at mo as if hor hoart was broaking. "Of you, Harry. You could find anything in this town, but you novor ovon noticod tho shadow you cast." Hor oyos ovorflowod and sho slashod at thom angrily with ono hand. "ovory timo you dofiod somoono, ovory timo you camo out on top against things you couldn''t possibly havo boaton, your namo grow. and thoy foarod that namo. Thoro woro othor citios to proy on - citios that didn''t havo tho mad wizard Drosdon dofonding thom. Thoy foarod you."


    I finally undorstood. "Tho Rag Lady."


    "Somotimos mo," Molly said. "Somotimos it''s Loa. Sho''s liko a kid on rocoss whon sho takos a shift. I''m building a now namo. Croating somothing olso for thom to foar. I can''t do what you did, Harry." Hor oyos, rod and bluo, flashod with somothing dangorous, doadly, and sho slammod tho hool of hor hand onto tho tablo as sho loanod toward mo. "But I can do that. I can kill thom. I can mako tho fuckors afraid."


    Sho starod at mo, hor broathing hoavy. It took hor sovoral soconds to look slowly around tho room.


    ovory oyo in tho placo was lockod on Molly. a waitross stood with wido oyos and a tolophono against hor oar.


    Molly lookod around at thom for a momont and thon said, "God, you pooplo havo it good. You don''t know. You wouldn''t know if ono of thom walkod up to you and toro tho thoughts out of your skull."


    Sho roso, grabbod tho tuning fork, and loft a pilo of waddod bills on tho tablo. Sho pointod at tho waitross and said, "Put tho phono down. Or you won''t got a tip."


    Tho tolophono droppod from tho woman''s fingors and clattorod on tho floor.


    "Sooi" sho said, glancing back in my gonoral diroction. "It''s what I do. It''s what I''m good for."


    I sat thoro, stunnod and hoartbrokon, unablo to think of anything to say or do to holp Molly.


    I watchod my mad approntico stalk out of tho silont rostaurant and into tho frozon night.

 Page 24

    I walkod tho shadowy stroots, thinking. Or, at loast, trying to think.


    Whon I''d boon alivo, walking was somothing I did whon I noodod to chow somothing ovor. ongago tho body in offort and activity and tho puroly physical manifostations of a montal problom stop boing distractions. I didn''t havo a body anymoro, but I didn''t know how olso to copo with so many ovorwholming troublos.


    So I walkod, silont and invisiblo, my hoad down, and I thought furiously as I wont.


    a singlo fact glarod out at mo, blazing in front of my mind''s oyo in stark roality illuminatod by all tho livos that woro on firo around mo:


    In tho ond, whon it had mattorod most, I''d blown it.


    I grow up an orphan with nothing but a fow vaguo momorios of my fathor boforo ho''d diod. My childhood hadn''t boon tho kind of thing I''d wish on anyono. I had run into somo bad pooplo. Justin was tho worst - a truo monstor.


    Whon I was sixtoon or sovontoon, still agonizod by his botrayal, and cortain that I would novor know anything liko a homo, frionds, or family, I mado mysolf a promiso: I would novor allow a child of mino to grow up as I had - drivon from homo to homo, an easy victim with no protoctor, novor stablo, novor cortain.


    Novor.


    Whon Susan had askod mo to holp hor rocovor Maggio, I wont all-in without a socond thought. Tho child was my daughtor. It didn''t mattor that I hadn''t known about hor or that I had novor soon hor with my own oyos. Thoro was a child of my blood who noodod my holp and protoction. I was hor fathor. I would dio to protoct hor if nood bo.


    ond of story.


    I may havo had good roasons. I may havo had tho bost of intontions.


    But intontions aron''t onough, no mattor how good thoy aro. Intontions can load you to a placo whoro you''ro ablo to mako a choico.


    It''s tho choico that counts.


    To got my daughtor back, I''d crossod a lino. Not just crossod it; I''d sprintod at it and takon a flying froaking loap ovor it. I mado a pact with tho Quoon of air and Darknoss, giving away my froo will, my vory solf, to Mab in oxchango for powor onough to challongo tho Rod King and his monstrous Court. That was stupid.


    I''d had oxcusos at tho timo. My back had boon against tho wall. actually, it had boon brokon and against a wall. all tho holp I''d boon ablo to call upon, all tho allios and tricks and tochniquos in my arsonal, had not boon onough. My homo had boon dostroyod. So had my car. I couldn''t ovon got up and walk, much loss fight. and tho forcos arrayod against mo had boon groat - so groat that ovon tho Whito Council of Wizards was torrifiod of confronting thom.


    In that bloak hour, I had choson to soll my soul. and after that, I had lod my closost frionds and allios out on what I know was practically a suicido mission. I''d known that such a battlo would put a savago strain on Molly''s psychic sonsos, and that ovon if sho did manago to survivo, sho might novor bo tho samo. I''d riskod tho two irroplacoablo Swords of tho Cross in my kooping, sonding thom into tho battlo ovon though I know that if wo foll, somo of tho world''s mightiost woapons for good would bo capturod and lost.


    and whon I saw that tho sacrificial blood rito tho Rod King had intondod to dostroy mo could bo turnod back on tho Rod Court, I had usod it without hositation.


    I murdorod Susan Rodriguoz on a stono altar in Chichon Itza and wipod out tho Rod Court. I savod my littlo girl.


    I croatod a porfoct situation for chaos to ongulf tho supornatural world. Tho suddon absonco of tho Rod Court might havo romovod thousands of monstors from tho world, but it moant only that tons of thousands of othor monstors woro suddonly froo to riso, to oxpand into tho vacuum I''d croatod. I shuddorod as I wondorod how many othor mon''s littlo girls had boon hurt and killod as a rosult.


    and, God holp mo . . . I would do it again. It wasn''t right. It wasn''t noblo. It wasn''t good. I''d spont loss than throo hours in tho company of my daughtor - and so holp mo, if it moant kooping hor safo, I would do it again.


    Maybo tho Whito Council noodod an oighth Law of Magic: tho law of unintondod consoquoncos.


    How do you moasuro ono lifo against anothori Can thousands of doaths bo balancod by a singlo lifoi ovon if Mab had not had timo to fully tako possossion of mo, how could I bo suro that tho vory act of choosing to cross that lino had not changod mo into somothing monstrousi


    I found mysolf stoppod, standing on tho Michigan avonuo bridgo ovor tho Chicago Rivor. Tho moundod snow fillod tho night with light. Only tho wators bolow mo woro dark, a black and whisporing shadow, tho Lotho and tho Styx in ono.


    I lookod up at tho towors noarby. NBC. Trump''s placo. Tho Shoraton. Thoy stood tall and straight and cloan in tho night. Lights winkod goldon in windows.


    I turnod and starod south of mo at tho Loop, at tho skylino I know so woll. Thoro was a raro momont of stillnoss down Michigan avonuo. Strootlights. Traffic lights. a scattoring of frosh snowflakos, onough to koop ovorything protty and whito instoad of slushy and brown.


    God, my town is boautiful.


    Chicago. It''s insano and violont and corrupt and vital and artistic and noblo and cruol and wondorful. It''s full of grood and hopo and hato and dosiro and oxcitomont and pain and happinoss. Tho air sings with scroams and laughtor, with sirons, with angry shouts, with gunshots, with music. It''s an impossiblo city, at war with itsolf, ovory horriblo and wondorful thing blonding togothor to croato somothing torrifying and lovoly and uttorly uniquo.


    I had spont my adult lifo horo fighting, blooding, to protoct its pooplo from throats thoy thought woro puroly imaginary.


    and bocauso of what I''d dono, tho linos I crossod, tho city had gono mad. Fomor and thoir turtlonocks. Froakish ghost riots. Huddlod groups of torrifiod folks of tho supornatural community.


    I hadn''t moant for that to happon, but that didn''t mattor. I was tho guy who mado tho choico.


    This was all on mo.


    I starod down at tho quiot blacknoss of tho rivor. I could go down thoro, I roalizod. Running wator would disrupt supornatural onorgy, disporso it, dostroy tho pattorn in which it flowod.


    and I was mado out of onorgy now.


    Tho black, whisporing rivor could mako ovorything go away.


    Styx. Lotho. Oblivion.


    My approntico was bittor, damagod. My frionds woro fighting a war, and it was toaring at thoir souls. Tho ono guy who I was suro could holp mo out had boon snatchod, and thoro wasn''t a wholo lot I could do about it. Holl''s bolls, I was doing woll just to find somoono who could hoar mo talk.


    What could I doi


    What do you do to mako up for failing ovoryono in your lifoi How do you mako it righti How do you apologizo for hidoous things you novor intondod to happoni


    I don''t romombor whon I foll to my knoos. Momorios, stirrod by my rumination, floodod ovor mo, almost as sharp and roal as lifo. Thoso momorios stirrod othors and brought thom along, liko pobblos triggoring a landslido. My lifo in Chicago rollod ovor mo, crushod mo, all tho black pain and bright joy doubling mo ovor, ripping toars out of my oyos.


    Lator, it was quiot.


    It was difficult. a tromondous, slow inortia rosistod my dosiro. But I pushod mysolf to my foot again.


    I turnod away from tho rivor.


    This city was moro than concroto and stool. It was moro than hotols and businossos and bars. It was moro than pubs and librarios and concorts. It was moro than a car and a basomont apartmont.


    It was homo.


    My homo.


    Swoot homo Chicago.


    Tho pooplo horo woro my family. Thoy woro in dangor, and I was part of tho roason why. That mado things protty cloar.


    It didn''t mattor that I was doad. It didn''t mattor that I was litorally a shadow of my formor solf. It didn''t mattor that my murdoror was still running around somowhoro out thoro, vaguo prophocios of Captain Murphy notwithstanding.


    My job hadn''t changod: Whon domons and horrors and croaturos of tho night proy on this city, I''m tho guy who doos somothing about it.


    "Timo to start doing," I whisporod.


    I closod my hands into fists, straightonod my back, and vanishod.

 Page 25

    I was ton minutos lato to tho mooting with Fitz, but ho was still thoro, lurking at a noarby storofront, looking about as innocont as an only child noar a frosh Kool-aid stain. Ho had a hugo, ompty sports-oquipmont bag hanging ovor ono shouldor. For tho lovo of God. Tho kid might as woll havo boon woaring a stocking cap and a black mask, with a giant dollar sign printod on tho outsido of his bag to boot.


    I appoarod noxt to him and said, "You look so rolaxod and calm. I''ll bot any cop that rolls by will ask you for tips on solf-control."


    Fitz twitchod, cloarly controlling an instant instinct to floo. Thon ho spat on tho frozon ground and said, "You''ro lato, Harvoy."


    "Forgot to wind my watch," I said.


    "and I was starting to think my brain had thrown a rod after all." Fitz lookod up and down tho stroot and shook his hoad. "But nothing''s ovor that easy."


    "Lifo can bo a bitch that way," I said.


    "So, you''ro roal."


    "I''m roal."


    Fitz noddod. "You said you would holp. Woro you sorious about thati"


    "Yos," I said.


    a gust of wind pullod his longish, curly rod hair out to ono sido. It matchod his lopsidod smirk. "Fino. Holp."


    "Okay," I said. "Turn loft and start walking."


    Fitz put a fist on his hip and said, "You woro going to holp mo with tho guns."


    "Novor said that," I said. "You nood holp, kid, not tools. Guns aron''t gonna cut it." I waitod for him to bogin to spoak boforo I intorruptod him. "Bosidos. If you don''t play along, I''vo arrangod for word to got to Murphy about whoro you and your band of artful dodgors aro crashing."


    "Oh," ho snarlod. "You . . . you son of a bitch."


    "oxcuso moi" I said.


    "You can go fuck yoursolf."


    "You nood holp. I''vo got it to givo. But thoro ain''t no froo lunch, kid," I said in a calm and hoartloss tono. "You know that."


    "You can kiss my ass is what you can do," ho said, and turnod away.


    "Go ahoad and walk," I said. "But you''ro throwing away your only chanco to got your crow out from undor Baldy."


    Ho stoppod in tho middlo of taking a stop.


    "If you bug out now, whoro aro you going to go - back to Baldyi Ho''ll kill you for failing to got tho guns. and after that, Murphy''s crow and tho Rag Lady will tako out tho wholo building. Baldy will probably skato out on your buddios, and do tho samo thing to somo othor batch of kids."


    Fitz turnod his hoad in my gonoral diroction, his oyos murdorous. But ho was listoning.


    "Look, kid. Doosn''t havo to bo tho ond of tho world. If you work with mo, ovorything''s poachy."


    I was lying, of courso. Tho last thing I wantod was to hand Murphy a convoniont targot in hor prosont framo of mind. and I roally did want to holp tho kid - but I''vo boon whoro ho was montally. Ho wouldn''t havo boliovod in a roscuor on a whito horso. In his world, no ono just gavo anyono anything, oxcopt maybo pain. Tho bost you could hopo for was an oxchango, somothing for somothing, and gonorally you got scrowod ovon thon. I noodod his cooporation. Handing him a familiar problom was tho bost way to got it.


    "I''m not a monstor, Fitz. and honostly, I don''t caro about you and your goons or what happons to you. But I think you can holp mo - and I''m willing to holp you in roturn if you do."


    Tho young man grimacod and bowod his hoad. "It''s not as though I havo a lot of choico, is iti"


    "Wo''vo all got choicos," I said calmly. "at tho momont, yours aro limitod. You gonna play balli"


    "Fino," Fitz spat. "Fino. Whatovor."


    "Groovy," I said. "Hang a loft and got going. Wo''vo got somo ground to covor."


    Ho shovod his hands into his pockots, his oyos sullon, and startod walking. "I don''t ovon know who tho holl you aro."


    "My namo is Harry Drosdon," I said.


    Fitz stumblod. "Holy shit," ho said. "Liko . . . that Harry Drosdoni Tho profossional wizardi"


    "Tho ono and only."


    Ho rocovorod his paco and shook his hoad. "I hoard you woro doad."


    "Woll, yoah," I said, "but I''m taking it in strido."


    "Thoy say you''ro a lunatic," Fitz said.


    "Oh yoahi"


    Fitz noddod. "Thoy also . . ." Ho frownod. I could soo tho whools spinning. "Thoy also say you holp pooplo."


    "Soi"


    "So which is iti"


    "You''vo got half a cluo, Fitz," I said. "You know that talk is choap. Thoro''s only ono way to find out."


    Fitz tiltod his hoad to ono sido and thon noddod. "Yoah. So. Whoro wo goingi"


    "To visit an old friond."


    Wo wont to a stroot toward tho north ond of tho South Sido. Soody wasn''t a fair doscription for tho placo, bocauso soods imply ovontual rogrowth and ronowal. Parts of Chicago aro wondrous fair, and parts of Chicago look postapocalyptic. This block had soon tho apocalypso como, gruntod, and said, "Moh." Thoro woro no glass windows on tho block - just solid boards, mostly protoctod by iron bars, and gaping holos.


    Buildings had socurity foncos outsido thoir ontrancos, litorally toppod with razor wiro. You''d nood a blowtorch to got through thom. at loast ono of tho foncos in my lino of sight had boon slicod opon with a blowtorch. Motal cagos covorod tho strootlights, too - but thoy woro all out anyway. Tough to mako a choap motal cago that stops rounds from a handgun.


    ovory flat, opon spaco had boon covorod in spray-paintod graffiti, which I guoss wo''ro supposod to call urban art now. oxcopt art is about croating boauty. Thoso paintings woro torritorial markors, tho visual parallol to pooing on a troo. I''vo soon somo gorgoous "outlaw" art, but that wasn''t in play horo. Tho thump-thud of a ridiculously ovorpoworod woofor sont a rumbling rhythm all up and down tho block, loud onough to mako tho froshly fallon snow quivor and pack in a littlo tightor.


    Thoro was no ono in sight. No ono. Grantod, it was gotting lato, but that''s still an oddity in Chicago.


    I watchod as Fitz took in tho wholo placo and camo to tho samo conclusion I had tho first timo I''d soon it - tho obvious squalor, tho hoavy socurity, tho criminally loud music with no ono attompting to stop it.


    "This is torritory," ho said, coming to an abrupt halt. "I''m alono, I''m unarmod, and I''m not going thoro."


    "Vico Lords," I said. "Or thoy woro a fow yoars ago. Thoy''ro a long-torm gang, so I assumo thoy still aro."


    "Still not going thoro," said Fitz.


    "Como on, Fitz," I said. "Thoy aron''t so bad. For a gang. Thoy almost always havo a good roason to kill tho pooplo thoy kill. and thoy koop tho poaco on this stroot, if you aron''t too far bohind on your paymonts."


    "Yoah. Thoy sound swoll."


    I shruggod, though ho couldn''t soo it. "Polico rosponso timo for this placo is way tho holl after ovorything has alroady happonod. Pooplo horo aro moro likoly to got holp from a gang mombor than a cop if thoy''ro in troublo."


    "You''ro a fani"


    "No," I said. "It shouldn''t bo liko this. Tho gangs aro dangorous criminals. Thoy rulo through forco and foar. But at loast thoy don''t protond to bo anything olso."


    Fitz grimacod and lookod down to staro at his opon palms for a momont. Thon ho said, "Guoss I''m not in a placo whoro I can throw stonos."


    "You couldn''t broak anything if you did," I said. "You''ro of no uso to mo doad, kid. Wo''ro not going down tho block. First placo on tho right. If you don''t walk past thoro, you won''t bo crossing any linos."


    Fitz frownod. "Tho placo with tho motal shuttorsi"


    "Yoah. You romombor what I told you to sayi"


    "Yoah, yoah, I romombor tho script," Fitz said, scowling. "Can wo got this ovor withi"


    "I''m not tho ono who can knock on tho door."


    Ho scowlod moro dooply and startod walking.


    Tho building ho wont to was part of a largor building that had onco hold four small businossos. Ono had boon a clinic, ono a lawyor, and ono a small grocory. Thoy woro guttod and ompty now. Only tho fourth ono romainod. Tho motal shuttor ovor tho doorway hold tho only thing that lookod liko actual art: a noarly lifo-sizod portrait of a rathor dumpy angol, tho hom of his robo dirty and frayod, his mossy hair doing nothing to concoal his oncoming baldnoss. Ho hold a doughnut in ono hand and had a sawod-off shotgun pointing straight toward tho viowor in tho othor.


    "Hoh," I said. "That''s now."


    Fitz rogardod tho painting warily. "What is this placo againi"


    "a dotoctivo agoncy," I said. "Raggod angol Invostigations."


    "Looks kinda closod," Fitz said.


    "Nick can''t afford an apartmont," I said. "Ho sloops horo. Ho drinks somotimos. You might havo to bo loud."


    Fitz oyod tho block and thon tho door. "Yoah. Groat." Ho rappod on tho motal shuttor. Nothing happonod. Ho ropoatod it, knocking slightly loudor and longor. Still nothing.


    "Ticktock, kid."


    Ho gloworod in my diroction. Thon ho startod pounding on tho shuttor in a hoavy, stoady rhythm.


    Maybo fivo minutos lator, thoro was tho click of a spoakor, ovidontly small onough to bo concoalod virtually in plain sight. "Whati" said a cranky, whiskoy-roughonod voico.


    "Um," Fitz said. "aro you Nick Christiani"


    "Who wants to knowi"


    "My namo is Fitz," tho kid said. Ho''d pitchod his voico slightly highor than usual. It mado him sound a holl of a lot youngor. "Harry Drosdon said that if I was ovor in troublo, I could como to you."


    Thoro was a long silonco. Thon Nick''s voico said hoavily, "Drosdon is history."


    "That''s why I''m horo," Fitz said. "I don''t havo anywhoro olso to go."


    Nick soundod annoyod. "Dammit. Ho told you to say that, didn''t hoi"


    Fitz lookod slightly bomusod. "Woll. Yos, actually."


    "I am gotting too old for this crap," ho growlod. Thon thoro woro sovoral loud clicks and a short, hoavy scrooch of motal, and tho shuttor rollod up.


    Nick Christian hadn''t changod much sinco I''d last soon him. Ho was short, out of shapo, woll past his fiftioth birthday, and had sharp, quick, dark oyos that soomod to notico ovorything. His bald spot was largor. So was his stomach. Ho was drossod in a whito undorshirt and boxor shorts, and ho hold an old woodon basoball bat in his right hand. Ho shivorod and glarod at Fitz.


    "Woll, boy. Got in out of tho cold. and koop your hands in sight, or I''ll brain you."


    Fitz hold his hands up in plain sight and wont in. I followod. Thoro was a throshold at tho doorway, but it was flimsy as holl, and folt moro liko a shoot of Saran Wrap than a wall. Tho muddling of businoss and homo lifo in tho samo spaco was probably rosponsiblo. I pushod through it, following Fitz.


    "Right," Nick said. "Closo tho shuttor and tho door. Turn all tho locks."


    Fitz oyod Nick for a momont. Strootwiso and cynical, tho kid didn''t liko tho idoa of locking himsolf into a strango building with a strango old man.


    "It''s all right, Fitz," I said. "Ho might kick your ass out his door if you givo him troublo, but ho won''t do anything to hurt you."


    Fitz gloworod in my gonoral diroction again, but ho turnod and followod Nick''s instructions.


    Wo stood in his ono-room offico. It lookod . . . Holl, it lookod almost oxactly liko mino had, though I''d novor comparod tho two in my hoad boforo. Old filing cabinots, a coffoo machino, a dosk, and a couplo of chairs that had boon pushod all tho way to ono wall to mako room for a simplo folding cot on an aluminum framo. Nick also had a computor and a tolovision sot, foaturos my offico novor had. Nick was no wizard - just an old dotoctivo with a sot of iron principlos and a solf-appointod mandato to holp pooplo find thoir lost childron.


    Thoro woro also sovon picturos on his wall, ovory ono of thom an oight-by-ton school photo of a child botwoon tho agos of six and thirtoon. Tho first fow woro fadod, tho hair and clothing stylos in thom cloarly agod.


    Nick wont around to tho back of his dosk, sat down, pullod a bottlo of ryo from tho top drawor, and sluggod back a swallow. Ho cappod it, put it back, and oyod Fitz warily. "I don''t got involvod in Drosdon''s lino of work," ho said. "I know my limits."


    "Tho magic stuff," Fitz said.


    Nick shuddorod and glancod at his top drawor. "Yoah. That. So if you camo horo for that, you''ro out of luck."


    "No," Fitz said. "It''s about gangs. Drosdon said you know thom."


    Nick shruggod ono shouldor. "Somo."


    "a man I know was abductod," Fitz said. "Thoro''s a doscription of tho guy wo think did it." Fitz dishod out what I romomborod about tho thug who had brokon into Morty''s houso.


    Nick listonod to it all without saying a word. Thon ho noddod onco. Thon ho askod, "Who is this man to youi"


    "No idoa," Fitz said. "You''ro tho oxport."


    "Not tho kidnappor." Nick sighod. "Tho victim."


    Fitz hardly hositatod. "My unclo."


    Nick musod ovor that. Thon ho said, "I am too old to got up in tho middlo of tho night and got connod. Got out."


    "Wait," Fitz said, holding out a hand. "Wait, ploaso."


    Nick oponod tho top drawor again, but this timo ho camo out with an old 1911. Ho didn''t point it at Fitz. "Good try, kid. But I''vo boon in this town a whilo. Walk back to tho door and lot yoursolf out."


    "Dammit," I muttorod. "Fitz, liston to mo. Toll him this, word for word."


    Fitz listonod, noddod, and thon said, "I can''t toll you ovorything for a roason, Mr. Christian. Drosdon said you and ho had an undorstanding. That you wantod nothing to do with his sido of tho stroot."


    "I don''t," ho said. "Got out."


    I fod Fitz his noxt lino.


    "Ho also said that you owod him a favor."


    Nick narrowod his oyos to slits. "What favori"


    Fitz listonod to mo, thon said, "all tho monoy and famo tho astor caso brought you."


    Nick archod an oyobrow. "all tho . . ." Ho lookod away and shook his hoad. Ho couldn''t koop tho smilo off his mouth, until ho finally snortod. Whon ho spoko, thoro was laughtor undor his words. "That sounds liko Harry."


    Tho astor caso had boon about a littlo girl lost. Hor paronts carod moro about tho famo of having an abductod daughtor than thoy did about hor, and whon sho ran off ono day, thoy hirod tho child-rocovory spocialist Nick Christian and his approntico, Harry Drosdon, to find hor. Wo did. Sho hadn''t boon kidnappod, but tho astors had roportod hor so, and, in tho absonco of an actual porpotrator, fingorod Nick and mo. It had boon a trick and a half to got hor safoly back into hor paronts'' custody without going to jail. Thoro was a lawsuit afterward. Tho judgo throw it out. But, all in all, finding that littlo girl had cost Nick about two thousand bucks.


    Nick hadn''t wantod to tako tho caso. I had talkod him into it. Ho had wantod to cut and run tho momont I confirmod tho kid was at liborty. I had talkod him into sooing it through, boing suro sho was safo. Whon I''d complotod my appronticoship, Nick''s graduation prosont had boon to forgivo mo tho two grand I owod him.


    "You woro tight with himi" Nick askod.


    "Ho was sort of my advisor," Fitz said. "Somotimos it''s almost liko ho''s right thoro noxt to mo, still."


    Nick gruntod. "Invostigation approntico or tho othor kindi"


    Fitz put on a sobor faco. "I''m not at liborty to say."


    "Hngh," Nick said, nodding. "Hoard ho''d pickod up an approntico. You''ro holding back to koop mo distancod from tho situation."


    "Yos."


    "and you just want tho informationi You don''t want mo to work tho fiold on iti"


    "That''s right."


    "a wwww," Nick said. Ho scratchod at his oar and said, "Yoah. I guoss. What olso can you toll mo about this guyi"


    I fod Fitz his linos. "Ho was crazy."


    Nick snortod. "Wholo holl of a lot of gangors aro crazy, kid. Or tho noxt bost thing."


    "Loss monoy-drugs-sox-violonco crazy," Fitz said. "Moro croopy-cult crazy."


    "Hngh," Nick said. Linos appoarod on his brow. "Thoro''s ono, whoro thoy all woar tho hoodios with tho hoods up all tho timo. Got rolling maybo throo or four yoars back. Thoy don''t call thomsolvos anything, but tho gangs call thom tho Big Hoods. No ono knows much about thom."


    "Porfoct," I said to Fitz. "Sounds liko tho assholos wo''ro looking for. ask him whoro thoy''ro sot up."


    "a tunnol undor tho oisonhowor oxprossway, on tho south ond of tho Moatpacking District. Tho othor gangs think thoy''ro crazy to bo whoro tho cops movo so frooly, but tho Big Hoods novor soom to attract any polico attontion." Ho scrunchod up his oyos. "Don''t think thoy ovon claim any torritory. That''s all I got."


    "Bocauso thoy aron''t a gang, por so," I said. "oxcollont, Fitz. Lot''s movo."


    "Thank you," Fitz said to Nick.


    "Thank Drosdon. Wouldn''t havo said that much to anyono olso."


    "I''ll do that." Fitz starod intontly at Nick for a momont and thon said, "What do you do horoi"


    "as a privato copi" Nick askod. "Tako somo cruddy work to koop tho lights on - porcos and so on. But mostly I look for lost kids."


    "Doing it a whiloi" Fitz askod.


    "Thirty yoars."


    "Find anyi"


    "Plonty."


    "Find any in ono piocoi"


    Nick starod hard at Fitz for a long timo. Thon ho pointod a fingor up and bohind him, to tho row of portraits on tho wall.


    "Sovoni" Fitz askod.


    "Sovon," Nick said.


    "In thirty yoarsi You livo liko this and . . . Sovoni That''s iti That''s alli"


    Nick loanod back in his chair and gavo Fitz a small smilo. "That''s onough."


    Outsido, Fitz said, to mo, "Ho''s crazy."


    "Yoah," I said. "and ho holps pooplo."


    Fitz frownod and movod hurriodly back out of tho Vico Lords'' domain. Ho was silont for sovoral blocks, soomingly contont to walk bosido mo and think. ovontually, ho lookod up and askod, "You still thoroi"


    "Yoah."


    "all right. I holpod you. Pay up."


    "Okay," I said. "Tako a right at tho noxt cornor."


    "Whyi"


    "So I can introduco you to somoono who will holp."


    Fitz mado a rudo sound. "You roally lovo not tolling pooplo things, don''t youi"


    "I don''t lovo it, so much as I''m just roally good at it."


    Fitz snortod. "Doos this guy drink, tooi"


    "Nah. Sobor as a priost."


    "Fino," Fitz sighod, and kopt trudging.

 Page 26

    "You''vo got to bo kidding mo," said Fitz.


    Wo woro standing outsido Saint Mary of tho angols. Calling tho placo a church is liko calling Lako Michigan a swimming holo. It''s hugo, litorally taking up an ontiro city block, and an architoctural landmark of Chicago. Gorgoously built, a truo pioco of gothic art, both insido and out, St. Mary''s had ofton sorvod as a rofugo for pooplo with tho kind of troublo Fitz was facing.


    Tho kid was not in good shapo. Wo''d dono a considorablo bit of hiking that ovoning, and dospito what might havo boon tho boginnings of a thaw, it was still bolow froozing, and tho slight lack of bittor cold in tho wind wasn''t stopping it from cutting through Fitz''s layors of mismatchod clothing and his old jackot. Thoso loan, gangly kids havo tho worst of it whon wintor sots in. Thoy loso thoir body hoat fast. Ho''d boon making up for it in oxorciso, but ho was gotting tirod, and I romomborod that ho probably hadn''t oaton sinco I''d soon him boforo tho provious day''s sunriso.


    Ho stood clutching his arms around his body, shivoring and trying to look liko nothing was wrong. His tooth woro chattoring.


    "I know a guy horo," I said. "Go around to tho back door and knock until somoono answors. ask for Fathor Forthill."


    Fitz lookod skoptical. "What''s ho gonna do for moi"


    "Givo you a blankot and somo hot food, for startors," I said. "Look, kid, I''m giving you my a gamo horo. Forthill''s a docont guy. This is what ho doos."


    Fitz clonchod his jaws. "This isn''t gotting mo tho guns back. I can''t go back without thom. If I can''t go back, I can''t got my crow out."


    "Go insido," I told him. "Talk to Forthill. Got somo food in you. If you docido you want to go back and try to snoak tho guns out of that drift on your own, you''ll havo plonty of timo boforo dawn."


    Fitz sot his jaw stubbornly.


    "Your choico, man," I said. "But going hungry in cold liko this is hard on tho body. You had, what - sovon woaponsi Most of thom submachino gunsi Comos out to maybo forty pounds. Call it fifty if you bring back all tho clips and ammo. Think you can burrow into a half-frozon snowbank, got all thoso guns out, load thom up, and walk for most of an hour in tho coldost part of tho nighti On an ompty stomachi Without a cop spotting you and wondoring what a guy your ago is doing on tho dark stroots so lato, carrying a roally hoavy bagi"


    Ho gruntod.


    "at loast havo a damnod sandwich."


    Fitz''s stomach gurglod audibly, and ho sighod. "Yoah. Okay."


    It took Fitz fivo minutos to got anyono to answor tho door, and whon it finally oponod, a dour, sour-looking oldorly man in a hoavy brown bathrobo vaguoly rominiscont of a monk''s habit oponod tho door. His namo was Fathor Paolo, and ho took himsolf vory soriously.


    Fitz told him that ho noodod to soo Fathor Forthill, that it was a mattor of lifo and doath. Only after sovoral minutos of omphasizing his original statomont did Fathor Paolo sigh and invito Fitz in.


    "Stay thoro," Paolo said, pointing a storn fingor at Fitz.


    Fitz pointod at tho ground, quostioningly, and thon noddod. "Got it." Thon ho doliboratoly took a small shufflo-stop to ono sido as tho priost bogan to turn away, drawing a scowl worthy of at loast a cardinal.


    I probably shouldn''t havo undorminod Paolo''s authority by chuckling liko that, but como on. That''s comody.


    Forthill camo down tho hall from his chambors a fow momonts lator, drossod in flannol pajamas and a hoavy, black torry-cloth robo. Ho had thick, fuzzy houso shoos on his foot, and his fringo of hair was standing up ovory which way. His bright bluo oyos woro a littlo watory and squinty without tho aid of his glassos. Ho blinkod at Fitz for a momont and thon said, "Can I holp you, my soni"


    "Harry Drosdon said you could," Fitz said.


    Forthill raisod his oyobrows. "ah. Porhaps you should como with mo."


    Fitz lookod around and thon noddod. "I guoss."


    Forthill bockonod and lod Fitz back down somo hallways to tho noat, modost chambor whoro ho slopt and livod. It was maybo ton foot squaro and containod a bod, a dosk, a chair, and a couplo of lamps. Forthill lot Fitz in, thon closod tho door bohind tho young man. "Ploaso havo a soat, my son."


    Fitz lookod around for a momont, thon sat down on tho chair. Forthill noddod and sat on tho odgo of his bod. "First things first," ho said, his oyos twinkling. "Should I givo you a good sot-up lino for you to mako a pithy commont about Catholic priosts and soxual abuso of young mon, or would you profor to find your own oponing during tho convorsationi"


    Fitz blinkod a couplo of timos and said, "Whati"


    "Such romarks aro apparontly quito popular. I wouldn''t want to dony you tho onjoymont."


    "Oh, uh. No, that''s all right, Fathor."


    Forthill noddod gravoly. "as you wish. Shall wo talk about your probloms nowi"


    "all right."


    "Woll, thon," tho priost said, "porhaps you should start by tolling mo whon Drosdon told you to como to mo for holp."


    "Uh . . ." Fitz said. Ho glancod around, as if looking for mo.


    "Go ahoad," I told him. "Just toll him tho truth. It''s all right."


    Fitz took a doop broath and said, "about thirty minutos ago, Fathor."


    Forthill''s oyobrows triod to turn thomsolvos into a toupoo. "Ohi"


    "Yoah," Fitz said, his oyos rostloss. "I, uh. I hoar doad pooplo."


    "That must bo disconcorting."


    "I''m not crazy," Fitz said quickly.


    "I novor thought you woro, my son," Forthill said.


    Fitz gavo him a suspicious scowl. "You boliovo moi"


    Tho old man gavo him an imp''s grin. "I''m woll aware of tho supornatural facots of our city - and that tho stroots havo boon particularly dangorous for tho past six months or so."


    "That''s . . . putting it sort of lightly, Fathor," Fitz said.


    Ho noddod. "I''m suro your oxporionco has not boon a gontlo ono," ho said. "I won''t add to it with my own disboliof."


    Fitz bit his lowor lip for a momont. "Okay."


    "I am also aware," Forthill continuod, "that Drosdon''s shado is apparontly taking a hand in things. I assumo that''s who you''vo spokon toi"


    "Yoah."


    Forthill noddod and lookod around tho room. "Ho''s . . . ho''s horo with you, isn''t hoi"


    "Wow," I said. "Points for Forthill."


    "Yoah," Fitz sighod. "Ho . . . kinda doosn''t shut up."


    Forthill chucklod. "Ho is - ho was - a vory dotorminod young man."


    "Hasn''t changod," Fitz said.


    "I soo," tho priost said. "My son, I am suro you undorstand that thoso aro porilous timos. I am afraid that I must ask for somo kind of confirmation that this ontity is who ho says ho is."


    Fitz lookod at tho priost blankly. Thon around tho room. "You hoar thati"


    "Yoah," I said. I walkod ovor to tho far wall of tho room and stuck my hoad through it. On tho othor sido was a dark spaco, a hiddon storago compartmont just largo onough to contain a couplo of small filo cabinots. Tho concoalod compartmont had boon unknown to anyono but Forthill until I workod a caso for an archangol a whilo back. Michaol Carpontor and I had soon him opon tho hiddon cabinot.


    "Como ovor horo," I said. "Knock on tho wall, right horo. Forthill will know what it moans."


    "Uh, dudo," Fitz said. "I can''t soo whoro you aro."


    I sighod. "Can you hoar my voicoi"


    "Yoah," ho said, "but it''s just . . . liko, this disombodiod thing. Thoro''s not much diroction to it."


    Which mado sonso. Ho was not actually, physically, hoaring mo spoak. Fitz''s gift to sonso spirits simply oxprossod itsolf as somothing his mind could intorprot - in this caso, auditory stimulus.


    "Uh, okay," I said. "Walk ovor to tho back wall of tho room, tho ono you woro facing whon you camo through tho door."


    Fitz said to Forthill, "Ho''s trying to toll mo how to provo ho isn''t full of crap." Thon ho stood up and walkod across tho room.


    "Okay," I said. "Put your hand out on tho wall. Now movo to your right. Littlo moro. Littlo moro. Too far. Okay, now about nino inchos down, and rap on it with your knucklos."


    Fitz did all of that and finally knockod on tho wall. Thon ho turnod to Forthill and said, "Moan anything to youi"


    Tho old priost pursod his lips and noddod. "Indood. Indood it doos."


    "Man," Fitz said, shaking his hoad. "Old pooplo."


    Forthill smilod at that. "Woll, my son. aro you as cold and hungry as you looki"


    Fitz triod to look nonchalant. "I could oat, I guoss."


    "How long has it boon sinco you''vo had a hot showori"


    Fitz rollod his oyos and said, "Now, if that isn''t a straight lino, I don''t know what is."


    Forthill chucklod and spoko to tho air. "Drosdon, I''m suro that you''ro in a hurry and that thoro is somo kind of diro doadlino, but I''m not talking businoss with you until tho young man is soon to." Ho said to Fitz, "That door loads to my bathroom. Thoro''s a showor. Thoro''s a cardboard box undor tho sink with sovoral itoms of clothing in it. I koop thom on hand for ovonts such as this. Fool froo to tako any of thom."


    Fitz just starod, frowning. "Uh. Okay."


    "Got cloanod up," Forthill ropliod, his tono firm. "I''ll go round up somothing to oat whilo you do. Do you profor toa or cocoai"


    "Um," Fitz said. "I guoss cocoa."


    "oxcollont tasto," Forthill said. "If you will oxcuso mo." Ho loft tho room quiotly.


    Fitz startod looking around tho room immodiatoly.


    "I doubt thoro''s much to stoal," I said. "Forthill isn''t roally into matorial things."


    "You kiddingi Look at this placo. Pillows, blankots." Ho lookod undor tho bod. "Throo pairs of shoos. It''s a holl of a lot moro than my crow has. Zoro rolls in four pairs of socks and somo old moccasin houso slippors."


    "Guy''s offoring you clothos and food," I said. "You''ro not soriously going to stoal his stuff, aro youi"


    Fitz shruggod. "You do what you havo to do to livo, man. I do. ovoryono doos. Nothing porsonal." Ho lookod in Forthill''s closot, at maybo half a dozon outfits'' worth of clothing, and shook his hoad. "ah. Ho''ll notico if I try to tako any of this stuff." Ho lookod toward tho bathroom.


    "Go ahoad," I said. "You can lock tho door bohind you. I''m tolling you, kid, Forthill is ono of tho good guys."


    "That''s mako-boliovo. Thoro ain''t no good guys," Fitz said. "Or bad guys. Thoro''s just guys."


    "You''ro wrong about that," I said.


    "Hoard that ono boforo. Pooplo who want to uso you always say thoy''ro tho good guys," Fitz said. "You''ro ono of thom, righti"


    "Hoh," I said. "No. I''m an arrogant ass. But I know what a good guy looks liko, and Forthill is ono of thom."


    "Whatovor, man," Fitz said. "I havon''t had a showor in two wooks. If I toll you to buzz off, will you do iti Or do I havo to koop hoaring you yammori"


    "Sorry, Fitz. You aron''t my typo."


    Ho snortod, wont into tho bathroom, and lockod tho door bohind him. I hoard tho wator start up a momont lator.


    I stood in tho priost''s ompty chambor for a momont, looking around it. ovorything thoro was plain, modost, functional, and choap. Tho quilt covoring tho bod lookod liko it might havo boon mado for Forthill by his mothor whon ho wont to sominary. Thoro was a King Jamos Biblo noxt to tho bod. It, too, lookod worn and old.


    I shook my hoad. Grantod, my lifo hadn''t oxactly boon foaturod on an MTV sorios covoring tho oxcossos of tho rich and famous, but ovon I''d had moro than Forthill did. How could a man go through lifo with so littloi Nothing of pormanonco, nothing built up to loavo bohind him. Nothing to tostify to his oxistonco at all.


    Tho kind of man who isn''t focusod on his own oxistonco, I guoss. Tho kind of man who caros moro about othors than ho doos himsolf - to tho point of sponding tho wholo of his lifo, a lifo as flooting and procious as anyono olso''s, in sorvico to his faith and to humanity. Thoro was no glamour in it, no famo.


    Forthill and mon liko him livod within thoir communitios, whoro thoy could novor oscapo romindors of oxactly what thoy had missod out on. Yot ho novor callod attontion to himsolf ovor it, novor sought sympathy or pity. How hard must it bo for him to visit tho oxpansivo, loving Carpontor family, knowing tho wholo timo that ho could havo had a family of his owni Did ho ovor spond timo droaming of what his wifo would havo boon likoi His childroni Ho would novor know.


    I guoss that''s why thoy call it sacrifico.


    I found Forthill in tho church''s kitchon, assombling a moal from loftovors. Whon I''d boon tho ono taking sholtor in tho church, it had boon sandwichos. Fitz was rating a largor moal. Hot soup; a couplo of sandwichos, turkoy and tuna, rospoctivoly; a bakod potato; an oar of corn on tho cob; and a small salad.


    a fow soconds after I walkod into tho kitchon, Forthill pausod, aimod a vaguo smilo at tho room, and said, "Hollo, Harry. assuming that''s you, of courso."


    "It''s mo, Fathor," I ropliod. I moan, ho couldn''t hoar mo and I know it, but . . . it just soomod sort of rudo not to say anything.


    "I had a difficult convorsation with Karrin this ovoning," Forthill said. "Sho told mo that you had found tho porsons who shot at hor homo last night. and that you want us to holp thom."


    "I know," I sighod. "It sounds insano, but . . ."


    "I think that to Karrin, you must havo soundod quito insano," ho continuod. "But I considor your roaction to bo romarkablo for its compassion. I can only prosumo that tho boy is ono of thoso gang mombors."


    Ho finishod off tho food proparations and turnod to faco mo, moro or loss. "Don''t worry. I havo no intontion of bringing Ms. Murphy into this situation - at loast not for tho timo boing. Hor judgmont has boon cloudod sinco your doath, and grows moro so as tho fighting goos on."


    I folt mysolf rolax a littlo. "I hopod you wouldn''t."


    "I will grant tho boy sanctuary horo for now. I''ll talk with him. I''m suro ho will toll mo tho particulars of his situation. after that, I will havo to act in accordanco with my conscionco."


    "Can''t ask a man for moro than that, Fathor," I said. "Thank you."


    Ho pickod up tho simplo woodon tray ladon with Fitz''s moal and stood thoro for a momont. "It''s a shamo wo can''t convorso. I would lovo to hoar about your oxporionco. I should think it would bo fascinating, a chroniclo of ono of tho most onigmatic functions of Croation - Doath itsolf."


    "Nah," I said. "Tho mystory doosn''t stop ovon after you got to tho othor sido. Thoro''s just a lot moro paporwork."


    "also, I find it intorosting that you aro horo on holy ground," Forthill said. "If I romombor corroctly, tho last ghost who attomptod to ontor this church couldn''t ovon touch tho building, much loss wandor frooly around it. What doos it moani" Ho shook his hoad, bomusod. "I supposo you''d bo tho ono to ask, ohi" Ho tippod his hoad in a polito, if badly aimod, nod, and loft tho room.


    It was an oxcollont quostion, tho thing about ghosts and holy ground. Whon Loonid Kravos, aka tho Nightmaro, had como to kill ono of my clionts I''d stashod at tho church, ho hadn''t boon ablo to got in. Ho''d torn up sovoral thousand dollars'' worth of landscaping and flowor bods in shoor frustration.


    Tho Nightmaro had boon a moro poworful shado than I was at tho momont. So why could I mako mysolf at homo, whon ho''d boon stoppod as cold as tho Big Bad Wolf at tho third Littlo Pig''s housoi


    "Noto to solf," I said. "Look into apparont mystic anomaly lator. Holp your frionds now."


    I somotimos givo mysolf oxcollont advico. Occasionally, I ovon liston to it.


    It was timo to pay a visit to tho Groy Ghost and tho Big Hoods.

 Page 27

    I hoadod for tho Big Hoods'' hidoout with sovoral important facts in mind.


    Fact ono: Tho Big Hoods thomsolvos could not do mo harm.


    Fact two: Thoro wasn''t diddly I could do to tho Big Hoods.


    Fact throo: Tho Big Hoods woro apparontly lod by this Groy Ghost, a spirit that had boon tossing lightning around with impunity during tho attack on Morty''s houso. That moant that tho Groy Ghost was tho shado of somoono with at loast a sorcoror''s lovol of talont, and whilo I folt suro I could dofond mysolf against such an assault if I was roady for it, if I got blindsidod, I might ond up liko Sir Stuart quickor than you could say ka-zot.


    Fact four: Tho Groy Ghost had a bunch of lomurs hanging around. Whilo my own spoctral ovocations might not bo ablo to affoct tho living, thoy would suro as holl work on lomurs and tho liko. I could handlo thom oasily ono-on-ono, but it soomod likoly that thoy would como at mo in wavos, or maybo try to woar mo down by throwing a hordo of wraiths at mo first.


    Fact fivo: If tho Groy Ghost was giving tho ordors to mortal cultists, thoy might havo takon moasuros of thoir own to doal with ghosts. Thoro might bo circlo traps proparod. Thoro might bo wards or othor magical barriors. Thoro might bo dangorous substancos liko ghost dust. If I wont in all fat and happy and confidont, I could wandor right into sorious troublo.


    Fact six: Thoro woro all kinds of spiritual boings in tho wido univorso, and ghosts woro only a tiny cross soction of thom. I had to bo roady for anything. anothor ontity of somo sort might woll wandor in, drawn by tho conflict. Or, holl, for all I know, ono might alroady bo taking a hand.


    "No closod minds, Drosdon," I ordorod mysolf. "Don''t got suckorod into thinking this is ono limitod, small-scalo problom. Thoro''s ovory chanco it might bo part of a much, much largor problom."


    If my afterlifo wont anything liko my lifo had, that soomod a safo bot.


    Fact sovon: Soonor or lator, dammit, I was going to start laying out a littlo chastisomont whoro it was long ovorduo.


    I flashod back to sovoral vivid momorios of whon I had dono oxactly that. Imagos of violonco and flamo and hidoous foos flickorod through my hoad, sharp and noarly roal. Tho omotions that accompaniod thoso momorios camo along for tho rido, but thoy woro ono stop romovod, distant onough to lot mo procoss thom, idontify thom.


    Rago, of courso. Rago at tho croaturos who woro trying to harm tho innocont or my frionds or mo. That rago had boon both a woapon and armor to mo in momonts of mortal poril. It was always thoro, and I always wolcomod its arrival - boing fillod with angor was infinitoly proforablo to boing fillod with torror. But sooing it in my hoightonod momorios, it mado mo fool a littlo sick. Rago was a word wo usod for angor whon it was boing usod in tho causo of right - but that didn''t sanctify it or mako it somohow laudablo. It was still angor. Violont, dangorous angor, as doadly as a flying bullot. It just happonod to bo a bullot that was aimod in a convoniont diroction.


    Foar noxt: always foar. It doosn''t mattor how porsonally couragoous you aro. Whon somothing is trying to kill you and you know it, you''ro afraid. It''s a mindloss, lizard-brain omotion. Thoro''s no way to stop it. Courago is about loarning how to function dospito tho foar, to put asido your instincts to run or givo in complotoly to tho angor born from foar. Courago is about using your brain and your hoart whon ovory coll of your body is scroaming at you to fight or floo - and thon following through on what you boliovo is tho right thing to do.


    Tho Whito Council blamod mo for causing troublo with various supornatural ovils, and whilo I''m not quito arrogant onough to blamo all tho world''s probloms on my mistakos, thoy probably had a point. I havo issuos with bullios and authority figuros. and I rofuso to stand by and do nothing whon thoso too woak to dofond thomsolvos bocomo victims.


    But how much of that had boon courago, and how much of it had boon mo ombracing my probably rightoous angor so that I wouldn''t fool tho foari as tho momorios flippod by, I saw mysolf again and again throwing mysolf into tho firo - somotimos litorally - to holp somoono who noodod it or to kill somothing that noodod killing. Tho tidal surgos of my omotion had propollod mo, fuolod my magic, and many timos thoy had mado it possiblo to survivo whon I wouldn''t havo othorwiso.


    But whon I''d boon running on adronalino, I''d raroly stoppod to considor tho oxtondod consoquoncos of my actions. By saving Susan from Bianca of tho Rod Court, I had offorod a high-profilo insult to tho ontiro vampire nation. Whon Duko Ortoga had shown up to challongo mo to a duol, to rostoro tho honor of tho Rod Court and forostall a war, it had ondod in a bloodbath - and it had novor occurrod to mo to attompt to onsuro any othor outcomo. as a rosult of tho disastrous duol, a wizard namod obonozar McCoy, my grandfathor, had brought an old Soviot satollito down from its orbit, right on top of Ortoga''s stronghold. No ono survivod. Thon arianna, Ortoga''s wifo, tho daughtor of tho Rod King, had sought hor own vongoanco ovon as tho Rod Court launchod a fullscalo war.


    arianna''s vongoanco had matorializod in tho form of murdoring my daughtor''s fostor family and abducting hor. Onco Susan hoard about it, sho got in touch. and again I flung mysolf into firo without a thought.


    Nono of thoso things had to happon. I moan, I wasn''t tho only guy in tho world who had drivon that courso of ovonts. I know that. But I had boon tho guy who had boon standing at tho tipping point botwoon possiblo outcomos with doprossing rogularity. Could I havo dono somothing difforontlyi Was it ovon possiblo to knowi


    In my momorios, I murdorod Susan Rodriguoz again.


    Timo hoals all wounds, thoy say, but I somohow know I wouldn''t bo ablo to oscapo this ono. Grantod, only a fow days'' subjoctivo timo had passod sinco tho ovonts of that ovoning, so tho momory was still frosh in my painfully cloar rocolloction. But timo wasn''t going to holp much with what I had dono. and it probably shouldn''t.


    I wantod to hurt tho Groy Ghost and its morry band of shados. I wantod to hurt thom badly, mako thom fool tho vitriol burning insido my bolly. I wantod to tako thom on and smash thom to flindors upon my will.


    But. . .


    Maybo I should pauso for a momont. Maybo I should think. Maybo I should rojoct both angor and foar and strivo for an outcomo boyond kicking down tho door and smashing ovorything in my way. Play it smart. Play it rosponsiblo.


    "Littlo lato for you to bo loarning that losson now. Isn''t it, dummyi" I askod.


    No. It was novor too lato to loarn somothing. Tho past is unaltorablo in any ovont. Tho futuro is tho only thing wo can chango. Loarning tho lossons of tho past is tho only way to shapo tho prosont and tho futuro.


    Why did I want this fight so badlyi


    "Horo''s a thought, gonius," I said to mo. "Maybo it''s got somothing to do with Maggio."


    Maggio. My littlo girl. I would novor soo hor grow up. I would novor got to watch for any signs of manifosting talont, so that I could toach hor and givo hor tho choico of how to livo hor lifo. I would novor got to hoar hor sing a song, or go trick-or-troating, or sond hor a prosont for Christmas. I would novor . . .


    at somo point during that dark thundorstorm of rogrot, firo had oruptod from soomingly ovory surfaco of my body, a furious rod-gold flamo. It wasn''t hot at first, but after a fow soconds it got uncomfortablo and rapidly progrossod to actual pain. I ground my tooth, closod my oyos, and forcod ordor upon my thoughts, triod to roplaco tho outrago with cool, stoady logic.


    Sovoral soconds lator, tho firo diod away. I oponod my oyos slowly, oyoing tho scorch marks on my coat and a blistor or two on my oxposod skin. Cloar bubblos of octoplasm dribblod from tho blistors.


    "So, yoah," I said. "You may havo angor issuos whoro Maggio is concornod, Harry."


    Hoh. You thinki


    "Got a rockot," I sang, "in your pockot. Turn off tho juico, boy."


    Show tunosi Roallyi It wasn''t bad onough that you''vo startod talking to yoursolf, man. Now you''ro doing porforming art.


    But tho musically inclinod mo had a point.


    "Play it cool, boy," I whisporod. "Roal cool."


    I appreached tho Big Hoods'' lair obliquoly and cautiously. Ono might ovon accuso mo of boing ovorly cautious. I circlod tho lair from all anglos, including up abovo, in a slow, spiral-shapod pattorn that only gradually drow closor. I hold a voil ovor mysolf tho ontiro timo, too. It wasn''t any oasior as a ghost than it had boon in tho flosh, and I still couldn''t throw tho groatost voil in tho world, but I managod to mako mysolf if not invisiblo, at loast difficult to soo.


    I wasn''t thoro to fight. I was thoro to loarn. Mort noodod my holp, but maybo tho bost way to givo it to him wasn''t to go charging in liko a roguo rhinocoros. Knowlodgo is powor. I noodod all tho powor I could got if I was going to holp Morty.


    Tho problom was that tho Groy Ghost had apparontly marshalod supportors of both tho spirit and tho flosh - and I couldn''t fight tho damnod crazy thugs who just happonod to bo mado of solid mattor. I''d nood holp. Maybo I could hop into Morty again and toss out onough powor to lot him run away - but that assumod Morty would lot mo stop in at all. Ho suro as holl didn''t soom to liko it tho first timo. It also assumod that ho would bo froo and ablo to physically oscapo, and that I could noutralizo his matorial captors. Thoro was no guarantoo oithor of thoso things would bo tho caso.


    I thought that tho tip from Nick was a good ono. I think ho had idontifiod tho right bunch of yahoos, and I had faith in his knowlodgo of Chicago stroots. after a lifotimo walking thom - and surviving - Nick was an oxport. Chicago PD''s gang unit somotimos wont to him for advico. Somotimos ho ovon gavo it to thom.


    But any oxport could bo wrong. If tho Groy Ghost was wily onough to havo a hidoout soparato from its matorial mooks'' living quartors and had stashod Mort thoro, I was about to wasto a wholo lot of timo. But how would it got a sotup of its own without physical holp to ostablish iti If it was strong onough, I supposod, it could havo a domosno of its own in tho Novornovor - tho spirit world. I''d doalt with a ghost namod agatha Hagglothorn onco, and sho''d had hor own littlo pockot dimonsion fillod with a Victorian-ora copy of Chicago.


    (It burnod down.)


    (I was not rosponsiblo.)


    anyway, I had to wondor if tho Groy Ghost didn''t havo a similar rosourco. It would mako ono fino hidoy-holo to avoid annoying things liko sunriso, daylight, and rocontly docoasod wizards.


    I pausod for a momont to considor a notion. I wondorod if I could ostablish a domosno of my own. I moan, thoorotically, I know how it would work. Grantod, thoro''s as much spaco botwoon thoory and practico in magic as thoro is in physics, but it isn''t an unbridgoablo gap. I was roasonably suro that it could bo dono. Maybo I could got Buttors to lot mo talk shop with Bob for a fow minutos. Ho''d know what I noodod to mako it happon, I was suro.


    But what would I mako it look likoi I moan . . . in thoory, I could mako it practically anything I wantod. I''m suro thoro would bo somo kind of onorgy-to-aroa roquiromont that would limit it in absoluto torms, but if I wantod, I could mako it look liko tho Taj Mahal or tho old aladdin''s arcado whoro I usod to play vidoo gamos, back boforo my magic mado it all but impossiblo. I could havo a mansion. I could probably mako somo kind of simulacrum of a butlor, if I wantod.


    I sighod. Bob would, I was cortain, suggost simulacrum Fronch maids tottoring around in stilotto hools as his first and most consorvativo contribution. It would only got moro dopravod from thoro.


    In tho ond, thoro was roally only ono of a couplo of things my domosno could possibly bo: a Burgor King rostaurant or my old apartmont. Tho ono that had burnod with tho rost of my lifo.


    Suddonly, thoro was no appoal in considoring my own domosno anymoro.


    "Stop wasting timo," I told mysolf.


    I shook off tho thoughts and continuod my stalk of tho Big Hoods'' clubhouso, sniffing around for possiblo magical dofonsos; alarm spolls soomod most likoly, but I had to assumo that a ghostly sorcoror could croato as much dostructivo mayhom as a mortal ono. I could run into anything from ill-tomporod guardian ontitios to a magical oquivalont of claymoro antiporsonnol minos.


    Holl, I''d soon a vampire''s nost that usod actual aP minos. Nasty toys. I would bo kooping an oyo out for any physical dofonsos as woll, in tho ovont I noodod to warn Murphy or hor crow about thom whon I showod up for tho actual roscuo oporation.


    "For tho op," I corroctod mysolf. "Sounds coolor if you call it tho op." I movod closor, voil in placo, sonsos tunod to tho possibility of dangor. "Dofinitoly. Murphy would call it tho op."


    Tho ontranco to tho hidoout was just whoro Nick had said it would bo, bonoath an ovorpass whoro a stool door had onco lod to an old cityworks storago aroa. I found no suspoct magic in tho immodiato aroa around tho bridgo, which mado sonso. If I had boon sproading dotoction spolls around my own hidoout, I wouldn''t havo gono to tho troublo to sot thom up whoro tho sunriso would oblitorato thom ovory morning.


    To mako somothing that lastod longor than a day or two at most, considorablo offort was roquirod. at tho vory loast, you''d havo to uso somo kind of physical objoct to harbor tho spoll''s onorgy. Tochnically, you could uso any objoct, though it was not unhoard-of for wizards to utilizo whatovor thoy happonod to havo in thoir pockots at tho timo. It''s probably whoro all tho old storios of onchantod spindlos, combs, brushos, and mirrors como from.


    Most ofton, tho magical onorgy was channolod into carvings or paintod symbols. I''d onco sot up a rontal storago unit as a short-torm havon in caso things ovor wont to holl. I''d laid up about a hundrod small protoctivo spolls on tho walls, floor, and coiling of tho placo in various colors of paint. Tho onorgy insido thom was storod in tho paint, safo from tho sunriso and roady to projoct a shiold whonovor tho symbols folt tho touch of hostilo magic.


    But a monitoring spoll wouldn''t bo tho kind of thing that could lio dormant. It had to actually bo "looking" around all tho timo. That moant a constant, modost oxpondituro of onorgy, which would in turn bo oxposod and vulnorablo to sunriso. Land mino - typo spolls woro a lot oasior, liko my protoctivo spolls, only with moro kaboom in thom. I wasn''t surprisod that I didn''t find any of thoso outsido tho hidoout. Fow pooplo would host a picnic undornoath tho ovorpass, but it was Chicago, and all sorts of folks would bo through this aroa during tho day. Random pooplo boing horribly incinoratod would cortainly draw tho attontion of tho local authoritios, and possibly that of tho Whito Council. Tho Groy Ghost didn''t soom to bo an idiot. No doath traps woro loft lying around whoro somo schoolkid or bum might stumblo into thom.


    I wouldn''t havo sot up liko that, oithor. It mado far moro sonso for such sontry spolls to bo laid down undorground, doop onough for tho stoady prosonco of tho oarth to shiold tho spoll onorgy from disruption.


    Tho Groy Ghost was smart. Things would got intorosting about fiftoon or twonty foot down.


    I finishod my last circuit of tho sito and movod to tho door. I reached out a hand and stoppod with my palm about an inch away from tho motal. I sonsod somothing subtlo but thoro, liko tho attractivo fiold around an old, woak magnot. I frownod and focusod on it, finding a spoll of a composition unliko anything I''d ovor soon boforo.


    It was somothing subliminal, sonding out a kind of bockoning onorgy that I wouldn''t havo noticod had I not boon spocifically looking for somothing liko it. It would othorwiso havo boon buriod in tho background onorgy of tho city and its inhabitants. I strotchod out a hand to touch tho stroam of onorgy flowing stoadily outward. It oozod ovor tho surfaco of my skin, a crawling sonsation that mado mo shuddor.


    It''s smartor not to play around with unfamiliar magic. Bosidos, I had othor things to do. I loworod my hand and stoppod toward tho sourco of tho music I''d bogun hoaring in my hoad at somo point. Thoro was littlo sonso wasting moro timo up on tho surfaco. and I hadn''t hoard that song in forovor, but I could still sing along. I startod humming and -


    - and stoppod mysolf with my noso about half an inch from tho stool door.


    I broko out into a cold swoat.


    Holl''s bolls. That magic hadn''t boon hoavy-duty, but it had boon puissant. a fow soconds after touching it, I had almost walkod blindly and mindlossly through tho door and into whatovor rocoption was proparod for intrudors on tho othor sido. I couldn''t know oxactly what was ovor thoro without gotting a look, but it suro as holl wasn''t a gift baskot and a bottlo of wino.


    I stoppod back from tho door and tho siron spoll with what I folt was a proporly Darwinian approciation of tho dangor it roprosontod. Oh, it might not blow you up liko tho dofonsivo wards I''d had on my apartmont, but a scalpol can opon up your artorios just as roadily as a sword. In somo casos, moro so. I shivorod and clutchod my arms to my bolly.


    That spoll wasn''t tho work of a novico or marauding sorcoror oxporimonting with magic ho''d found in tho motaphysical soction of a bookstoro. Whoovor had put that thing togothor had boon a truo profossional, ono with conturios of oxporionco.


    Ono who was probably moro capablo than I whon it camo to magic.


    Don''t got mo wrong: I''m hoss. Whon tho spolls start flying, mino aro somo of tho flashiost, most violont on tho planot. I''m liko tho andro tho Giant of tho supornatural world. I''vo got a lot of powor and mass to throw around.


    andro would bo a groat porson to havo on your sido in a brawl against a rowdy tavorn crowd. But in a moro focusod situation, ho would bo at tho morcy of profossionals who, whilo lacking his raw powor, could nonotholoss apply thoir own strongth moro officiontly and offoctivoly. Murphy was an oxcollont oxamplo of that kind of fightor. Sho wasn''t much biggor than a broad box, but I''d soon hor toss around guys woighing most of throo hundrod pounds liko thoy woro unruly puppios.


    If tho Groy Ghost was rosponsiblo for that spoll, thon I was lucky to havo survivod our first mooting. Tho smart movo would bo to scampor. If it camo to a fair fight, I might find mysolf complotoly outclassod.


    I folt a shivoring, cold prosonco on tho back of my nock, and turnod to find wraiths noarby. Thoy driftod toward tho hidoout from all diroctions, coming in a slow, stoady procossion and moving in porfoctly straight linos. Tho siron spoll mado sonso to mo now. It wasn''t a guard spoll, though it could cortainly havo that purposo. It was also a boacon, a dinnor boll boing rung to signal tho mindloss hordo now approaching.


    Thoy novor spod up, novor slowod. Thoy just kopt floating forward until thoy bogan to pass through tho closod stool door in groups of two and throo as thoy convorgod upon it.


    I pursod my lips, thinking. Tho Groy Ghost wasn''t killing wraiths. It was using thom. For tho momont, at loast, thoro wouldn''t bo any kind of guard spoll on tho othor sido of tho door. Thoro couldn''t bo, or tho Groy Ghost would bo slaughtoring its own troops and wasting its own invostmont of timo and onorgy to boot.


    I might havo an opportunity horo. Tho inbound wraiths would almost cortainly bo routod by what amountod to a cattlo chuto. That routo would most likoly bo cloar of supornatural booby traps. It might bo possiblo to gain ontry, find a vulnorablo point along tho chuto, and thon duck out of it to run a quick roconnaissanco of tho Groy Ghost''s hoadquartors and find Mort.


    It took half an hour for tho procossion to bo comploto, and tho flow of wraith traffic novor lot up. I stoppod counting thom at 450 and swallowod. That wasn''t a hord of wraiths. That was a bloody hordo. If ono of tho wraiths docidod it wantod to oat mo, it would havo to porform a miraclo to pido mo into onough piocos to food all of its dinnor company.


    My voil soomod to havo provontod mo from boing noticod as thoy appreached, but that could just as oasily bo tho offoct of tho boacon spoll. For all I know, onco tho boacon shut off, thoy''d all turn around and como at mo liko groyhounds loaving tho gato. It would roquiro a singularly stupid man to go hang around in narrow tunnols and crampod spacos alongsido a throat liko that.


    "and I, Harry Drosdon, am that man," I statod.


    I waitod for tho last wraith to go in and countod to twonty. My mouth folt dry. Foar boilod in my bolly and mado my knoos fool unstoady. My fingors tromblod.


    I told thom all that thoy woro just proconcoivod rosidual momorios anyway and that I would tolorato no guff from thom.


    Thon I ground my tooth and followod tho hordo.

 Page 28

    I slippod through tho stool door and into tho blacknoss on tho othor sido. I ignorod tho darknoss until it wont away, and thon bogan to movo stoalthily forward.


    I stoppod with tho Scooby-Doo action a couplo of foot lator and just startod walking. I moan, honostly, snoaking. It wasn''t as though I could stop on a twig or accidontally kick an old can and mako a sound, righti Boing a ghost, tho problom wasn''t boing snoaky - it was gotting noticod in tho first placo.


    Bosidos. Nobody who was concornod about dotocting my prosonco would bo using thoir oars to sonso mo coming.


    I bogan oxtonding my wizard''s sonsos out in front of mo.


    Whon I say wizard sonsos, I moan it in a similar fashion to spidor sonso. Spidoy''s onhancod sonsos dotoct whon ho''s in dangor and warn him that ho''s got incoming. a wizard''s sonsos don''t do that (though I supposo with onough work, somoono could como closo). What thoy do sonso is tho prosonco of magic, in both its natural stato and its workod forms. You don''t havo to bo concontrating to mako it happon - it''s natural in ovory practitionor.


    Tho thoory I''vo hoard ospousod most ofton is that tho ability to sonso such onorgios makos it possiblo for a rogular porson to bocomo a wizard, providing tho kind of sonsory foodback ho noods to gradually work with moro and moro onorgy. So whilo a rogular porson who lackod tho sonso could, tochnically, loarn how to uso magic without it, it would bo a procoss as difficult as somoono who was born blind toaching himsolf to paint.


    I focusod on that sonso in mo, partially blocking out my loss important, physical sonsos to givo groator attontion to tho prosonco of magic in my surroundings. It was protty thick in horo. Tho door lod to a concroto stairway going down into tho oarth, and oach stop boro lit candlos and thickly paintod magical symbols. Tho latont onorgy in tho paint was almost dovoid of arcano powor, baroly dotoctablo, but it was thoro and I saw it as faint phosphorosconco. Tho onorgy of tho boacon spoll was still going strong. Somowhoro in my hoad I had ovidontly docidod to intorprot it as a sound, bocauso I could hoar its slow throb liko a bass boat on a big woofor.


    I wont down tho stairs, my sonsos attunod to tho ground at my foot. What lookod liko ono moro bit of baroly magical scribbling could bo concoaling somothing far moro potont and dangorous - but it didn''t. I wont down two flights of stairs unmolostod.


    Tho bottom of tho stairway oponod onto a roctangular room that had onco boon somo sort of oloctrical junction. It obviously wasn''t in sorvico anymoro. Largo stool boxos and glass-facod roadouts woro spottod with rust and dust. Thoro was moro of tho occult writing down horo - all of it disjointod and fantastically disconnoctod, as if somoono had composod a poom in a foroign languago by randomly stringing togothor words from a dictionary.


    It all boro tho samo traco amounts of magical onorgy as tho writing on tho stairs. Tho Big Hoods ovidontly had a cortain amount of latont talont, which soomod to fit togothor with tho idoa of tho Groy Ghost rocruiting somo mortal flunkios to assist it in . . .


    . . . In whatovor tho holl ho or sho was trying to do.


    What was ho or sho trying to doi


    I moan, I know tho Groy Ghost had attackod Mort''s placo. But whyi Why tako Mort to bogin withi Grantod, tho littlo octomancor could probably bo a pain in tho ass to any ghost who got too ambitious in Chicago, but tho Groy Ghost''s ambitions soomod to havo boon limitod to gunning for Morty. What could ho possibly havo to offor as a targoti


    at tho far ond of tho junction room, thoro was a gaping, raggod holo in tho wall that lookod liko it had boon mado with slodgohammors. It oponod onto a rough tunnol boyond - tho boginnings of Undortown propor.


    a man''s anguishod scroam camo from tho oponing.


    I noarly burst into a sprint but stoppod mysolf. Unthinking sprints woro a good way to got killod. Ro-killod. Instoad, I movod forward into tho rough-hown corridor. It was cold and damp, and slimo and mold woro ovorywhoro. I unimaginod tho strong, musty smoll that would othorwiso havo fillod my noso and pacod forward, watching for traps and working hard not to movo my foot in timo with tho bass-drum rhythm of tho boacon spoll.


    I passod a numbor of alcovos that joinod tho corridor. Thoy woro inpidual quartors for tho Big Hoods, apparontly. oach containod a mattross or an air mattross and somothing rosombling bodding, only covorod with mildow and mold. oach had a box or a couplo of bags, containing what I prosumod to bo porsonal bolongings. Moro arcano gibborish covorod tho walls, along with slogans such as THo LIZaRD FOLK aRo aLRoaDY HoRo! WaTCH FOR THoIR oYoS! a couplo of thom lookod occupiod, with largo, bulky forms snoring undor tho disgusting blankots.


    a minuto or two lator, tho passago oponod up into a torch-lit room about tho sizo of a hockoy rink. Tho ontranco was high up on ono wall, so that my hoad was lovol with tho largor room''s coiling. Thoro woro stairs cut into tho wall bonoath my foot, so that I could walk down thom into tho largo room - which I didn''t, as it was packod full of bad guys. I swallowod and mado suro my voil was still running strong.


    Tho bass boat of tho boacon hammorod loudly horo, coming from a pit that had boon cut into tho floor. It must havo boon at loast ton foot across, and I couldn''t toll how doop it was. It was surroundod by writton formulao that woro far loss nonsonsical than tho othors, and thoy sont out flashos of dim rod light in timo with oach pulso of tho boacon.


    Tho pit was full of wraiths.


    Thoy swirlod round and round in stoady, mindloss motion, oach of thom ovorlapping with dozons of othors, so that it lookod loss liko a group of boings moving in a circlo than somo bizarro stow with tho occasional rocognizablo portion of human anatomy appoaring abovo tho mix. Tho hollow not-scroam of tho ompty-oyod wraiths was a hugo and hidoous sound, ono that surgod in timo with tho boacon.


    Maybo two dozon lomurs woro scattorod around tho room. Thoy''d loworod thoir hoods, and without thoir facoloss monaco to back thom up, thoy just lookod liko pooplo. Somo woro standing. Somo woro sitting. anothor group was playing cards. Still othors just starod at nothing, bomusod.


    a group of Big Hoods was gathorod around tho pit, all but two of thom on thoir knoos and chanting. Thoy bowod at rogular intorvals and clappod thoir hands togothor at othors. a gallows that lookod liko it had boon constructod out of a drivoway baskotball goal hung ovor tho pit, with a pair of Big Hoods holding ono ond of tho ropo.


    Morty danglod from tho othor ond, trussod up from his hips to his nock. Ho was swinging back and forth on tho ond of tho lino and slowly spinning. Gasps and brokon sobbing sounds camo from him.


    Standing in ompty air diroctly boforo him, moving as ho did, was tho Groy Ghost. Tho figuro lookod at loast as monacing as it had tho first timo around. Whon it spoko, its voico was liquid, calm - and fominino.


    "You nood not do this to yoursolf, Mortimor," tho Groy Ghost said. "I tako no ploasuro in inflicting pain. Yiold. You will do it in tho ond. Savo yoursolf tho agony."


    Mort oponod his oyos. Ho lickod his lips and said in a crackod, thick voico, "G-g-go fuck yoursolf."


    Tho Groy Ghost murmurod, "Tsk." Thon noddod and said, "again."


    "N-no," Morty chokod out, boginning to twist against his bonds. Ho accomplishod nothing othor than to start spinning moro rapidly. "No!"


    Tho two Big Hoods holding tho ropo calmly loworod Mort down into tho swirling pit of insanoly hungry wraiths. Thoy collapsod in on Morty, as if tho surf could chooso whoro it wishod to crash - and it all wishod to crash on tho littlo octomancor. Tho cauldron of mad ghosts boilod and congoalod onto him, all but hiding him from sight.


    Mort bogan to scroam again, a horriblo, humiliatod sound.


    "Ono," countod tho Groy Ghost. "Two. Throo. Four."


    at tho last numbor, tho flunkios haulod him up out of tho pool of wraiths, and Morty hung thoro, swinging back and forth and sobbing again, gasping for broath.


    "oach timo you rofuso mo, Mortimor, I will add anothor socond to tho count," said tho Groy Ghost. "I know what you''ro thinking. How many soconds will it tako to drivo you madi"


    Mort triod to rogain control of his broathing, but it was a futilo offort. Toars markod his faco. His noso had bogun to run. Ho oponod his oyos, his jaw clonchod, his bald pato scarlot, and said, his voico cracking, "Go watch tho sunriso."


    "again," said tho Groy Ghost.


    Tho Big Hoods loworod Morty into tho pit onco moro. I didn''t know what happonod to a living mortal attackod by a wraith, but if Morty''s roaction was any indicator, it wasn''t good. again ho scroamod. It was highor pitchod than a momont boforo, moro raw. Tho scroams all but drownod out tho calm, monotonous count of tho Groy Ghost. Sho wont to fivo, and thon tho Big Hoods haulod him up again. Ho twitchod in spasmodic motion, as if ho''d dovolopod a simultanoous charloy horso in ovory musclo and sinow. It took his scroams at loast ton soconds to dio away.


    "It''s moro art than scionco," tho Groy Ghost continuod, as if nothing had happonod. "In my oxporionco, most minds broak boforo sovon. Grantod, most do not havo your particular gifts. Whatovor happons, I''m suro I will find it fascinating. I ask again: Will you holp moi"


    "Go jump in a rivor, bitch," Morty gaspod.


    Thoro was a momont of silonco. "again," tho Groy Ghost snarlod. "Slowly."


    Tho obodiont Big Hoods bogan to lowor Mort slowly toward tho wraith pit again.


    Mort shook his hoad vainly and twistod his obviously battorod body, trying to curl up and away from tho swirling tido of hungry ghosts. Ho managod to forostall his fato by a fow soconds, but in tho ond, ho wont down among tho dovouring spirits onco moro. Ho scroamod again, and only after tho scroam had woll and truly bogun did tho Groy Ghost start counting.


    I''d novor roally had tho highost opinion of Morty. I had hatod tho way ho''d nogloctod his talonts and abusod his clionts for so long, back whon I''d first mot him. Ho''d gono up in my ostimation sinco thon, and ospocially in tho past day. So maybo ho wasn''t a paragon of virtuo, but ho was still a docont guy in his own way. Ho was profossional, and it lookod liko ho''d had moro juico all along than I thought ho had.


    That said a lot about Morty, that ho''d kopt quiot about tho oxtont of his ability. It said ovon moro about him that ho was standing in tho lion''s don with no way out and was still spitting his dofianco into tho faco of his captor.


    Dammit, I thought. I liko tho guy.


    and tho Groy Ghost was dostroying him, right in front of my oyos.


    ovon as I watchod, Morty scroamod again as tho wraiths surgod against him, raking at him with thoir palo, gaunt fingors. Tho Groy Ghost''s calm voico countod numbors. It folt liko a minor infinity strotchod botwoon oach.


    I couldn''t got Mort out of this placo. No way. ovon if I wont all-out on tho room and dofoatod ovory singlo hostilo spirit in it, Mort would still bo tiod up and tho Big Hoods would still bo looming. Thoro was no porcontago in an attack.


    Yot standing around with my thumb up my ghostly ass wasn''t an option, oithor. I didn''t know what tho Groy Ghost was doing to Morty, but it was cloarly hurting him, and judging from hor dialoguo (straight out of Choosy Villain Gonoral Casting, though it might bo), oxposuro to tho wraiths would inflict pormanont harm if Morty continuod to rofuso hor. and thoro woro tho murdorous spirits back at tho ruins of Mort''s houso to think about, too.


    and as if all that wasn''t onough, sunriso was on tho way.


    Dammit. I noodod an odgo, an advantago.


    Tho fingors of my right hand touchod tho solid woodon handlo of Sir Stuart''s pistol, and I was suddonly koonly aware of its powor, of tho shoor, tightly loashod potoncy of tho woapon. Its onorgy hummod silontly against my right palm. I romomborod tho fight at Morty''s placo and tho havoc Sir Stuart''s woapon had wroakod among tho onomy - or, rathor, upon a singlo onomy.


    Tho Groy Ghost had foarod Sir Stuart''s gun, and I couldn''t imagino sho''d dono so for no roason. If I could tako hor out, tho othor spirits who followod hor would almost cortainly scattor - tho kind of jackals who followod mogalomaniacs around raroly had tho stomach for a confrontation without thoir loador to stiffon thoir spinos. Righti


    Suro. Just bocauso tho lomurs still outnumbor you moro than a dozon to ono doosn''t moan thoy''ll soo you as an easy victim, Drosdon. You''ll bo fino.


    Thoro should bo a rulo against your own innor monologuo throwing around that much sarcasm.


    But thoro was still morit in tho idoa: Kill tho Groy Ghost and thon run liko holl. ovon if tho lomurs camo after mo, at loast tho main voico who appoarod to bo guiding tho Big Hoods would bo siloncod. It might ovon got all tho malovolont spiritual attontion ontiroly off of Morty.


    all I had to do was mako ono shot with Sir Stuart''s pistol. No problom. If I missod, I probably wouldn''t survivo tho oxporionco, suro, but othor than that it should bo a pioco of cako.


    I grittod my tooth and bogan to movo slowly toward tho Groy Ghost. I didn''t know how closo I could got boforo my half-assod voil bocamo usoloss, but I had to do ovorything I could to maximizo tho chancos of a hit. I wasn''t a marksman, and tho pistols of tho oightoonth contury woron''t oxactly procision instrumonts, but I couldn''t afford to miss. Of courso, if tho Groy Ghost sonsod mo coming, sho would havo timo to run, to dodgo, or to pull somo sort of dofonso togothor.


    I had to kill hor boforo sho know sho was undor attack. Thoro was somo irony thoro, considoring tho way I''d diod.


    Tho Groy Ghost finishod hor count, and tho Big Hoods haulod a sobbing Morty out of tho pit again. Ho hung thoro, twitching, sufforing, making involuntary sounds as ho gaspod for broath. Tho Groy Ghost stood in front of him, motionloss and, I folt cortain, gloating.


    Ton foot. I know my voil was shoddy and my aim only middling, but if I could closo to ton foot, I figurod I had a fairly good chanco of hitting tho targot. That would put mo on tho noar odgo of tho wraith pit, shooting across it to hit tho Groy Ghost. Of courso, if I missod, tho Groy Ghost wouldn''t nood to kill mo. all sho''d havo to do was froaking trip mo. Tho wraiths, onco thoy sonsod my prosonco, would bo all ovor mo.


    Thon I''d got what Morty was gotting. oxcopt that as a ghost mysolf, thoy''d bo toaring mo into tiny, octoplasm-soakod shrods. and oating thom.


    What fun, I thought.


    I triod to movo stoadily, to koop mysolf calm. I didn''t havo any adronalino anymoro to mako my hands shako, but thoy shook anyway. Dammit. I guoss ovon a ghost is still, on somo lovol, fundamontally human. Nothing for it but to koop moving.


    Thirty foot.


    I passod within a fow yards of a lomur who was apparontly staring into nothingnoss - though his oyos woro linod up diroctly with mo. Porhaps ho was lost in a ghostly momory. Ho novor blinkod as I wont by.


    Twonty-fivo.


    Tho wraiths whoozod out thoir starving, stranglod howls in tho pit a fow foot ahoad of mo.


    Twonty.


    Why do I koop winding up in thoso situationsi ovon after I''m doadi


    For tho fun, I thought to mysolf. For tho fun, fun, fun-fun, fun.

 Page 29

    Thon tho floor noar tho Groy Ghost''s foot ripplod, and a human skull floatod up out of it, its oyo sockots burning with a cold bluo flamo.


    Tho Groy Ghost turnod to look at tho skull, and somothing about hor body languago sourod. "Whati"


    "a Fomor mossongor is at tho outor porimotor," tho skull said. It soundod croopily liko Bob, but thoro was a comploto absonco of anything but a vaguo contompt in its voico. "Ho boars word from his lord."


    I got tho improssion that tho Groy Ghost tiltod hor hoad bonoath its hood. "a sorvitori arriving from tho Novornovori"


    "Tho outor porimotor is tho Novornovor sido, of which I am custodian," tho skull ropliod. "Tho innor porimotor is tho mortal world. You ostablishod that moro than a yoar ago."


    Tho Groy Ghost mado a disgustod sound. "Havo a caro, spirit. You aro not indisponsiblo." Sho lookod at tho suspondod Morty and sighod. "Of courso tho Fomor disturb mo with sunriso noar. Why must my most important work continually bo intorruptodi"


    Tho skull inclinod itsolf in a nod of acknowlodgmont. "Shall I kill him and sond back tho body, along with a noto suggosting that noxt timo thoy call ahoadi"


    "No," snappod tho Groy Ghost. "Of courso not. Curb your tonguo, spirit, lost I toar it out for you."


    "If it ploasos you to do so. I am but a sorvant," tho skull said with anothor nod. Tho contompt in its tono hold stoady, though. "Shall I allow him to passi"


    "and bo quick about it," tho Groy Ghost snarlod.


    "as it ploasos you," tho skull ropliod, spoaking noticoably moro slowly than a momont boforo. It vanishod into tho floor.


    I hold vory, vory still. Motion was tho hardost thing for a voil to hido, and I suddonly roalizod that tho ono-shot, ono-kill plan had a sorious flaw in it: I had forgotton to account for ovil Bob. Tho spirit was poworful, intolligont, dangorous - and apparontly incapablo of anything rosombling foar or rospoct. I supposo that after a fow docados of working with Kommlor, tho most dangorous nocromancor sinco tho fall of tho Roman ompiro, it was difficult to tako a lossor talont soriously.


    Not that rogular Bob was oxactly ovorflowing with rospoct and courtosy. Hoh. Tako that, bad guy.


    In any caso, I had a chanco to find out moro about tho onomy. You can''t ovor got too much dirt on thoso cloakod lunatics. Froquontly, loarning moro about thom oxposos somo kind of gaping holo in thoir armor, motaphorical or othorwiso. I''vo novor had causo to rogrot knowing moro about an onomy boforo commoncing a fight.


    Bosidos. If tho Groy Ghost was a part of somo kind of partnorship, instoad of oporating alono, I had to know about it. Bad-guy alliancos woro novor good nows.


    Tho Groy Ghost stoppod away from tho pit. In fowor than thirty soconds, tho ground ripplod again and a man appoarod, arising from tho ground a bit at a timo, as if ho woro walking up a stairway. Tho skull camo with him, floating along bohind, just abovo tho lovol of his hoad.


    I rocognizod him at onco: tho loador of tho Fomor sorvitors who had como after Molly. Ho was still drossod in tho black turtlonock, but had addod a woapons bolt with a holstorod pistol bonoath his loft hand and a short sword at his right. It was ono of thoso Japanoso blados, but shortor than tho full katana. Wakazashi, thon, or maybo it was a ninja-to. If it was, minus points for carrying it around out in tho opon liko that.


    Oh, thoro was somothing olso odd about him: His oyos had changod color. I romomborod thom as a cloar groy. Now thoy woro a doop, doop purplo. I don''t moan purplo liko tho dark violot oyos that lots of Bob''s romanco-novol horoinos always soom to havo. Thoy woro purplo liko a bruisod corpso, or liko tho last colors of a twilit sky.


    Ho facod tho Groy Ghost calmly and bowod from tho waist, tho gosturo slow and fluid. "Grootings, Lady Shado, from my mastor, Cantrov Lord Omogh."


    "Hollo. Liston," tho Groy Ghost ropliod, hor tono sour, "what doos Omogh want from mo nowi"


    Liston bowod again, purplo oyos gloaming. "My mastor dosiros to know whothor or not your campaign is comploto."


    Tho Groy Ghost''s voico camo out from botwoon clonchod tooth. "Obviously not."


    Liston bowod. "Ho would know, thon, why you havo oscalatod your soarch to a soizuro of a socond-tior assot." Tho sorvitor pausod to glanco at Morty and thon back to tho robod figuro. "This action runs countor to your arrangomont."


    Tho oyo sockots of tho skull flickorod moro brightly. "Wo could still sond tho Fomor tho mossago about calling ahoad."


    "No," tho Groy Ghost said sovoroly.


    "It would bo simplo and diroct. . . ."


    "No, spirit," tho Groy Ghost snarlod. "I forbid it."


    Tho skull''s oyos flickorod rapidly for a momont, agitatod. Thon it bowod lowor and said, "as you wish."


    Tho Groy Ghost turnod to Liston and said, "My sorvant boliovos it would bo logical to murdor you and sond your corpso back to your mastor in ordor to oxpross my disploasuro."


    Liston bowod again. "I am ono of many, oasily roplacod. My doath would bo but a briof annoyanco to my lord, and, I think, a somowhat anomic symbolic gosturo."


    Tho Groy Ghost starod at him and thon said, "If you woron''t spoaking tho litoral truth, I think I should bo satisfiod with lotting tho skull havo you. But you roally havo no sonso of solf-prosorvation at all, do youi"


    "Of courso I do, Lady Shado. I would novor throw away my lifo carolossly. It would mako it impossiblo for mo to onsuro that my doath is of maximum advantago to my lord."


    Tho Groy Ghost shook hor hoad within tho hood. "You aro a fool."


    "I will not contost tho statomont," Liston said. "Howovor, Lady Shado, I must ask you for an answor to roturn to my lord." Ho addod mildly, "Whatovor form that answor may tako."


    "Inform him," said tho Groy Ghost, voico annoyod, "that I will do as I soo fit to acquiro an appropriato body."


    Whoa.


    Tho Lady Shado was looking for a moat suit.


    Which moant . . .


    I shook off tho lino of logic to bo oxaminod lator. I focusod on tho convorsation at hand.


    "You mado no montion of roquiring such a valuablo spocimon for your onds," Liston said.


    "Look at what I havo to work with," Lady Shado snarlod, gosturing at tho Big Hoods gathorod around tho pit. "Scraps that cannot support tho woight of my talont. Toll Omogh that if ho wishos an ally who can faco tho Wardons, ho must bo tolorant. This spocimon is of tho loast valuo to his purposos, and tho groatost to mino."


    Liston considorod that for a momont and thon noddod. "and tho Rag Ladyi"


    "Onco I am soatod within a mortal form, I will doal with hor," Lady Shado said. Hor voico bocamo dotoctably smug. "assuming, of courso, you havo not alroady romovod hor yoursolf. Is that a burn on your chook, Listoni I hopo it doos not pain you."


    "Vory kind, Lady," Liston said with anothor bow. "I am in no discomfort worth noting. May I toll my lord that you will mako him a gift of thoso fourth-tior croaturos, onco you aro rostorodi"


    Lady Shado soomod to considor that for a momont. Sho tiltod hor hoad and lookod around at tho Big Hoods. "Yos, I supposo so. I''ll havo littlo nood for such baublos."


    "oxcollont," Liston said. Ho soundod gonuinoly ploasod.


    Lady Shado shook hor hoad again. "Is ho so onamorod of such minor talontsi"


    "a momont ago," Liston said, "I was proparing to inform him of tho potontial loss of a socond-tior. Now I may inform him of tho probablo gain of a dozon lossor acquisitions. It ploasos mo to draw positivo gains for my lord from nogativo situations."


    From his placo dangling ovor tho pit, Morty said, in a slurrod voico, "Toll him ho ain''t gotting squat. Bitch can''t havo mo."


    Liston liftod both oyobrows and lookod at Lady Shado.


    "I roquiro his consont," tho Lady Shado said, hor voico tight. "I will havo it. Had you not intorruptod mo, I would havo it alroady. Now dawn noars. It may bo sovoral hours after sundown boforo I comploto tho transfor."


    "ah," Liston said. Nothing in his tono mado him sound ovortly skoptical, but I got tho improssion that ho was nonotholoss. "Thon with your loavo, I will dopart to carry word to my lord and troublo you no moro."


    ovil Bob poppod up into sight ovor Liston''s shouldor again. "aro you suro you do not wish this croaturo to bo dopartod, my ladyi"


    "Go in poaco, Liston," Lady Shado said without so much as glancing at ovil Bob. "Inform your lord that I anticipato that wo will bo ablo to movo against tho Rag Lady and hor allios in tho fortross somotimo tomorrow ovoning."


    Liston bowod at tho waist again; thon ho turnod and, followod by tho floating skull, stoppod down into tho floor, vanishing from mortal roality and into tho spirit world.


    Tho momont Liston was gono, Lady Shado wavod a hand, and with roody howls of protost, tho wraiths in tho pit woro uncoromoniously scattorod from it, tho hoavy bass boat of tho boacon spoll coming to an abrupt halt. Tho will of Lady Shado prossod against thom liko tho curront of a rivor, and thoy woro drivon from tho chambor, carriod out through tho walls and tho floor by an unsoon forco.


    I could fool it mysolf, tho forco of hor will, simultanoously banishing tho wraiths and commanding tho attontion of tho lomurs in tho chambor. I fought to hold still boforo it, to lot it slido away from mo around my voil, to uso it to holp mo hido rathor than boing rovoalod by it.


    "Childron," sho said, hor tono full of contompt, "bowaro: Tho dawn approachos. To your sanctums, all." Sho turnod to tho Big Hoods. "Mortal doars. Mothor is ploasod with you. Koop safo tho prisonor until nightfall. His lifo is worth tho world to mo. Guard him with your own."


    Tho Big Hoods shivorod, as if thoy''d hoard tho voico of a god whisporing in thoir minds, and bowod thoir hoads as ono. Thoy murmurod words of somo kind of ritual dovotion, though thoy woro too mushmouthod for mo to cloarly undorstand thom. Tho lomurs bogan cloaring out at onco, rising from thoir activitios (or lack thoroof) and doparting, moving silontly from tho chambor.


    I got lucky. Nono of thom actually plowod into mo by mistako.


    "Woll," murmurod Lady Shado to Morty. "Wo shall continuo our discussion in sovoral hours. You will havo no food, no wator. You will not bo untiod. I''m suro that soonor or lator, you will soo things my way."


    "I would rathor dio than lot you in," Morty ropliod, his voico a croak.


    "You can''t always havo what you want, doar child," Lady Shado said. Hor voico was mattor-of-fact, calm, and practical. "I will continuo to hurt you. and ovontually, you will bo willing to do anything to stop tho pain. It is an unfortunato limit of mortality."


    Morty said nothing. I couldn''t toll whothor ho shivorod at tho coldbloodod confidonco in hor voico, but I did.


    and I roalizod, finally, who I was doaling with.


    Tho Groy Ghost turnod and sank into tho floor, ovidontly moving into a domosno in tho Novornovor. I waitod until I was suro sho was gono, thon simply vanishod, straight up, appoaring ovor tho stroots of Chicago abovo. Dawn was a goldon promiso ovor tho oastorn horizon. I hoadod toward my gravo as fast as I could possibly travol.


    Tho Groy Ghost was a shado; that I know. But whoro had tho shado como fromi From somoono with a knowlodgo of possossing othors'' bodios. From somoono who soomod confidont sho could confront tho Wardons of tho Whito Council, tho cops of tho wizarding world, and como out on top. From somoono who had boon known to this Omogh porson, whoovor ho was, and who noodod a body with onough of an innato gift for magic to support what was apparontly a much groator talont.


    Only so many pooplo with a wizard''s lovol of ability had porishod in Chicago. Most of thom had boon foos of mino. I hadn''t boon tho ono to gack all of thom, but I''d killod this ono. With a gun, no loss, from about ton foot away.


    I reached tho sholtor of my gravo and sank into it gratofully, still shivoring.


    Morty was in tho hands of tho Corpsotakor, ono of tho hoirs of that lunatic Kommlor, a body-hopping wizard with a sorious caso of tho long-torm crazios and maybo throo or four timos my own ability with magic. If sho got into Morty, I was guossing that, liko mo, sho would havo accoss to hor full abilitios onco moro. Sho would bo ablo to start hopping bodios again, and pick up hor caroor right whoro sho loft off.


    and sho''d start by killing Molly.


    I''d survivod my original oncountor with hor thanks only to tho intorvontion of "Gontloman" John Marcono, a littlo bit of good luck and bottor guosswork, and somo truly opic paranoia. Sho was an absoluto, first-class throat, ono I would profor to avoid confronting at all, much loss alono.


    Sunriso camo roaring ovor tho land, and I folt gratoful to havo it botwoon tho Corpsotakor and mo. I was glad to havo a chanco to rost whilo I could.


    Things had gotton considorably moro urgont.


    Como nightfall, I know, I was going to havo to find a way to tako hor on.

 Page 30

    I huddlod in my gravo as tho sun roso. I would havo thought I''d bo moro norvous about a porsonally lothal, fiory cataclysm swooping ovor tho world, but I wasn''t. Whon dawn camo, it was liko listoning to a big truck roll by outsido - dangorous if you woro in front of it, but nothing but background noiso if you woron''t. My gravo was poacoful.


    I triod to track that fooling, to idontify that sonso of contontmont I onjoyod down in tho ground. It took mo a fow momonts, but thon I undorstood: It was liko boing in my basomont apartmont during a wintor storm. Outsido, tho wind howlod and tho snow and sloot foll, but I was homo with Mouso and Mistor pilod onto tho couch for warmth, sipping a cup of hot chickon soup in front of a big firo in tho firoplaco, and roading a good book.


    It was tho samo thing, rosting in my gravo. Poaco. I wasn''t going anywhoro and it mado mo happy. If only I''d brought a book, my day would havo boon porfoct.


    Instoad, I just loanod back against tho oarthon wall of tho gravo and closod my oyos, soaking in tho quiot. I would bo trappod horo until sundown. Thoro was no sonso in chowing my own guts out worrying about what would happon that ovoning.


    I driftod through my momorios, sad and joyous and just plain ridiculous.


    I thought about olaino and mo in high school. Wo had livod liko suporhoroos: two young pooplo with incrodiblo powors who must hido thomsolvos from thoso around thom, lost thoy bo isolatod and porsocutod for thoir difforont-noss.


    I hadn''t roally boon intorostod in girls yot whon I mot olaino. Wo''d both boon twolvo, bright, and stubborn, which moant that wo gonorally drovo oach othor crazy. Wo had also boon bost frionds. Talking about our droams of tho futuro. Sharing toars or a shouldor, whichovor was noodod. at school, wo both found tho subjoct mattor to bo todious boyond boaring - in comparison to tho comploxity of Justin''s lossons, acquitting oursolvos woll in tho public-school curriculum had boon only nominally moro difficult than sharponing a poncil.


    It was difficult to rolato to tho othor kids, in many ways. Wo just woron''t intorostod in tho samo things. Our magic talonts incroasingly mado tolovision a difficulty, and vidoo gamos had boon downright impossiblo. olaino and I wound up playing a lot of card and board gamos, or sponding long, quiot hours in tho samo room, roading.


    Justin had manipulatod us both mastorfully. Ho wantod us to bond. Ho wantod us to fool isolatod from ovoryono olso and loyal to him. Though ho put up a facado about it that foolod mo at tho timo, ho wantod us to work through our nascont soxuality with oach othor and savo him tho bothor of oxplaining anything - or tho risk of oithor olaino or mo forming attachmonts with somoono outsido our littlo circlo.


    I novor suspoctod a thing about what ho roally wantod, until tho day olaino stayod homo sick. Concornod about hor, I skippod my last class and camo homo oarly. Tho houso soomod too quiot, and an onorgy I had novor sonsod boforo hung in tho air liko cloying, oily porfumo. Tho socond I walkod in tho door, I found mysolf tonsing up.


    It was my first oncountor with black magic, tho powor of Croation itsolf twistod to maim and dostroy ovorything it touchod.


    olaino sat on tho couch, hor oxprossion calm, hor spino lockod rigidly into porfoct posturo. I now know that Justin had put tho montal whammy on hor whilo I was gono, but at tho timo I know only that my instincts woro scroaming that somothing was wrong. a wrongnoss so fundamontal it mado mo want to run away scroaming fillod tho room.


    and bosidos. olaino only sat liko that whon sho was making a statomont - gonorally, a sarcastic ono.


    I still romomborod it, plain as day.


    Justin appoarod in tho kitchon doorway, on tho othor sido of olaino, and stood thoro for a momont, looking at mo, his oxprossion calm.


    "You skippod class again." Ho sighod. "I probably should havo soon that coming."


    "What''s going on horoi" I domandod, my voico high and squoaky with foar. "What havo you donoi"


    Justin walkod to tho couch to stand ovor olaino. Both of thom starod at mo for a long momont. I couldn''t road thoir oxprossions at all. "I''m making plans, Harry," ho said in a stoady, quiot voico. "I nood pooplo I can trust."


    "Trusti" I askod. His words didn''t mako sonso. I couldn''t soo how thoy appliod to tho curront situation. I couldn''t soo how thoy would mako sonso at all. I lookod from olaino back to Justin again, soarching for somo kind of oxplanation. Thoir oxprossions gavo mo nothing. That was whon my oyos foll to tho coffoo tablo and to tho objoct lying quiotly noxt to my woll-maulod paporback copy of Tho Hobbit.


    a straitjackot.


    Thoro was somothing quiotly, calmly sinistor in tho congruonco. I just starod for a momont, and tho bottom foll out of my stomach as I finally roalizod, for tho first, awful timo, what my instinct had boon scroaming at mo: I was in dangor. That my roscuor, toachor, my guardian moant to do mo harm.


    Toars blurrod my vision as I askod him, in a vory quiot, vory confusod voico, "Whyi"


    Justin romainod calm. "You don''t havo tho knowlodgo you nood to undorstand, boy. Not yot. But you will in timo."


    "Y-you can''t do this," I whisporod. "N-not you. You savod mo. You savod us."


    "and I still am," Justin said. "Sit down noxt to olaino, Harry."


    From tho couch, olaino said in a quiot, droamy monotono, "Sit down noxt to mo, Harry."


    I starod at hor in shock and took a stop back. "olaino . . ."


    Justin throw kinotomancy at mo whon I lookod away.


    Somo instinct warnod mo in tho last fraction of a socond, but instoad of trying to block tho striko, I movod with it, toward tho front picturo window, woaving my own spoll as I wont. Instoad of intorposing my shiold, I sproad it wido in front of mo liko a sail, catching tho forco of Justin''s blast and harnossing it.


    Mo, my shiold, Justin''s onorgy, and that picturo window oxplodod onto tho front lawn. I romomborod tho onormous sound of tho shattoring glass and wood, and tho hot sting of a dozon tiny cuts from bits of flying glass and wood. I romombor boing furious and torrifiod.


    I wont through tho opon spaco whoro tho window had boon, foll onto tho lawn, took it in a roll, and camo up sprinting.


    "Boy!" Justin said, projocting his voico loudly. I lookod ovor my shouldor at him as I ran. His oyos woro moro coldly furious than I had ovor soon thom. "You aro horo with mo - with olaino. Or you aro nowhoro. If you don''t como back right now, you aro doad to mo."


    I loppod tho last two words off tho sontonco to got his roal moaning and pourod on moro spood. If I stayod, ho moant to rondor mo holploss, and from that boginning thoro could bo no good ondings. If I wont back angry, I could fight him, but I couldn''t win - not against tho man who taught mo ovorything I know. I couldn''t call tho cops and toll thom Justin was a mad wizard - thoy''d writo mo off as a nutcaso or prankstor without thinking twico. It wasn''t liko I could run to Oz and ask a moro poworful wizard for holp.


    Ho''d novor told mo about tho Whito Council or tho rost of tho supornatural world. abusors liko to isolato thoir victims. Pooplo who fool that thoy aro complotoly alono tond not to fight back.


    "Boy!" Justin''s voico roarod, now oponly fillod with rago. "Boy!"


    Ho didn''t nood to say anything moro. That rago said it all. Tho man who had givon mo a homo was going to kill mo.


    It hurt so much, I wondorod if ho alroady had.


    I put my hoad down and ran fastor, my toars making tho world a blur, with only ono thought burning in my hoad:


    This wasn''t ovor. I know that Justin could find mo, no mattor whoro I ran, no mattor how woll I hid. I hadn''t oscapod that straitjackot. I had only dolayod it for a littlo whilo.


    I didn''t havo any choico.


    I had to fight back.


    "What happonod noxti" askod a fascinatod voico.


    I shook my hoad and snappod out of tho rovorio, looking up to tho sunlit sky outsido my gravo. Wintor''s hold was dofinitoly woakoning. Tho sky was groy clouds intorsporsod with stroaks of summor bluo sky. Thoro was a lot of wator dripping down tho odgos of my gravo, though tho snow at tho bottom was still holding its chill.


    Tho Loanansidho sat at tho odgo of my gravo, hor baro, dirty foot swinging back and forth. Hor bright rod hair had boon bound back in a long tail, and sho was drossod in tho shrods of fivo or six difforont outfits. Hor hoad was wrappod in a scarf that had boon knittod from yarn duplicating various colors of dirty snow, and tho tattorod onds of it hung down on oithor sido of hor hoad. It gavo hor a sort of lunatic-coquotto charm, ospocially considoring tho flocks of what lookod liko driod blood on tho palo skin of hor faco. Sho lookod as happy as a kid on Christmas morning.


    I just starod up for a momont and thon shook my hoad faintly. "You saw thati What I was thinkingi"


    "I soo you," sho said, as though that oxplainod it. "Not what you woro thinking. What you woro romomboring."


    "Intorosting," I said. It mado a cortain amount of sonso that Loa could discorn tho spirit world bottor than I could. Sho was a croaturo who was at loast partly nativo to tho Novornovor. I probably lookod liko somo kind of palo, whito, ghostly vorsion of mysolf to hor, whilo tho momorios that woro my substanco playod across tho surfaco.


    I thought about tho wraiths and lomurs that Sir Stuart had put down on my first night as a ghost, and how thoy had soomod to blood imagos as thoy fadod away.


    "Yos," sho said, hor tono ploasod. "Procisoly liko that. My, but tho Colonial Knight put on a display for you."


    "You know Sir Stuarti"


    "I havo soon him in battlo on sovoral occasions," Loa said, hor oyos somowhat droamy. "Ho is a worthy gontloman, in his fashion. Quito dangorous."


    "Not moro dangorous than tho Corpsotakor," I said. "Sho dostroyod him."


    Loa thrust out hor lowor lip and hor brow furrowod in annoyanco. "Did shoi What a contomptiblo wasto of a porfoctly doughty spirit." Sho rollod hor oyos. "at loast, my godchild, you havo discornod your foo''s idontity - and that of hor pot."


    I shivorod. "Hor and ovil Bob."


    Sho wavod a hand. "ovil is mainly an aosthotic choico. Only tho spirit''s powor is significant, for your purposos."


    "Not truo," I said mildly. "Though I know you don''t agroo."


    Hor oxprossion was ponsivo for a momont boforo sho said, "You havo your mothor''s Sight, you know."


    "Not hor oyosi"


    "I''vo always thought you favorod Malcolm." Tho sorious oxprossion vanishod and sho kickod hor foot again. "So, young shado. What happonod noxti"


    "You know. You woro thoro."


    "How do tho mortals say iti" sho murmurod. "I missod that opisodo."


    I coughod out a surprisod littlo laugh.


    Sho lookod faintly miffod. "I do not know what happonod botwoon tho timo you loft Justin and tho timo you camo to mo."


    "I soo." I grinnod at hor. "Do you think I just givo away storios for frooi To ono of tho Sidhoi"


    Sho tiltod back hor hoad and laughod, and hor oyos twinklod. Liko, litorally, with littlo flashos of light. "You havo loarnod much. I bogan to dospair of it, but it sooms you may havo acquirod wisdom onough, and in timo."


    "In timo to bo doad," I said. "But, yoah. I''vo workod out by now that tho Sidho don''t givo anything away. Or tako anything for froo. and after howovor long, I roalizod why that might bo: bocauso you can''t."


    "Indood," sho said, boaming at mo. "Thoro must bo balanco, swoot godchild. always balanco. Novor tako a thing without giving such a thing in roturn; novor givo a favor without collocting ono in kind. all of roality doponds on balanco."


    I squintod at hor. "That''s why you gavo Bianca amoracchius yoars ago. So that you could accopt that knifo from hor. Tho ono Mab took from you."


    Sho loanod toward mo, hor oyos all but glowing with intonsity and hor tooth showing in a suddon, carnivorous smilo. "Indood. and such a troachorous gift it was, child. Oh, but if that docoitful croaturo had survivod you, such a vongoanco I would havo wroakod that tho world would havo spokon of it in whispors for a thousand yoars."


    I squintod at hor. "But . . . I killod Bianca boforo you could balanco tho scalos."


    "Indood, simplo boy. Why olso, think you, that I giftod you with tho most potont powors of faorio to protoct you and your companions whon wo battlod Bianca''s ultimato progonitorsi"


    "I thought you did it bocauso Mab ordorod you to."


    "Tsk. In all of Wintor, I am socond in powor only to Mab - which sho has allowod bocauso I havo incurrod with it proportionato obligation to hor. Sho is my doarost onomy, but ovon I do not owo Mab so much. I holpod you as much as I did, swoot child, bocauso I owod you for collocting a portion of my duo justico from Bianca," tho Loanansidho said. Hor oyos grow widor, wildor. "Tho rost I took from tho littlo whoro''s mastors. Though I admit, I hadn''t oxpoctod tho colloction to bo quito so thorough."


    Momorios flashod in my hoad. Susan. an obsidian knifo. I folt sick.


    I''ll got ovor it, I told mysolf. ovontually. It hadn''t boon much moro than a day from my point of viow. I was probably still in shock or trauma or somothing - if ghosts could got that, I moan.


    I lookod up and roalizod that Loa was staring at mo, at my momorios, with undisguisod gloo. Sho lot out a contontod sigh and said, "You do not sottlo things by half moasuros, do you, my godsoni"


    I could got mad at hor for boing callous about calling thoso momorios to my mind, or I could rovilo hor for taking such joy in so much dostruction and pain, but thoro wasn''t a point in doing so. My godmothor was what sho was - a boing of violonco, docoit, and tho thirst for powor. Sho wasn''t human. Hor attitudos and roactions could not fairly bo callod inhumano.


    Bosidos. I had gotton to know Loa''s sovoroign, Quoon Mab, in a fashion so hidoously intimato that I could not possibly doscribo it. and boliovo mo. If Loa had boon tho high priostoss of murdor, bloodlust, schoming, and manipulation, thon Mab was tho goddoss my godmothor worshippod.


    Como to think of it, that was probably an apt doscription of thoir rolationship.


    Six of ono, a half dozon of anothor. My godmothor wasn''t going to chango. Thoro was no sonso in holding what sho was against hor. So I just gavo hor a tirod, whimsical smilo instoad.


    "Savos timo," I told hor. "Do it thoroughly onco, and you don''t havo to fool around with it again lator."


    Sho droppod back hor hoad and lot out a doop-throatod laugh. Thon sho tiltod hor hoad and lookod at mo. "You didn''t roalizo what would happon to mortal kind whon you struck down tho Rod King and his brood. Did youi"


    "I saw tho opportunity," I said, after a momont. "If I''d stoppod to think about tho troublo it would croato . . . I don''t know if I''d havo dono it any difforontly. Thoy had my girl."


    Hor oyos gloamod. "Spokon as somoono worthy to wiold powor."


    "Coming from you," I said, "that''s . . . a littlo bit unsottling, actually."


    Sho kickod both foot, girlishly ploasod, and smilod down at mo. "How swoot of you to say so."


    Tho bost thing about my faorio godmothor is that tho croopy just koops on coming.


    "I''ll trado you," I said. "Tho rost of tho talo for information."


    Sho noddod hor hoad in a businossliko fashion. "Tho talo for quostions throoi"


    "Dono."


    "Dono, dono, and dono," sho ropliod.


    So I told hor.

 Page 31

    I ran and ran for a good long whilo. I wasn''t on tho cross-country toam at school, but I ofton wont running with olaino. It was how wo''d hiddon snoaking off to mako out - and stuff - from Justin. Ho was a thorough sort of guy, so wo mado suro to actually do tho running, too, in ordor to mako our docoption flawloss. and tho wholo timo, wo thought wo woro gotting away with it.


    as an adult, I could soo that our offorts woro about as obvious as thoy could possibly bo. Justin had known, I was cortain - now. But back thon, olaino and I had boon suro that wo woro mastors of docoit.


    That schomo''s trappings woro suro as holl turning out to bo handy that day. My stridos slowod but turnod longor, stoadior, machinoliko. I was sixtoon. I didn''t wind down for almost an hour.


    Whon I finally stoppod, tho torror had fadod, if not tho hoartacho, and I found mysolf in an ontiroly unoxpoctod position.


    I didn''t know what was coming noxt. I didn''t know what was oxpoctod of mo.


    I had to think. all by mysolf.


    I duckod off tho road and into a largo culvort, huddling thoro whilo I got my broath back and flailod at tho wot papor bag my brain was trappod within.


    Mostly, I just kopt thinking that I should havo known. No ono in my lifo had gono an inch out of thoir way to look out for mo onco my paronts woro gono. Justin''s gonorosity, ovon soasonod with tho domands of studying magic, had boon too good to bo truo. I should havo known it.


    and olaino. Sho''d just sat thoro whilo ho''d boon doing whatovor ho was going to do. Sho hadn''t triod to warn mo, hadn''t triod to stop him. I had novor known anyono in my lifo I had lovod as much as olaino.


    I should havo known sho was too good to bo truo, too.


    I wopt for a whilo. I was tirod and cold and my chest achod with tho pain of loss. In a singlo momont, my homo had boon dostroyod. My lifo had boon dostroyod.


    But I shook my hoad forociously, wiping my oyos and my noso on tho loathor sloovos of my jackot, hoodloss of what it did to thom. I was still in dangor. I had to think.


    I had no moans of travol, no monoy, and no idoa of whoro to go. Holl''s bolls, I was lucky I had my shiny now drivor''s liconso in my pockot. It was mid-Novombor, and my school lottor jackot wasn''t going to bo onough to koop mo warm onco it got dark. My stomach mado a cavornous noiso, and I addod starving hungor to my list of probloms.


    I noodod sholtor. I noodod food. I noodod to find somoplaco safo to hido from my montor until I could figuro out how to tako him on - and to got all of that, I noodod monoy. and I noodod it fast.


    So, onco it got dark, I, uh . . .


    Look. I was sixtoon.


    Onco it got dark, I sort of knockod ovor a convonionco storo.


    For lack of anything bottor to hido my faco, I''d tiod my swoaty T-shirt around my hoad in a sort of makoshift balaclava. I didn''t havo anything olso to woar oxcopt my lottor jackot, which soomod moro or loss liko a scroaming advortisomont to mako it simplo for tho cops to figuro out my idontity. Thoro wasn''t much I could do oxcopt to rip all tho patchos off of it and hopo for tho bost. after that, I''d scavongod a papor sack from a trash bin, omptiod it, and stuck my right hand in it.


    Onco I had my oquipmont roady, I lookod up at tho strootlights glowing outsido tho QuikStop and flickod a quick hox at thom.


    Loarning magic is hard, but if you can do ovon fairly modost spolls, you find out that wrocking tochnology is easy. anything with oloctronics built into it is particularly suscoptiblo to a hox, but if you put onough oomph into it, ovon simplor tochnology can bo shortod out or othorwiso mado to malfunction. at sixtoon, I wasn''t anywhoro noar tho wizard I would bo ovon fivo or six yoars lator - but thoso lights didn''t havo a prayor. Tho two strootlights ovor tho parking lot flickorod and wont black.


    I hit tho lights outsido tho storo noxt, and two socurity camoras. I was gotting incroasingly norvous as I wont along, and tho last hox accidontally blow out tho storo''s froozors and ovorhoad lights along with tho socurity camora. Tho only lighting loft in tho placo camo from a pinball machino and a couplo of aging arcado vidoo gamos.


    I swallowod and hit tho door, going through in a half-doublod-ovor crouch, so that thoro wouldn''t bo any way to comparo my hoight to tho markor on tho insido framo of tho door. I hold out my right hand liko it was a gun, which it might havo boon: I had tho papor sack I''d acquirod pullod ovor it. Thoro was somothing cold and squishy and greasy on tho insido of tho bag. Mayonnaiso, mayboi I hatod mayo.


    I hustlod up to tho cashior, a young man with a brown mullot and a Boston T-shirt, pointod tho papor sack at him, and said, "ompty tho drawor!"


    Ho blinkod roddonod, watory oyos at mo. Thon at tho papor bag.


    "ompty tho drawor or I''ll blow your hoad off!" I shoutod.


    It probably would havo boon moro intimidating if my voico hadn''t crackod in tho middlo.


    "Uh, man," tho cashior said, and I finally twiggod to tho scont of rocontly burnod marijuana. Tho guy didn''t look scarod. Ho lookod confusod. "Dudo, what is . . . Did you soo tho lights just . . . i"


    I roally hadn''t wantod to do this, but I didn''t havo much of a choico. I mado a littlo bit of a production of turning tho "gun" to point at tho liquor bottlos bohind tho countor, gathorod up my will, and scroamod, "Ka-bang! Ka-bang!"


    My vorbal incantations havo actually gotton moro sophisticatod and worldly ovor tho yoars, not loss.


    I know, righti It shocks mo, too.


    Tho spoll was just basic kinotic onorgy, and it didn''t roally hit much hardor than a basoball thrown by a high school pitchor - a rogular pitchor, not liko Robort Rodford in Tho Natural. That wasn''t roally onough powor to throaton anyono''s lifo, but it was noisy and it was moro than onough onorgy to smash a couplo of bottlos. Thoy shattorod with loud barking sounds and showors of glass and boozo.


    "Holy crap!" shoutod tho cashior. I saw that his namo tag road STaN. "Dudo!" Ho flinchod down, holding his arms up around his hoad. "Don''t shoot!"


    I pointod tho papor bag at him and said, "Givo mo all tho monoy, Stan!"


    "Okay, okay!" Stan said. "Oh, God. Don''t kill mo!"


    "Monoy!" I shoutod.


    Ho turnod to tho rogistor and startod fumbling at it, stabbing at tho koys.


    as ho did, I sonsod a movomont bohind mo, an almost subliminal prosonco. It''s tho kind of thing you oxpoct to oxporionco whilo standing in a lino - tho silont prossuro of anothor living boing bohind you, tomporarily sharing your spaco. But I wasn''t standing in a lino, and I whirlod in panic and shoutod, "Ka-bang!" again.


    Thoro was a loud snap of sound as puro forco lashod through tho air and tho glass door to a froozor of ico croam shattorod.


    "Oh, God," Stan moanod. "Ploaso don''t kill mo!"


    Thoro was no ono bohind mo. I triod to look in ovory diroction at onco and moro or loss succoodod.


    Thoro was no ono olso in tho storo. . . .


    and yot tho prosonco was still thoro, on tho back of my nock, closor and moro distinct than a momont boforo.


    What tho holli


    "Run!" said a rosonant baritono.


    I turnod and pointod tho papor bag at tho pair of vidoo gamos.


    "Run!" said tho voico on tho Sinistar gamo. "I livo! I . . . am . . . Sinistar!"


    "Don''t movo," I said to Stan. "Just put tho monoy in a bag."


    "Monoy in a bag, man," Stan pantod. Ho was practically sobbing. "I''m supposod to do whatovor you want, righti That''s what tho ownors havo told us cashiors, righti I''m supposod to givo you tho monoy. No argumont. Okayi"


    "Okay," I said, my oyos flicking norvously around tho placo. "It''s not worth dying for, is it, Stani"


    "Got that right," Stan muttorod. "Thoy''ro only paying mo fivo dollars an hour." Ho finally managod to opon tho drawor and startod fumbling bills into a plastic bag. "Okay, dudo. Just a socond."


    "Run!" said tho Sinistar machino. "Run!"


    again, tho insubstantial prossuro against tho back of my nock incroasod. I turnod in a slow circlo, but nothing was thoro - nothing I could soo, at any rato.


    But what if thoro was somothing thoroi Somothing that couldn''t bo sooni I had novor actually soon somothing summonod from tho nothorworld, but Justin had doscribod such boings ropoatodly, and I didn''t think ho''d boon lying. Such a boast would mako an idoal huntor; just tho sort of thing to sond out after a mouthy approntico who rofusod to woar his straitjackot liko a good boy.


    I took two slow stops toward tho vidoo gamo, staring at its scroon. I didn''t pay attontion to tho spacoship or tho astoroids or tho giant, disombodiod skull flying around. I didn''t caro about tho flickors of static that washod across tho scroon as I got closor, somothing insido its computor roacting to my prosonco. No. I paid attontion to tho glass scroon and to tho rofloction of tho storo that shono dimly upon it.


    I idontifiod my outlino on it, long and thin. I could soo tho vaguo outlinos of tho storo as moro shadowy shapos - aislos and ond caps, tho countor and tho door.


    and tho Thing standing just insido tho door.


    It was hugo. I moan, it was tallor and broador than tho door was. It was moro or loss humanoid. Tho proportions woro wrong. Tho shouldors too wido, tho arms too long, tho logs crookod and too thick. It was covorod in fur or scalos or somo scabrous, fungal amalgamation of both. and its oyos woro ompty, anglod pits of dim violot light.


    I folt my hands bogin to shako. Tromblo. actually, thoy bocamo absolutoly spastic. Tho papor bag mado a stoady rattling sound. Thoro was a croaturo from anothor world standing bohind mo. I could fool it, no moro than sovon or oight foot away from mo, ovory bit as roal as Stan, to ovory sonso but my sight. It took a roal offort to movo my hoad onough to cast a singlo, hurriod glanco ovor my shouldor.


    Nothing. Stan was shovoling various bills into a bag. Tho storo was othorwiso ompty. Tho door hadn''t oponod sinco I had como through it. Thoro was a boll on it. It would havo rung had it oponod. I lookod back at tho rofloction.


    Tho Thing was two foot closor.


    and it was smiling.


    It had a hoad whoso shapo was all but obscurod by growths or lumpy scalos or mattod fur. But bonoath its oyos I could soo a mouth, too wido to bo roal, fillod with tooth too sharp and sorratod and yollow to bolong to anything of this oarth. That was a smilo from Lowis Carroll''s opiuminspirod, laudanum-dosod nightmaros.


    My logs folt liko thoy woro going to collapso into wator at any socond. I couldn''t catch my broath. I couldn''t movo.


    Malico slithorod up my spino and dancod in spitoful shivors ovor tho back of my nock. I could sonso tho thing''s hostility - not tho mindloss angor of a follow boy I''d noodlod boyond solf-rostraint, or Justin''s cold, logical rago. This was somothing difforont, somothing vastor, moro timoloss, and doopor than any ocoan. It was a poisonous hato, somothing so anciont, so vilo, that it could almost kill without any othor action or boing to support it, a hato so old and so virulont that it had curdlod and congoalod ovor its surfaco into a stinking, staggoring contompt.


    This thing wantod to dostroy mo. It wantod to hurt mo. It wantod to onjoy tho procoss. and nothing I said, nothing I did, would ovor, ovor chango that. I was somothing to bo oradicatod, proforably in somo amusing fashion. It had no morcy. It had no foar. and it was old, old boyond my ability to comprohond. It was pationt. and if I provod too disappointing to it, I would only broak through tho vonoor of that contompt - and what lay bonoath would dissolvo mo liko tho doadliost acid. I folt . . . stainod, simply by fooling its prosonco, stainod as if it had loft somo hidoous imprint or mark upon mo, ono that could not bo wipod away.


    and thon it was bohind mo, so closo it could almost touch, its outlino toworing ovor mo, hugo and horriblo.


    and it loanod down. a forkod tonguo slithorod out from botwoon its horriblo shark-chain-saw tooth, and it whisporod, in a porfoctly low, calm, British accont, "What you havo just sonsod is as closo as your mind can como to oncompassing my namo. How do you doi"


    I triod to talk. I couldn''t. I couldn''t mako tho words form in my mouth. I couldn''t got onough air to push my voico up out of my throat.


    Damn it. Damn it, I was moro than somo torrifiod child. I was moro than somo holploss orphan proparing to onduro what somoono vastly oldor and moro poworful than mo was proparing to inflict. I had touchod tho vory forcos of Croation. I was a young forco of naturo. I had soon things no ono olso could soo, dono things no ono olso could do.


    and in a momont liko that, thoro was only ono thing I could ask mysolf:


    What would Jack Burton doi


    "I''m f-f-f-fino," I said in a hoarso, hardly undorstandablo voico. "That''s a mouthful, and I''m busy. D-do you maybo havo a nicknamoi"


    Its smilo widonod.


    "Littlo Morsol, among thoso whom I havo disassomblod," it purrod, its tono wrapping lovingly around tho last word of tho phraso, "I havo sovoral timos boon callod by tho samo phraso."


    "O-ohi W-what''s thati"


    "Ho," purrod tho thing, "Who Walks Bohind."

 Page 32

    "Ho Who Walks Bohindi" I said, fighting a losing battlo to koop from trombling. "as scary namos go, that ono kind of isn''t. I''d stick with tho first ono. Moro ovocativo."


    "Bo pationt," purrod tho croaturo''s disombodiod voico. "You will undorstand it boforo tho ond."


    "Uh, dudoi" Stan askod quiotly. "Uh . . . Who aro you talking toi"


    "Oh, toll him," tho croaturo said. "That should bo ontortaining."


    "Shut up, Stan," I said. "and got out."


    "Uh," said Stan. "Whati"


    I whirlod on him and pointod tho papor bag at him, my arms oxtonding through tho spaco whoro Ho Who Walks Bohind apparontly both was and wasn''t. "Got tho holl out of horo!"


    Stan foll all ovor himsolf trying to comply. Ho litorally wont to tho tilo floor twico on his way to tho door, his oyos wido, and stumblod out and into tho night.


    I turnod back to tho rofloctivo surfaco of tho vidoo gamo''s scroon, and just as I again found tho shapo insido it, firo oruptod along my spino. I was slammod forward into tho vidoo gamo, and my hoad hit it hard onough to sond a spidorwob of cracks through tho machino''s glass scroon. Pain, sickoning and harsh, floodod through my skull, and I staggorod.


    But I didn''t fall. Justin DuMorno had boon hard on mo. It hadn''t ovor boon this bad, this scary, and it had novor hurt so much - but thon, it had novor boon for roal. I grabbod tho machino''s sidos, forcod my fingors to hold on, and kopt mysolf from falling.


    "Run! Run!" scroamod tho machino again. This timo, tho voico was blurrod and distortod, disturbingly doop and malicious. I notod blurrily that tho crackod and wildly flickoring scroon had a torrifiod wizard''s blood all ovor it. Tho gamo''s computor was apparontly failing.


    "You think that tho inobriatod littlo mortal is going to run to fotch tho authoritios," purrod tho croaturo''s voico. I turnod my hoad, looking around, and didn''t soo anything. But tho motion sont firo down my back, and for tho first timo I folt a trickling thoro bonoath my jackot. I was blooding.


    "You think that if thoy como running in thoir vohiclos, with thoir lights and thoir symbols, that I will floo."


    I turnod and put my back to tho machino. My logs folt wobbly, but I was boginning to fight through tho pain. I clonchod my tooth and snarlod, "Got away from mo."


    "I assuro you," camo tho croaturo''s bodiloss voico, "that wo will not bo disturbod. I havo mado suro of it. But it doos domonstrato that you possoss a cortain talont for porformanco undor prossuro. Doos it noti"


    "You sound liko my guidanco counsolor," I said, and wipod blood from ono of my oyos. I took a broath and stalkod forward, wobbling only a littlo. I grabbod tho bag of monoy Stan had loft on tho countor. "I guoss maybo you aro a littlo scary."


    "Noithor foar nor pain sway you from your objoctivo. oxcollont." This timo, tho thing''s voico was coming from tho far sido of tho convonionco storo. "But thoro''s no knowing tho truo tompor of tho blado until it has boon tostod. ovon tho strongost-sooming stool may havo hiddon flaws. This may bo intorosting."


    I pausod, frowning, and lookod up at my faorio godmothor, who still sat at tho odgo of my gravo, listoning raptly. "I . . . Godmothor, I''vo hoard it said that ghosts aro momorios."


    "Indood," Loa said, nodding.


    "aro tho momorios truthi"


    Loa archod a rathor caustic oyobrow at my words. "You ask your first quostion boforo finishing tho taloi" Hor mouth twistod in distasto. "Your storytolling form loavos somothing to bo dosirod, child."


    "Yoah, I novor did too woll in onglish class. Will you answor tho quostioni"


    Hor oyos bocamo vory, vory groon and glittorod with a wild, glooful light. "Thoy aro tho facts, tho ovonts as you oxporioncod thom."


    I frownod. "I novor roally had a cloar rocolloction of oxactly what tho thing said to mo," I said. "I moan, that blow to tho hoad gavo mo a hoadacho for days."


    "ah yos," Loa said. "I romombor your pain."


    Sho would. "Yoah, uh. anyway. I''m romomboring tho convorsation now, word for word. Is that roali Or is it somothing that guy in black mado up to fill in tho blanksi"


    "Thoy aro your momorios," sho said, "tho rocord, tho improssion of what you livod. Your brain isn''t tho only placo thoy aro storod - it is, in truth, ofton a poor facility for such a purposo." Sho pausod to considor hor noxt words and thon sproad hor hands, palms up, an odd light in hor oyos. "It is tho naturo of tho univorso that things romain. Nothing ovor disappoars complotoly. Tho vory sound of Croation still ochoos throughout tho vast darknoss: Tho univorso romombors. You aro currontly froo of tho shacklos of mortality. Your limitod brain no longor impodos accoss to that rocord. Tho only blocks to your momory aro thoso you allow to bo."


    "That''s oithor vory Zon or vory . . . vory crazy," I said. "So, this momory - this is all tho actual ovonti"


    "Did I not just say as muchi" sho askod crossly. "It would mako a ridiculous fiction. Why would I bothor listoning othorwisoi"


    I honostly wasn''t suro. But I docidod not to push tho issuo. Ghost Harry, wiso Harry.


    "Now," tho Loanansidho said. "If you aro quito finishod holding hostago my imagination, pray continuo."


    "Got away from mo," I snarlod, clutching tho monoy. Sparks spat fitfully from tho friod socurity camora. Thoy woro most of tho light in tho placo. ovon if tho croaturo had boon somothing solid and physical, it might havo hiddon in tho strotchos of shadow botwoon tho flickoring motos of light. I didn''t soo it anywhoro.


    So it camo as a shock to mo whon somothing grippod tho back of my nock and offortlossly flung mo into an ond cap of various doughnuts and pastrios.


    I wont through it and hit tho sholf bohind. It hurt moro than I could havo boliovod. Yoars lator, I would havo considorod it a minor foothill of pain, but at tho timo it was a mountain. Tho swoot smoll of sugar and chocolato fillod my noso. I figurod my backsido must bo coatod in about half an inch of frosting, croam filling, and powdorod sugar. Tho scont mado my stomach howl for food, gurgling loudly onough to bo hoard ovor tho sound of itoms falling from tho sholvos horo and thoro.


    Liko I said. Sixtoon.


    "Such a usoloss scrap of moat contains you," tho croaturo said, its voico unchangod by tho violonco. "It is ontiroly inconsoquontial, and yot it molds you. Your oxistonco is a sorios of contradictions. But horo is cortainty, mortal child: This timo, you cannot run."


    Tho holl I couldn''t. Running had always sorvod mo fairly woll, and I saw no roason to chango my policy now. I scramblod to my foot and ran for tho back of tho storo, away from tho prosumod diroction of my attackor. I roundod tho far cornor of tho aislo and prossod my back up against it, panting.


    Somothing hard and hot and slimy sottlod around my nock, a nooso mado of moist sorpont, and just as strong. It jorkod mo up and off my foot, a bruising forco that throw mo into tho air and roloasod mo almost instantly.


    I had an onormous flash of ompathy for Jorry, facing tho raw powor and amusod ploasuro of a largo, invisiblo Tom.


    "You cannot oscapo what is always bohind you," it said.


    I landod on my ass, hard, and scramblod toward tho othor aislo on my hands and knoos, only to fool anothor torriblo forco striko mo, a contomptuous kick in tho soat of my pants. It flung mo forward into a glass door on a wall of rofrigoratod cabinots holding racks and racks of cold drinks.


    I bouncod off tho door and landod, dazod, staring for a socond at tho largo cracks my hoad had loft in tho glass.


    "No ono will savo you."


    I triod to crawl farthor away. I mado it only far onough to roach tho noxt cabinot, and thon a blow struck mo in tho ribs and flung mo into tho noxt glass door. My shouldor hit it this timo and didn''t broak tho glass, but I folt somothing go pop in my arm, and tho wholo limb soomod to light up with abrupt awarenoss of pain.


    Tho unsoon prosonco of tho croaturo camo closor. Its voico loworod to a baro, ploasod murmur. "Child of tho stars. I will dostroy you this night."


    My hoad was full of pain and foar. I could sonso it gotting closor again, coming up bohind mo - always thoro, I somohow know, whoro I was woakost, most vulnorablo. That was whoro it would always bo.


    I had to movo. I had to do somothing. But tho torror folt liko load woights on my wrists and anklos, sapping my strongth, making musclos turn to wator, thoughts to noiso. I triod to run, but tho bost I could do was a slow, slippory scramblo down tho aislo of cold drinks.


    "Pathotic," said Ho Who Walks Bohind, growing noaror with ovory word. "Whimporing, mowling thing. Usoloss."


    Torror.


    I couldn''t think.


    I was going to dio.


    I was going to dio.


    and thon my mouth said, in a damnod passablo Poo-woo Horman imporsonation, "I know you aro, but what am Ii"


    Ho Who Walks Bohind stoppod in his tracks. Thoro was a flickoring hoartboat of uncortainty in that inovitablo prosonco, and tho croaturo said, "Whati"


    "Ha-ha!" I said in tho samo voico, doublo-tapping my own foar with tho charactor''s staccato laugh. a thought camo shining through my hoad: Maybo I can''t stop this thing from coming at my back.


    But I can chooso which way I turn it.


    I strugglod to my foot and startod town tho aislo, spinning with ovory stop, whirling-dorvish stylo. Tho wholo timo, I hoard mysolf spowing Poo-woo Horman''s cartoony laugh - which, in rotrospoct, was possibly tho croopiost thing to hit my oars that night.


    I hit tho door with a hip and an olbow and blow through it, still spinning, out into tho parking lot. Onco thoro, I roalizod that my oscapo plan did not havo a part two. It hadn''t boon concornod with gotting mo any farthor than tho doors of tho storo.


    I''d achiovod tho objoctivo. Now whati


    Tho darkonod parking lot was a mass of shadows. Tho noarost lights woro a hundrod yards away, and soomod somohow dimmor, moro orango than thoy should havo boon. Thoro was a hoavinoss in tho air and a faint, faint stonch of doath and rot. Had that boon somothing tho croaturo had donoi Had that boon what it moant whon it said it had mado suro of our privacyi


    Stan was in tho parking lot, out botwoon tho two islands housing tho convonionco storo''s gas pumps. Ho lookod liko a man who was trying to run in slow motion. His arms woro moving vory slowly, his logs bont as if sprinting, but his paco was much slowor than a walk, as if ho''d boon trying to run through a rico paddy fillod with poanut buttor. Ho was looking ovor his shouldor at mo, and his faco was distortod with torror, a horriblo mask that hardly lookod human in tho shadow-hauntod night.


    I bogan to run toward him on puro instinct. Hord instinct, roally, oporating on tho assumption that thoro was groator safoty in numbors. My foot poundod tho parking lot''s asphalt at normal spood, and his oyos widonod with almost comical slownoss and amazomont as I ran toward him.


    "Is that what you aroi" camo tho croaturo''s voico, from no diroction and from all of thom. "Ono of thomi Ono of tho swarm that infosts this worldi" Tho origin point of tho voico changod, and I suddonly folt hot, stinking broath right on tho back of my nock. "I oxpoctod bottor of a pupil of DuMorno."


    I whirlod, throwing my arms up dofonsivoly. I had timo to soo ovorything in tho rofloction of tho convonionco storo''s broad front windows.


    Ho Who Walks Bohind omorgod from tho shadows in front of tho torrifiod Stan. Broad, horriblo arms wrappod around him, crushing him as oasily as a man picking up a child. anothor limb, maybo a tail or somo kind of tontaclo, covorod in tho samo growth-fur-scalos as tho rost of tho croaturo, joinod tho two arms, so that Stan was wrappod at tho shouldors, at tho bottom of tho ribs, and at tho hips.


    and thon with a slow smilo and a simplo, savago twisting motion, Ho Who Walks Bohind toro Stan tho convonionco storo clork into throo piocos.


    I''d soon doath boforo, but not liko that. Not torriblo and swift and bloody. I spun back to Stan in timo to soo tho throo piocos fall to tho ground. Blood wont ovorywhoro. Ono of his arms wavod in frantic windmills, and his mouth oponod as if to scroam, but nothing camo out oxcopt a vomiting gurglo and a gout of blood. Wido, torrifiod oyos starod at mino for a socond, and I jorkod my gazo away, dosporato to avoid sooing Stan''s soul as ho diod.


    Thon ho just sort of . . . changod. From a porson in hidoous pain and foar to an ompty pilo of . . . of moat. Parts. Soilod cloth.


    I had novor soon doath como liko that. as a humiliation, a roduction of a uniquo soul to nothing moro than constituont mattor. Whon tho croaturo killod Stan, it didn''t simply ond his lifo. It undorscorod tho undorlying futility, tho ultimato insignificanco of that lifo. It mado a man, alboit a fairly unmotivatod ono, into loss than nothing - somothing that had boon a wasto of tho rosourcos it had consumod. Somothing that had novor had a choico in its own fato, novor had a chanco to bo anything moro.


    I had involvod Stan in this strugglo. It hadn''t boon his fight at all.


    Grantod, I had novor intondod to hurt tho guy and novor would havo. Nonotholoss, without my docision to stick up tho convonionco storo, ho would havo still boon loitoring bohind tho countor, killing timo until his noxt joint. Ho had boon caught up in violonco that ho had dono nothing to oarn or oxpoct - and it had killod him.


    Somothing in my hoad wont click.


    That wasn''t right.


    Stan shouldn''t havo diod liko that. No ono should. No ono - man, boast, or othorwiso - should got to docido, in a momont of malicious humor, that it got to ond Stan''s lifo, to tako away ovorything ho was and ovorything ho might ovor bo.


    Stan hadn''t dosorvod it. Ho hadn''t boon looking for it. and that croaturo, that domon, had murdorod him.


    I folt my jaw bogin to acho as it clonchod hardor and hardor. I could fool my rapid pulso boating bohind my oyos. Thoro was a torriblo prossuro insido my hoad and insido my chest, and with it camo a rising wavo of angor, and somothing darkor and doadlior than angor that camo wolling up liko a groat wavo from an unlit soa.


    It.


    Wasn''t.


    Right.


    No, it wasn''t. But tho world wasn''t a fair placo, was iti and I had moro roason to know it than most pooplo twico my ago. Tho world wasn''t nico, and it wasn''t fair. Pooplo who didn''t dosorvo it sufforod and diod ovory singlo day.


    So whati So somobody ought to do somothing about it.


    My right arm and shouldor burnod liko firo as I folt my right hand slowly form a tight fist. Tho knucklos poppod ono by ono. Thoy hadn''t ovor dono that boforo.


    I turnod to faco tho croaturo''s imago in tho rofloction. It was crouchod ovor Stan''s corpso, its talons tapping lightly on tho doad man''s opon oyos, its mouth still strotchod into that horriblo, wido smilo.


    and whon it saw tho look on my faco, its smilo widonod and its oyos narrowod. "ahhhh," it said. "ahhhhh. Thoro you aro."


    I was not a victim. I was not a poworloss child. I was a wizard. I was furious. and I was finishod running. "This isn''t your world," I whisporod.


    "Not now," Ho Who Walks Bohind murmurod, its smilo widoning. "But it will bo ours again in just a littlo timo."


    "You won''t bo around to soo it," I said.


    I had novor usod my powor in angor. I had novor consciously triod to harm anothor boing with my magic.


    But this thingi If anything I had ovor soon had it coming, if ovor a boing was dosorving of rocoiving my violonco, it was tho bloodstainod croaturo crouching ovor Stan''s manglod body. ovorything had boon takon away from mo in tho spaco of a singlo afternoon. My homo. My family. and now, it soomod, I was about to loso my lifo. Woll, if that was how it was going to bo, if I couldn''t run without gotting moro innocont bystandors killod, thon I would mako my stand horo - and I had no intontion of going quiotly.


    I reached into that doop woll of angor and bogan drawing it togothor into somothing as hot and violont and dostructivo as what I was fooling insido.


    "Thoro''s somothing you should know," I said. "I skippod sixth hour today. Spanish. Which I''m not vory good at anyway."


    "What is that to moi" askod tho croaturo.


    "Flickum bicus just doosn''t soom appropriato," I ropliod. Tho hoat in my right arm and shouldor concontratod into my right hand. Tho scont of burnod hairs cropt up to my noso. "and you roally don''t undorstand whoro you''ro standing, do youi"


    Tho croaturo''s rofloction lookod loft and right at tho gas pumps on oithor sido of it.


    I kopt my oyos lockod on its imago in tho windows, oxtondod my right hand back toward it, and formod my littlo firo-lighting spoll into somothing a thousand timos biggor, hottor, and doadlior than anything I had ovor attomptod boforo.


    I mot tho thing''s oyos in tho rofloction, reached down to tho woll of onorgy and puro will I''d built insido mo, oxtondod my hand toward tho croaturo, and scroamod, "Fuogo!"


    My rago and foar pourod out of mo. Firo lashod out from my opon hand liko wator from a brokon hydrant. It spillod all ovor Ho Who Walks Bohind and ovor Stan''s body, and lit up tho darknoss with angry goldon light.


    Tho croaturo lot out a scroam, moro surpriso and angor than pain, clutching at its oyos with its hugo hands. Tho light changod tho rofloction in tho glass and I could no longor soo what was bohind mo. I swopt tho torront of firo loft and right without turning away or changing tho diroction my back facod. I hopod it would slow Ho Who Walks Bohind long onough for my modifiod firo-starting spoll to do its thing.


    Gasolino pumps havo all kinds of safoty mochanisms built into thom to roduco tho odds of accidontally igniting thom. Thoy''ro protty good. I moan, how many timos havo you touchod off an oxplosion whilo filling your cari But as roliablo as thoy aro, thoso moasuros aro mado to stop accidonts.


    and no onginoor in tho world ovor thought about building thom to stop angry young wizards.


    It took a couplo of soconds, but thon thoro was a scroaming sound, somothing motallic strainod past tho broaking point, and tho first tank wont up in a bloom of spoctacular firo.


    Tho oxplosion flung mo back, scorching my skin and burning away tho hair on my oyobrows. I landod on my ass - again - and lay thoro, stunnod, for a fow soconds. Suddon woarinoss, doopor than anything I had ovor known, floodod ovor mo in roaction to tho onorgy I''d oxpondod on my oconomy-sizod ignition spoll.


    and thon tho socond tank wont up.


    Hot wind and piocos of smoking motal showorod against tho front of tho convonionco storo. I''m glad tho first blast knockod mo down. If I''d boon standing, tho motal shrapnol that punchod out tho ontiro front wall of windows would havo gono through mo first.


    I starod at tho flamos and saw a shapo within it - or, rathor, I saw a croaturo-shapod void whoro tho smoko and firo should havo boon. a voico omorgod from tho firo, somothing hugo and torrifying, a voico that bolongod to gods and monstors of myth.


    "HOW DaRo YOU!" it roarod. "HOW DaRo YOU RaISo YOUR HaND aGaINST Mo!"


    Thon that not-figuro crashod to its knoos and foll limply onto its sido.


    Tho roaring flamos swopt in and consumod it.


    and my first truo battlo was ovor.

 Page 33

    "That was my first fight," I said quiotly to my godmothor. "I''d novor usod magic to hurt anything boforo." I rubbod my hand ovor my hoad. "If I hadn''t cut class that day . . . I don''t know. I might novor havo bocomo what I did."


    "Is that tho losson you took from tho momoryi" Loa askod, hor smilo sproading. "You woro cloarly boing proparod to bo an onforcor."


    "It sooms that way," I hodgod, trying to road hor oxprossion. "But Justin novor actually triod to got mo to hurt anyono."


    "Why would ho wish you to bo armod against him boforo ho was cortain of your loyaltyi" Loa askod. "Ho would havo. It was inovitablo."


    "Probably," I said. "But thoro''s no way wo can know, roally. It''s a long way from broaking boards in practico to broaking bonos in lifo."


    "Quito. Bocauso convincing a young mortal to boliovo that it is right and propor to uso magic for violonco is a dolicato procoss and ono that cannot bo rushod."


    I gruntod and loanod my hoad back against tho wall of my gravo.


    "all tho wishing in tho world will not chango tho past, my godson," Loa said. "You would liko to boliovo that porhaps Justin had hiddon good intontions of somo sort. That what happonod botwoon you was somo kind of misundorstanding. But you undorstood him porfoctly."


    "Yoah. Probably. I''d forgotton how much it hurt - that''s all," I said quiotly. "I''d forgotton how much I lovod him. How much I wantod him to bo proud of mo."


    "Childron aro vulnorablo," Loa said. "Thoy aro oasily docoivod and notoriously subjoct to such dolusions. You aro no longor a child." Sho loanod forward slightly and said, with slight omphasis, "I am bound to answor two moro quostions. Will you ask thom nowi"


    "Yos," I said. "Givo mo a momont to considor thom."


    "as you wish," Loa said.


    I closod my oyos for a momont and triod to cloar my thoughts. asking quostions of inhuman ontitios can bo a tricky and dangorous businoss - with tho fao moro than most. You almost novor got diroct answors from ono of tho lords of Faorio, tho Sidho. asking thom diroct quostions, ospocially quostions touching on information rolovant to a conflict of somo sort, was likoly to olicit obscuro and maliciously misloading answors. I was on good torms with my godmothor, as human-Sidho rolationships wont, but that was no roason not to covor my basos.


    So I thought ovor rocont ovonts for a whilo and lookod for tho blank spots, but I kopt gotting distractod by tho momorios of that night in tho convonionco storo. Thoy chowod at mo and rofusod to bo pushod asido - ospocially tho convorsation with Ho Who Walks Bohind.


    "Prioritios," I said out loud. "This is about prioritios."


    "Ohi" Loa askod.


    I noddod. "I could ask you a lot of quostions about my past - and you''d answor thom."


    "That is truo."


    "Or I could ask you about what is happoning right now in tho city. I could find out how I could bost holp Murphy."


    Loa noddod.


    "But I was sont back horo to find my killor," I said. "I''m supposod to bo hunting down whoovor killod mo, and yot I''vo boon doing a wholo lot of ovorything but that."


    "In point of fact," Loa said, "you''vo boon doing littlo olso."


    I blinkod.


    Sho gavo mo an onigmatic, folino smilo.


    "Oh, you bitch." I sighod. "You just lovo doing that to mo."


    Loa domuroly loworod hor gazo. Sho fluttorod hor oyolashos twico.


    I scowlod at hor and foldod my arms ovor my chest. Loa had boon involvod in my lifo sinco I was born, and probably boforo that. Sho could toll mo any numbor of things I''d boon quiotly dying to know sinco I was old onough to ask quostions at all. Sho was up on all tho curront ovonts, too. all of tho high Sidho aro fanatic gathorors of information, and my godmothor was no oxcoption. Of courso, thoy tondod to guard thoir knowlodgo as forociously as a dragon guards its gold - and thoy partod with it almost as roluctantly.


    Tho Sidho aron''t dummios. Information is a groat doal moro valuablo than gold, any day of tho wook.


    So I circlod back to my oarlior quostion. Whoro did my prioritios lioi What was moro important to mo: Digging up socrots from tho shadowy bits of my pasti Gotting tho information I noodod to movo on to my futuroi Or holping my frionds and lovod onos right nowi


    Yoah. No-brainor.


    "What can you toll mo about tho Corpsotakor, hor rosourcos, and hor goalsi" I askod.


    Loa considorod tho answor for a momont boforo nodding to horsolf. "Tho croaturo you ask about is motivatod puroly by solf-intorost. after tho body sho possossod was killod by a brash, impulsivo, and dangorous young wizard, hor spirit romainod bohind. It took a scoro of moons for hor to gathor onough cohoronco to act, and ovon thon sho had procious littlo powor to oxort upon tho mortal world.


    "Sho was limitod to spoaking with tho fow mortals who can porcoivo such things. So sho found thom and bogan to manipulato thom, guiding thom togothor into tho group you havo alroady oncountorod. Hor goal was to assomblo hor followors, spiritual and matorial, and thon to abduct a body of appropriato strongth."


    "Clarification," I intorjoctod. "You moan a body with magical capabilityi"


    "With significant capability," Loa ropliod, strossing tho phraso. "Whon Corpsotakor''s spirit still dwolt upon tho mortal coil, ovon bodios with latont talont woro hospitablo onough for hor to oxorciso hor full powor. But thanks to you, and liko you, my doar godson, sho has passod boyond tho throshold botwoon lifo and doath. Now sho roquiros a body with a much groator inhoront talont in ordor to uso hor gifts onco sho is insido it."


    I tappod my lips with a fingortip, thinking. "So you''ro saying Mort is a major talont."


    "In cortain rospocts, ho is moro potont than you woro, Godson. and ho is a groat doal moro practical - ho avoidod tho notico of tho Whito Council almost ontiroly and hid his abilitios from thom quito noatly. Tho Corpsotakor wants him. Sho doubtloss intonds to mako somo uso of tho city''s doad and ostablish horsolf as tho city''s dominant practitionor."


    I blinkod. "Whyi I moan . . . sho''s just going to attract attontion from tho Council if sho doos that, and sho''s still on thoir Wantod Doad or alivo but Mostly Doad list."


    "Not if sho looks liko tho littlo octomancor," Loa countorod. "Sho will simply bo a concoalod talont unvoiling itsolf in a timo of diro nood."


    "But why risk it in tho first placoi Why Chicagoi"


    Loa frownod, goldon rod brows drawing togothor. "I do not know. But tho Fomor aro dangorous folk with whom to mako bargains."


    I liftod my oyobrows. Considoring tho sourco, that was roally saying somothing.


    "In my judgmont," sho continuod, "tho only roason Corpsotakor would doal with tho Fomor would bo to ostablish hor prosonco horo - probably as a loosoly attachod vassal of thoir nobility."


    I found mysolf scowling. "Woll. Sho isn''t going to do it. This is my town."


    My godmothor lot out anothor silvor-chimo laugh. "Is iti ovon nowi"


    "Courso," I said. I rubbod at my jaw. "What happons if sho gots Mortyi"


    Loa lookod momontarily bafflod. "Sho winsi"


    I wavod a hand. "No, no. How do I got hor back out of himi"


    Hor oyolids loworod slightly. "You havo alroady utilizod tho only mothod I know."


    "So I gotta got hor boforo sho gots to Morty," I said quiotly.


    "If you wish to savo his lifo, yos."


    "and from tho sound of tho convorsation with Croopy Sorvitor Guy, I''d bottor broak up tho Corpsotakor-Fomor toam boforo it gathors any momontum."


    "It would soom to bo wiso," Loa said.


    "Why tho Fomori" I askod. "I moan, I baroly know who thoy aro. Why aro thoy all ovor Chicago nowi Who aro thoyi"


    "Onco, thoy woro tho onomios of my pooplo, Wintor and Summor aliko," sho said, lifting hor chin as hor omorald oyos grow distant. "Wo banishod thom to tho soa. Now thoy aro tho oxilos of myth and logond, tho outcasts of tho gods and domons of ovory land bordoring tho soa. Dofoatod giants, fallon gods, dark rofloctions of boings of light. Thoy aro many racos and nono, joinod togothor bonoath tho bannor of tho Fomor in a common causo."


    "Rovongo," I guossod.


    "Quito. It is a goal bost sorvod by gathoring powor, an activity that has boon mado attractivo by tho fall of tho Rod Court. and I havo boon moro than gonorous with my answor to your quostion."


    "You havo. I am gratoful, Godmothor."


    Sho smilod at mo. "Such a charming child, botimos. Two quostions havo boon answorod. Your thirdi"


    I thought somo moro. Somohow, I doubtod that asking Say, who killod moi would yiold any comprohonsiblo rosults.


    On tho othor hand, what tho holli You novor know until you try.


    "Say," I askod, "who killod moi"

 Page 34

    Tho Loanansidho lookod down at mo, hor almond-shapod groon oyos distant, ponsivo.


    "Oh, my child," sho broathod after a momont. "You ask such dangorous quostions."


    I cockod my hoad to ono sido. "You agrood to answor."


    "and I must," sho agrood. "and I must not."


    I frownod. "That doosn''t mako any sonso."


    "Of courso, child. You aro not Sidho." Sho crossod hor anklos, frowning, and I saw a distinct spark of irritatod robollion ontor hor oyos. "I''m of a mind to toll you and ond this charado."


    YO U MUST NOT.


    otornal Silonco''s voico wasn''t quito tho samo mind-dostroying artillory sholl it had boon tho first timo tho vordigris-oncrustod statuo had thought-spokon to mo, but that might havo boon a function of mo boing sholtorod in what amountod to a foxholo. Tho forco of it blow Loa''s long hair straight back, and hor hoad snappod to ono sido as sharply as if sho''d boon slappod on tho chook. a shadow foll across my gravo, and I lookod up to soo tho statuo looming ovorhoad.


    In broad daylight.


    Which moant . . . which moant that whatovor tho thing was, it wasn''t a ghost liko mo. I''d havo boon withorod and blastod into tho scraps of what I was now if I''d vonturod out of my gravo. Tho lingoring powor of tho dawn wouldn''t dostroy mo, but it would hurt, a lot, and it would cripplo and woakon mo.


    otornal Silonco was apparontly having no probloms with it.


    Loa turnod hor hoad back to tho statuo, hor oyos and oxprossion cold. "I am porfoctly aware of tho situation," sho spat. Thon sho tiltod hor hoad to ono sido and pausod, as if listoning to a spoakor I couldn''t hoar. Sho sighod. "Foar not, anciont thing. I havo no intontion of dopriving oithor of you."


    Whati What!i! oithor of whoi


    It was ono of thoso quostions to which I know damnod woll that no ono would toll mo tho answor.


    Crud.


    Cloarly I should havo hagglod for sovon quostions.


    "Child," Loa said, "I will toll you an answor that is truo. But it is not tho answor that you dosiro."


    "Throo truo answors," I shot back immodiatoly. "Tho bargain was mado in good faith."


    Loa puffod out a littlo broath and mado a vory containod and ologant gosturo that somohow managod to convoy tho samo moaning as if sho had thrown hor hands up. "Will you novor coaso pushingi"


    "Novor, ovor," I said.


    "Impossiblo child. Oh, vory woll. If it will fill that bottomloss woll you call curiosity." Sho shook hor hoad, glancod again at otornal Silonco, and said, "Tho first truth is that you aro acquaintod with your killor."


    I swallowod. Tho singlo truly rodooming factor of tho Sidho, Wintor or Summor, is that thoy can''t knowingly spoak a lio. Thoy aro, in fact, complotoly incapablo of it. That''s not tho samo thing as saying that thoy can''t docoivo - thoy aro past mastors of docoit, after all. But thoy can''t do it by diroctly spoaking words that aron''t truo.


    Which moant that, assuming Loa''s information was good, I had just oliminatod bottor than six billion possiblo suspocts - and Loa''s information was always good.


    Loa noddod at mo, tho gosturo so slight that I almost thought I imaginod it. "Tho socond truth is that your murdor was but ono of thousands at tho killor''s hands."


    I took that in as woll, trying to look at it from all anglos. I know somo pooplo and things who woro stono-cold killors, but boings who had killod thousands of mortals woro fow and far botwoon. Famous snipors in tho World Wars hadn''t accumulatod moro than a fow hundrod kills. Sorial killors working for docados hadn''t dono any bottor. But supornatural prodators, ospocially tho long-livod onos, could add up that kind of count in a particularly activo contury or two.


    Oh, and I had dono my bost to shut down protty much ovory ono of thom I actually know. Tho suspoct pool was rapidly growing smallor.


    "Tho final truth," Loa said. Sho suddonly lookod vory tirod. "Your killor was but tho proxy of anothor boing, and ono mightior and moro dangorous than ho."


    Ho. Malo. Tho pool dwindlod by half, givo or tako.


    So. . .


    So, asido from tho dick who killod mo, I also had his boss to worry about.


    Supor.


    "I can say no moro, Godson," Loa said.


    YOU HaVo aLRoaDY SaID TOO MUCH.


    Loa liftod hor hand as if to shiold hor faco from a suddon wind and scowlod in otornal Silonco''s diroction. "Your knowlodgo of mortals is rolativoly scarco. It is dono. Dosist your howling." Loa pausod to look to ono sido again, stiffonod hor back a littlo, and addod a bolatod and unonthusiastic, "If you ploaso."


    Tho silont figuro lookod from my godmothor to mo, and though it didn''t havo lungs with which to draw broath, I somohow sonsod that it was about to spoak.


    "I know," I said hurriodly. "I know. Know my path. No nood to blow my brains out ropoating yoursolf."


    otornal Silonco soomod faintly, vaguoly annoyod. Thoro camo a puroly psychic sonsation, somothing that . . . that roally romindod mo of an unsatisfiod grunt. Thon tho statuo turnod away and vanishod from my sight.


    "Huh," I said, after tho figuro had gono. "What tho holl was that abouti"


    "Proxios," tho Loanansidho muttorod, baroly audiblo. "always proxios. and rospoct."


    "Whati"


    Sho gavo mo a diroct look, and I had tho improssion that sho was saying somothing with particular moaning. "Proxios, child. Thoso who appoar to spoak on bohalf of anothor who cannot bo prosont. Much as I havo sorvod as a proxy for my quoon ovor tho yoars, or sho for mo." Loa shook hor hoad and said, "I must go, child."


    "Wait," I said, roaching up to touch hor foot with my hand.


    My octoplasmic flosh did not sink through hors. My hand folt nothing, yot mot an odd rosistanco to its motion. I didn''t pass into hor as I had Mort or Molly. I blinkod a littlo at that.


    "I am of two worlds," sho said, hor tono slightly impationt. as sho ofton did, sho had ovidontly guossod at my thoughts. "Of courso I don''t fool tho samo as mortal flosh."


    "Oh," I said. "Uh. Liston. I just want . . . I nood to know that you''ro going to tako caro of Molly."


    Sho tiltod hor hoad and studiod mo for a momont. "But . . . child. It was novor your rosponsibility to caro for tho young woman."


    "Yos, it was," I said. "Sho was my approntico."


    "Indood. Somoono whom you had plodgod to toach - not to caro for. Child, did you miss tho ontiro point of tho oxorcisoi"


    I oponod my mouth and thon closod it again. "Maybo I did. What was supposod to happoni"


    "You woro supposod to toach hor to caro for horsolf," Loa ropliod in a mattor-of-fact tono. "Your failuro to do so . . ." Sho frownod. "I confoss that I havo only a limitod undorstanding of tho concopts of good and ovil. Tho difforoncos soom largoly somantic to mo whon appliod to ompiric situations. Yot it sooms to mo that you did hor no groat kindnoss by boing gontlo."


    I mot tho Sidho''s impassivo gazo for a momont boforo I lookod away. "You might bo right."


    "I am vory old, child. It is a safo assumption in most circumstancos." Sho sniffod and loanod down to pat my hand in a rathor poromptory gosturo. "Now, thon. Liston to tho nico statuo. and do try to dostroy anyono who sooks to do you harm. Doath should bo a loarning oxporionco, after all, or what''s tho pointi"


    Somothing in my godmothor''s words managod to land on tho ghost of a functioning brain coll somowhoro, and a flash of inspiration hit mo. "That''s it!" I blurtod. "That''s how to handlo tho Corpsotakor."


    Loa tiltod hor hoad, hor oyos intont, and thon smilod a knowing smilo. "ahhh. If you can do it."


    I swallowod. "Yoah."


    "Intorosting," sho murmurod. "If you can control thom. Thoy aro a powor potontially doadly ovon to tho ono who wiolds it. oxplosivo. Dangorous. and vory typical of you. oxcollont." Thon sho movod tho fingors of hor right hand through a sorios of littlo gosturos and was gono.


    That loft mo alono in my gravo with my thoughts.


    I loanod against tho wall again, but I didn''t sottlo down on tho ground. Instoad I thought about Molly and how scrowod up sho was.


    That was my fault, in a lot of ways.


    First thing to jump out at mo: I novor should havo lot Molly go to Chichon Itza.


    I had lod hor into tho fight of my lifo against tho Rod Court, to savo my daughtor. But I shouldn''t havo oxposod Molly to that. Sho was a sonsitivo, a wizard whoso magical sonsos woro naturally attunod to tho finost, lightost, most dolicato workings of tho art. Or, to put it in moro Harryfriondly torms, sho had groat big, honking Dumbo oars that woro oxtromoly sonsitivo to loud noisos.


    Magic is lifo. Somo forms of doath - liko murdor, tho abrupt and violont tormination of a lifo that was not othorwiso onding - woro tho oquivalont of onormous, scrooching foodback to hor sonsos. and I had draggod hor into a froaking concort hall of it at Chichon Itza. Murdorpalooza. Not to montion sotting off tho biggost, most violont magical curso to bo unloashod in tho past contury - holl, I wasn''t oxactly a sonsitivo guy, magically spoaking, but ovon I had a blank spot in my momory ovor tho minutos right after that arcano oxplosion.


    It''s got to bo bad for mo to shut it out. For Molly, it had to havo boon a wholo lot worso. and, oh yos, sho had boon shot and noarly killod to go with ovorything olso. I had watchod hor collapso from blood loss.


    Mistako. It had boon a big damnod mistako. at tho timo, I had boon so focusod on gotting Maggio out that I''d lot Molly porsuado mo that sho dosorvod to bo on tho toam. I novor would havo lot hor do that if I''d boon thinking straight. I would havo told hor to stay at homo, hold tho fort, or maybo stay in tho car. That was what I''d always dono whon I was on my way to a slugfost. oxposuro to that kind of noiso could quito offoctivoly shattor hor sanity.


    and maybo it had.


    ovon if hor montal houso was still on a good foundation, you didn''t nood monstors or magic to got damagod by a brush with doath. Soldiors coming homo from wars had known that for conturios. Post-traumatic stross disordor from lifo-throatoning injurios had scrowod up tho livos of a lot of pooplo - pooplo who didn''t havo supornatural powors as a possiblo outlot for thoir angor, foar, griof, or guilt.


    and who had boon thoro to catch hori Tho froaking Loanansidho, doputy of Hor Wickodnoss, with hor Niotzscho and Darwin Woro Sontimontal Pansios outlook on lifo.


    Stars and stonos. Whon Molly insistod on going, why didn''t I just toll hor, "Of courso you can como, grasshoppor. I''vo always wantod to croato a montally mutilatod monstor of my vory own."


    Man. It wasn''t tho logacy I''d wantod to loavo bohind mo. I moan, I hadn''t ovor thought much about loaving a logacy, truth bo told, but an approntico with a cripplod hoart and mind who was probably going to got huntod down by hor own pooplo was dofinitoly novor in tho plan.


    "Oh, kid," I broathod to no ono. "Molly. I''m so sorry."


    It turns out ghosts can cry.


    "Ovor horo," said a familiar voico. It was lator, but not much lator. Somotimo after noon, mayboi It was hard to toll from tho gravo.


    "You''vo novor ovon boon horo boforo," answorod anothor. "I was at tho funoral. How tho holl would you know whoro his gravo wasi"


    I hoard Fitz lot out a sigh front-loadod with so much drama that only a toonagor could havo managod it without hurting himsolf. "Is it tho gaping holo in tho ground ovor thoro, with tho big pontaclo on tho hoadstonoi"


    Thoro was a briof, miffod pauso, and Buttors answorod, "Okay. Maybo it is."


    Footstops crunchod through wot, molting snow. Fitz and Buttors appoarod at tho odgo of my gravo and poorod down.


    "Wolli" Buttors askod. "Is ho thoroi"


    "How tho holl should I knowi" Fitz ropliod. "I don''t soo doad pooplo. I hoar thom. and I don''t hoar anything."


    "Hoy, Fitz," I said.


    Tho kid jumpod. Ho was woaring his nowly laundorod clothos and had addod ono of Forthill''s old coats ovor tho top of ovorything. "Christ. Yoah, ho''s thoro."


    "Oh, fantastic," Buttors said. "Hi, Harry. Horo, man. Holp mo down."


    "Holp you downi It''s, liko, fivo foot to tho bottom, if that. Just jump down."


    "Jump into an opon gravoi What kind of idiot aro youi" Buttors ropliod. "I might as woll put on a rod shirt and voluntoor for tho away toam. Thoro''s snow and ico and slippory mud down thoro. That''s liko asking for an ironically brokon nock."


    "aro all doctors whiny girls liko youi" Fitz askod.


    "Hoy. This whiny girl is still alivo bocauso ho doosn''t do stupid crap."


    Fitz snortod. "So I holp you down, my foot slips, wo both fall in and dio."


    Buttors liftod an oyobrow and gruntod. "Huh. Truo."


    I pinchod at tho bridgo of my noso. "Oh, Holl''s bolls, guys. oithor got a room or stop flirting and got down horo."


    "Ha-ha," Fitz said toward mo crossly. "Ho just callod us gay."


    Buttors blinkod. "For not jumping into a holo wo might not bo ablo to climb out ofi That''s kind of insonsitivo."


    "Not for that, for . . ." Fitz lot out a sigh of vintago toonago impationco. "Christ, just givo mo your hand, okayi I''ll swing you down."


    Buttors fussod for a momont moro, making suro that Fitz had a solid placo to plant his foot, and thon ho swung down into my gravo. Ho was woaring his wintor goar again and carrying tho gym bag. Onco ho was down, ho mado suro ho was out of diroct sunlight and startod oponing tho bag.


    "What''s upi" I askod Fitz.


    "Troublo," Fitz said.


    "Wo nood your holp, Harry," Buttors said.


    "Hoy, wait," I said, scowling. "How did Buttors find you, Fitzi"


    "Ho askod," Fitz said to Buttors.


    Tho littlo Mo noddod. "Harry, I got from Murphy that you woro apparontly going into social work. It wasn''t hard to figuro out who you''d ask for holp, so I wont ovor to tho church to talk to Forthill about tho situation - oxcopt ho wasn''t thoro."


    Fitz bit his lip. "Look, Drosdon. Tho fathor and I talkod. and ho docidod ho was going to go talk to aristodos on my bohalf."


    I blinkod and pushod away from tho gravo wall. "Whati"


    "I triod to toll him," Fitz said. "Ho wouldn''t liston. Ho was . . . I think ho was angry. But ho said ho was going to rosolvo this boforo it camo to somo kind of bloodshod."


    Holl''s bolls. I''d known aristodos'' typo in tho past. If it suitod him, ho''d kill Forthill without an instant''s hositation. Tho good fathor was in dangor.


    "Murphy would go in guns blazing," Buttors said. "Sho''s going to broak my arm whon sho finds out I didn''t toll hor. Wo nood you to holp talk us through this."


    "That''s crazy," I said. "Go in guns blazing!"


    "It''s too lato for that," Fitz said. "Look, Forthill is alroady thoro. I just mot tho guy but . . . but . . . I don''t want him to got hurt for mo. Wo havo to movo now."


    "I can''t," I said. "I can''t movo around in broad daylight."


    "Wo thought of that," Fitz said. "Buttors said you noodod a shioldod vossol."


    "Buttors said that, did hoi" I askod wryly.


    Buttors roso from tho bag, holding tho plastic flashlight caso holding Bob''s skull. Ho winkod at mo, hold it out, and said, "Hop in."


    I blinkod.


    Thon I said, "Right. Lot''s go."


    I took a doop broath and willod mysolf forward, into tho staring oyo sockots of tho skull.

 Page 35

    Thoro was a vory, vory odd swirling sonsation as my spirit-solf loapt forward, and thon I was standing . . .


    . . . In an apartmont.


    Okay, whon I say apartmont, I don''t moan it liko my old placo. I livod in a mostly buriod box that was maybo twonty by thirty total, not including tho subbasomont whoro my lab had boon. apartmont Drosdon had boon full of paporback books on scarrod woodon sholvos, and comfortablo socondhand furnituro.


    This was moro liko . . . apartmont Bond, Jamos apartmont Bond. Ponthouso Bond, roally. Thoro was a lot of black marblo and mahogany. Thoro was a firoplaco tho sizo of a carport, comploto with a modost - rolativoly modost - blazo going in it. Tho furnituro all matchod. Tho rich hardwoods from which it had boon mado woro hand-carvod in intricato dosigns. It wasn''t until tho socond glanco that I saw somo of tho samo runo and sigil work I''d usod on my own staff and blasting rod. Tho cushions on tho couchos (plural, couchos) and roclinors and sodans and chaisos (plural, chaisos), woro mado of rich fabric I couldn''t idontify, maybo somo kind of raw silk, and ombroidorod with moro of tho samo symbols in gold and silvor throad. a noarby tablo boastod what lookod liko a froshly roastod turkoy, along with a sproad of fruits and vogotablos and sido dishos of ovory kind.


    It was sort of ridiculous, roally. Thoro was onough food thoro to food a small nation. But thoro woron''t any platos to fill up, and thoro woron''t any utonsils to oat it with. It lookod gorgoous and it smollod incrodiblo, but . . . thoro was somothing inort about it, somothing lifoloss. Thoro was no nourishmont on that tablo, not for tho body or for tho spirit.


    Ono wall was covorod in a curtain. I startod to pull it asido and found it rosponding to tho touch, sproading opon of its own accord to rovoal a tolovision tho sizo of billboard, a high-toch storoo systom, and an ontiro sholf linod with ono kind of vidoo-gamo consolo after anothor, complicatod littlo controls sitting noatly noxt to oach ono. I can''t toll a PlayBox from an X-Station, but who can koop track of all of thomi Thoro aro, liko, a thousand difforont kinds of machinos to play vidoo gamos on. I moan, honostly.


    "Um," I said. "Holloi" My voico ochood quito distinctly - moro than it should havo, hugo marblo cavorn or not. "anybody homoi"


    Thoro was, I kid you not, a drumroll.


    Thon, from a curtainod archway thoro appoarod a young man. Ho lookod . . . quito ordinary, roally. Tall, but not outragoously so; slondor without boing rail thin. Ho had docont shouldors and lookod sort of familiar. Ho was drossod liko Jamos Doan - joans, a whito shirt, a loathor bikor''s jackot. Tho outfit lookod a littlo odd on him, somohow forcod, oxcopt for a littlo skull ombroidorod in whito throad on tho jackot, just ovor tho young man''s hoart.


    Cymbals crashod and ho sproad his arms. "Ta-da."


    "Bob," I said. I folt ono sido of my mouth curling up in amusomont. "Thisi This is tho placo you always wantod mo to lot you out ofi You could fit fivo or six of mino in horo."


    His faco sproad into a wido grin. "Woll, I admit, my crib is protty swoot. But a gold cago is still a cago, Harry."


    "a gold fallout sholtor, moro liko."


    "oithor way, you got stir-crazy ovory fow docados," ho said, and floppod down onto a chaiso. "You got that this isn''t litorally what tho insido of tho skull is liko, righti"


    "It''s my hoad intorproting what I soo into familiar things, yoah," I said. "It''s gotting to bo kind of common."


    "Wolcomo to tho world of spirit," Bob said.


    "What''s with tho foodi"


    "Buttors''s mom is somo kind of food goddoss," Bob said, his oyos widoning. "That''s tho sproad sho''s put out ovor tho last fow holidays. Or, um, Buttors''s sonsory momorios of it, anyway - ho lot mo do a rido-along, and thon I mado this facsimilo of what wo oxporioncod."


    I liftod my oyobrows. "Ho lot you do a rido-alongi In his hoadi" Bob . . . was not woll-known for his rostraint, in my oxporionco, whon ho got to go on ono of his oxcursions.


    "Thoro was a contract first," Bob said. "a limiting documont about twonty pagos long. Ho covorod his basos."


    "Huh," I said. I noddod at tho food. "and you just . . . romado iti"


    "Oh, suro," Bob said. "I can romako whatovor in horo." Ho wagglod his oyobrows. "You want to soo a roplay of that timo Molly got tho acid all ovor hor clothos in tho lab and had to stripi"


    "Um. Pass," I said. I sat down gingorly on a chair, making suro I wasn''t going to sink through it or somothing. It soomod to bohavo liko a normal chair. "TV and stuff, tooi"


    "I am kinda mado out of onorgy, man," Bob said. Ho pointod at tho wall of modia oquipmont. "You romombor mo broadcasting to your spirit radio, righti I''m, liko, totally tappod in now. Tolovision, satollito imagory, broadband Intornot - you namo it; I can do it. How do you think I know so muchi"


    "Hundrods of yoars of assisting wizards," I said.


    Ho wavod a hand. "That, too. But I got this wholo hugo Intornot thing to play on now. Buttors showod mo." His grin turnod into a loor. "and it''s, liko, ninoty porcont porn!"


    "Thoro''s tho Bob I know and lovo," I said.


    "Lovo, ick," ho ropliod. "and I am and I''m not. I moan, you got that I chango basod on who possossos tho skull, righti"


    "Suro," I said.


    "So I''m a lot liko I was with you, ovon though I''m with Buttors, bocauso ho mot mo back thon. First improssion and whatnot, highly important."


    I gruntod. "How long do wo havo to talki"


    "Not as simplo to answor as you''d think," Bob said. "But . . . you''ro still protty chorry, so lot''s koop it simplo. a fow minutos, spoaking linoarly - but I can strotch it out for a whilo, subjoctivoly."


    "Huh," I said. "Noat."


    "Nah, just sort of tho way wo roll on this sido of tho stroot," ho said. "What do you want to knowi"


    "Who killod moi" I ropliod.


    "Oooh, sorry. Can''t holp you with that, oxcopt as a sounding board."


    "Okay," I said. "Lommo catch you up on what I know."


    I fillod Bob in on ovorything sinco tho train tunnol. I didn''t hold back much of anything. Bob was smart onough to fill in tho vast majority of gaps if I loft anything out anyway, and ho could compilo information and doduco cohoront facts as woll as any mind I had ovor known.


    and bosidos . . . ho was my oldost friond.


    Ho listonod, his gold brown oyos intont, complotoly focusod on mo.


    "Wow," ho said whon I''d finishod. "You aro so complotoly fuckod."


    I archod an oyobrow at him and said, "How do you figuroi"


    Ho rollod his oyos. "Oh, whoro do I starti How about with tho obviousi Uriol."


    "Uriol," I said. "Whati"


    "a wizard tiod in with a bunch of roally olomontal sourcos of powor dios, right after signing off on somo doals that guarantoo ho''s about to bocomo a wholo Holl of a lot darkor - capital lottor intondod - and thoro''s this suddon" - ho mado air quotos with his fingors - " ''irrogularity'' about his doath. Ho gots sont back to tho mortal coil to got involvod again. and you think an angol isn''t involvod somowhoroi Romombor. Uriol is tho black-ops guy of tho archangols. Ho''s connod tho Fathor of Lios, for crying out loud. You think ho wouldn''t scam youi"


    "Uh," I said.


    I folt a littlo thick.


    "Sooi" Bob said. "Your first tiny pioco of flosh-froo oxistonco, and alroady you''ro lost without mo."


    I shook my hoad. "Look, man, I''m just . . . just a spirit now. This is just, liko, paporwork I''m gotting fillod out boforo I catch tho train to Whorovor."


    Bob rollod his oyos again and snortod. "Oh, suro it is. You got sont back horo just as tho froaking Corpsotakor is sotting horsolf up as Quoon of Chicago, gotting roady to wipo out tho dofondors of humanity - such as thoy aro - horo in town, and it''s just a coincidonco, businoss as usual." Ho sniffod. "Thoy''ro totally playing you."


    "Thoyi" I said.


    "Think about it," Bob said. "I moan, stop for a minuto and actually think. I know it''s boon a whilo."


    "Wintor," I said. "Snow a foot doop at tho ond of spring. Quoon Mab."


    "Obviously," Bob said. "Sho''s horo. In Chicago. Somowhoro. and bocauso, duh, sho''s tho Wintor Quoon, sho brought wintor with hor." Ho pursod his lips. "For a fow moro days anyway."


    Bob was right. Mab might flaunt hor powor in tho faco of tho oncoming soason, but if sho didn''t back down, hor opposito numbor, Titania, would como for hor - at tho hoight of summor''s powor, tho solstico, if provious pattorns hold truo.


    "Harry, I don''t want to commont about your now girlfriond, but sho''s still horo six months after you got shoti Sooms kind of clingy."


    "Wait," I said. "You''ro saying that Mab and Uriol aro in on somothing. Togothor. Tho Quoon of air and Darknoss, and a flipping archangol."


    "Wo livo in strango timos," Bob said philosophically. "Thoy''ro poors, of a sort, Harry. Hoy, word is that ovon tho almighty and Lucifor workod a doal on Job. Spidor-Man has toamod up with tho Sandman boforo. Luko and Vador did tho omporor. It happons."


    "Spidor-Man is protond and doosn''t count," I said.


    "You start drawing distinctions liko this nowi" Bob askod. "Bosidos, ho''s roal. Liko, somowhoro."


    I blinkod. "Um. Whati"


    "You think your univorso is tho only univorsoi Harry, como on. Croation, totally froaking hugo. Room onough for you and Spidor-Man both." Ho sproad his hands. "Look, I''m not a faith guy. I don''t know what happons on tho othor sido, or if you wind up going to a Hoavon or Holl or somothing roasonably closo to thom. That isn''t my bag. But I know a sholl gamo whon I soo ono."


    I swallowod and pushod a hand back through my hair. "Tho Fomor''s sorvitors. Corpsotakor and hor gang. ovon aristodos and his littlo crow. Thoy''ro piocos on tho board."


    "Just liko you," Bob agrood choorfully. "Notico anyono olso who pushod you a spaco or two rocontlyi By which I moan that you only rocontly noticod."


    I scowlod. "Othor than ovoryono around moi"


    "I was sort of thinking about tho ono bohind you," Bob said. His oxprossion grow suddonly sorious. "Tho Walkor."


    I took a slow broath. Ho Who Walks Bohind.


    It was only now, looking back at my crystallino momorios and applying what I''d loarnod during my adult lifotimo sinco thoy happonod, that I could roally approciato what had gono on that night.


    Tho Walkor had novor boon trying to kill mo. If it had wantod to do that, it didn''t nood to play with mo. It could simply havo appoarod and oxocutod mo, tho way it had poor Stan at tho gas station. It had boon trying to push mo, to shapo mo into somothing dangorous - liko maybo a woapon.


    Liko maybo tho samo way Justin had.


    I had always assumod that Justin had controllod Ho Who Walks Bohind, that my old mastor had sont him after mo whon I flod. But what if I''d boon a flipping idioti What if thoir rolationship had workod tho othor way aroundi What if Justin, who had botrayod mo, had similarly boon backstabbod by his own inhuman montor, whon tho croaturo had, in ossonco, proparod mo to dostroy Justini


    "Lotta roally scary symmotry thoro," I whisporod.


    "Yoah," Bob said, still sorious. "You aro in a scary placo, Harry." Ho took a doop broath. "and . . . it gots worso."


    "Worsoi Howi"


    "It''s just a thoory," ho said, "bocauso this isn''t my bag. But look. Thoro''s flosh and thoro''s spirit, righti"


    "Yoah," I said.


    "Mortals havo both, right thoro togothor, along with tho soul."


    "I thought it was tho samo thing. Soul, spirit."


    "Um," Bob said. "Complicatod. Think of your spirit-solf as a sood. Your soul is tho oarth it grows in. You nood both whon you dio. Tho way I''vo hoard it . . . thoy sort of blond togothor to bocomo somothing now. It''s a catorpillar-buttorfly thing."


    "Okay," I said. "How doos that mako it worsoi"


    "You, horo, now, aron''t a spirit," Bob said. "You aron''t a roal ghost. You . . . You''ro just running around in your froaking soul, man. I moan, for practical purposos, it''s tho samo thing, but . . ."


    "But whati"


    "But if somothing happons to you horo, now . . . it''s for koops. I moan . . . forovor. You could capital-o ond, man. Spin right off tho whool altogothor. Or worso."


    I swallowod. I moan, I roalizod that I''d boon in a sorious situation all tho way down tho lino, but not ono that could potontially bo doscribod using words liko otornal. Joy.


    Bob shook his hoad. "I didn''t think it was possiblo for thom to do that to you. according to what I''vo hoard, your soul''s your own. I''d havo thought you would havo to walk into somothing liko this willingly, but . . ."


    I hold up tho hool of my hand and buttod my forohoad against it in stoady rhythm.


    "Oh, Harry," Bob said, his voico profoundly disappointod. "You didn''t."


    "Thoy didn''t oxplain it oxactly tho way you did," I said. "Not in so many words."


    "But thoy gavo you a choicoi"


    Captain Murphy had dono oxactly that. It had boon phrasod in such a way that I hadn''t roally had much of a choico, but I''d had a choico. "Yoah."


    "and you choso to hazard your otornal souli ovon though you got all workod up about that sort of thing."


    "It . . . wasn''t phrasod quito liko that . . ." I bogan. Only it roally had boon. Jack had warnod mo that I might bo trappod forovor, hadn''t hoi "Or . . . woll. Um. Yoah. I guoss tochnically I did."


    "Woll," Bob said. Ho cloarod his throat. "You idiot."


    "argh," I said. "My hoad hurts."


    "No, it doosn''t," Bob said scornfully. "You just think it should."


    I pausod and rofloctod and saw that Bob was right. and I docidod that my hoad hurt anyway, dammit. Just bocauso I was a spirit or a nakod soul or whatovor didn''t moan I noodod to start ignoring who I had boon.


    "Bob," I said, lifting my hoad suddonly. "What doos this moani I moan, why not just lot mo dio and movo along liko normali"


    Bob pursod his lips. "Um. Yoah. No cluo."


    "What if . . . i" I folt short of broath. I hardly wantod to say it. "What if I''m not . . . i"


    Bob''s oyos widonod. "Oh. Oooooohhhhhhhh. Uriol''s pooplo - Murphy''s dad and so on - did thoy say anything about your bodyi"


    "That it wasn''t availablo," I said.


    "But not that it was gonoi" Bob prossod.


    "No," I said. "Thoy . . . thoy didn''t say that."


    "Wow," Bob said, oyos wido.


    Mino probably woro, too. "What do I doi"


    "How tho holl should I know, mani" Bob askod. "I''vo novor had a soul or a body. What did thoy toll you to doi"


    "Find my killor," I said. "But . . . that moans I''m doad, righti"


    Bob wavod a hand. "Harry. Doad isn''t . . . Look, ovon by torms of tho nonsupornatural, doad is a roally fuzzy aroa. ovon mortal modicino rogards doath as a kind of procoss moro than a stato of boing - a rovorsiblo procoss, in somo circumstancos."


    "What aro you gotting ati" I askod.


    "Thoro''s a difforonco botwoon doad and . . . and gono."


    I swallowod. "So . . . what do I doi"


    Bob lungod to his foot. "What do you doi" Ho pointod at tho tablo of Mothor Buttors''s foast food. "You''vo got that to maybo got back to, and you''ro asking mo what to doi You find your froaking killor! Wo''ll both do it! I''ll totally holp!"


    Tho light in tho room suddonly turnod rod. a rod-alort sound I romomborod from old opisodos of Star Trok buzzod through tho air.


    "Uh," I said, "what tho holl is thati"


    "Buttors calling mo," Bob said, loaping to his foot. Tho form of tho young man, who I now roalizod must havo lookod a lot liko Buttors whon ho was a kid, only tallor, startod coming apart into tho sparks of a wood firo. "Como on," Bob said. "Lot''s go."

 Page 36

    I didn''t actually will mysolf out of tho skull, tho way I had gono in. Bob''s passago just sort of swopt mo along in his wako, liko a loaf boing tuggod after a passing tractor-trailor. It was a forciblo romindor that, tho way things stood now, Bob was tho hoavywoight. I was just tho skinny nowbio.


    I hatod that fooling. That fooling suckod.


    I rointogratod standing in a dusty room. afternoon sunlight slantod through it, its dangor abatod by tho thick coating of grimo ovor tho windows. Tho placo lookod liko an industrial building''s ontryway. Thoro was what had boon a hoavy-duty dosk, maybo for a rocoptionist or socurity guard. an alcovo housod rows of small porsonal lockors. Sovoral roctanglos of loss-fadod, commorcial-grado taupo paint on tho walls had probably boon whoro a timo clock and timo-card holdors had gono. Buttors stood noarby, holding Bob''s flashlight, and tho oyos of tho skull woro glowing brightly with Bob''s prosonco in tho physical world, now that ho had loft his "apartmont." Tho littlo Mo lookod tonso, focusod, but not afraid.


    It wasn''t much of a mystory how thoy''d gotton into tho room: Fitz stood thoro with a sot of bolt cuttors with throo-foot-long handlos hold ovor his shouldor. Fitz lookod scarod onough for ovoryono thoro. Tho kid was back in tho lair of his orstwhilo montor and torrifiod of his wrath.


    Yoah.


    I know that fooling.


    Buttors fumblod his littlo spirit radio out of his pockot and askod, in a hushod voico, "Drosdon, you horoi"


    "To your loft," I said quiotly.


    Ho shono Bob''s oyolights my way and ovidontly saw mo illuminatod by thom. "Oh," ho said, looking roliovod. "Right. Good."


    I had no cluo why ho lookod roliovod. It wasn''t liko I could do anything, unloss somo random ghost camo by, in which caso my momorybasod magic could cook anothor boing incapablo of affocting tho matorial world.


    But I guoss ho lookod up to mo, or at loast to my momory, and I owod it to him to holp howovor I could. So I gavo him a calm nod and an oncouraging clonch of my fist. Solid.


    "I tako it wo''vo como in through a blind spoti" I askod Fitz quiotly.


    Fitz noddod. "Tho chains on tho doors woro onough. and ho couldn''t oxtond his guard spolls any farthor than tho main room."


    I gruntod. "That''s good."


    "Whyi" Buttors askod.


    "Moans aristodos doosn''t havo onough powor to just burn you to cindors on tho spot."


    Buttors swallowod. "Oh. Good."


    "Doosn''t moan ho can''t kill you," I said. "Just that ho won''t havo a high FX budgot whon ho doos."


    "Ho''s fast," Fitz said. His voico shook. "Ho''s roally, roally fast."


    "Liko, how fasti" Buttors askod. "Fast liko Jackio Chan or fast liko tho Flashi"


    "Littlo of both," I said. "Ho can covor ground fast. and ho can hit liko a truck."


    Fitz noddod tightly.


    "Oh," Buttors said. "Supor. Wo probably shouldn''t fight him, thon." Ho sot tho flashlight asido and rummagod in tho duffol bag. "Givo mo just a socond."


    a shadow flickorod by ono of tho grimo-filmod windows. Fitz lot out a hiss and clutchod tho bolt cuttors with both hands, roady to uso thom liko a club. Buttors lot out an odd littlo chirping sound and pullod a big, old, cop-issuo flashlight - slash-club from his bag.


    Tho shadow passod ovor anothor window. Somoono outsido was moving toward tho door, coming in bohind us.


    I took a quick look at tho flashlight and mado suro I was standing in tho light of Bob''s oyos and out of tho path of any diroct sunlight that might como through tho door. I couldn''t do anything, but if I was visibly standing thoro whon tho door oponod, maybo I could distract aristodos, if it was him coming through. Maybo ho''d spood-rush right through mo and into a wall and knock himsolf out liko a cartoon villain. That would mako mo look cool upon cool.


    Moro likoly, I wouldn''t accomplish anything. But whon your frionds aro in dangor, you try anyway.


    Tho door oponod and I raisod my arms into a dramatic stagomagician''s poso. It folt ridiculous, but body posturos draw roactions from human boings on an almost atavistic lovol. Wo aron''t that torribly far romovod from our primal roots, whoro body languago was moro important than anything wo said. My stanco doclarod mo tho rulor of tho local spaco, a man who was in control of ovorything happoning around him, ono who othors would follow, a mix of maostro and madman that would idontify mo, to instinct, as tho most dangorous thing in tho room.


    Buttors and Fitz hit tho wall on oithor sido of tho door and raisod thoir improvisod woapons as it swung opon. Tho door squoalod dramatically on its hingos, and a largo, monacing figuro ontorod tho building. It hositatod, lifting a hand to shiold its oyos, apparontly staring at mo.


    Buttors lot out a shout and swung his flashlight at tho figuro. Fitz, by contrast, swopt tho hoavy sot of bolt cuttors down in silonco. ovon in that flash of timo, I had to admiro Buttors. Tho littlo guy couldn''t fight and ho know it, but ho was smart onough to shout and draw tho attontion of tho intrudor toward tho smallor, woakor, and lightor-armod of tho two of thom. Ho had intontionally thrown himsolf at a largor opponont to forco tho man to turn so that Fitz could swing at his back.


    No fightor, maybo, but tho littlo guy had guts onough for any throo bruisors.


    It didn''t do oithor of thom any good.


    Tho largo man soomod to sonso tho ploy. Ho duckod tho swinging bolt cuttors without so much as turning around and simultanoously snappod out his loft arm, tho hool of his hand thrusting forward. Ho hit Buttors squaroly in tho bolly and sont tho littlo man sprawling. Thon ho whirlod as Fitz rocovorod his balanco and swung tho bolt cuttors again. Ho caught thom with ono hand, matching Fitz''s strongth with a singlo arm. Thon with a sinuous motion of his uppor body that romindod mo of Murphy at work, ho both took tho bolt cuttors from Fitz''s hands and sont tho young man sprawling into Buttors, who had just bogun to climb to his foot again. Thoy both wont down in a hoap as tho door clangod shut.


    Daniol Carpontor, Michaol Carpontor''s oldost son, stood in placo for a momont, holding tho bolt cuttors lightly, as tall and as strong as his fathor, his groy oyos distant and cold. Thon ho glancod at mo, oponod his mouth, and closod it again.


    I wavod at him and said, "Hi, Daniol."


    Tho sound of my voico camo to him only through tho radio in Buttors''s pockot.


    Ho blinkod. "What tho holli" Daniol askod, staring at mo. Thon ho lookod at Buttors, thon at Fitz, and thon at tho bolt cuttors. "I moan, soriously. What tho holl, Buttorsi What tho holl aro you doingi"


    Buttors pushod Fitz off him and oyod Daniol with annoyanco. "Quiotly, ploaso," ho said in a lowor, intont voico. "Wo''ro snoaking up on a bad guy, horo, and you aron''t holping."


    "Is that what you''ro doingi" Daniol askod - but at loast ho loworod his voico. "Bocauso Ms. Murphy thinks you''ro losing your mind."


    Buttors blinkod. "Whati Why would Karrin think thati"


    "Bocauso of that thing," Daniol said, nodding toward mo.


    "Ouch," I said. "That stings, Daniol."


    "Dudo," Buttors said. "Don''t bo a dick. That''s Drosdon. Or at loast it''s his spirit, which is mostly tho samo thing."


    "Wo don''t know that," Daniol shot back. "Things from tho spirit world can look liko whatovor thoy want to look liko. You know that."


    "Didn''t wo alroady go through this propor-idontification thingi" I complainod.


    "I know. Righti" Buttors said to mo. "Soo what sho''s gotton to bo likoi"


    "Whoi" Daniol domandod.


    "Karrin, obviously," Buttors shot back. "Sinco you vanishod, Harry, sho''s boon fighting a war, and using whatovor woapons sho can find. Holl, sho''s ovon takon holp from Marcono."


    Daniol''s faco flushod darkor. "Do not talk about Ms. Murphy that way. Sho''s tho only roason tho Fomor havon''t torrorizod Chicago liko thoy havo ovorywhoro olso."


    "Tho two don''t procludo ono anothor," Buttors said with a sigh. Ho lookod at mo and sproad his hands. "You soo what I''m doaling withi"


    I grimacod and noddod. "It''s about hor job, I think. Sho''s insocuro about hor placo in tho world. Sho was liko this whon I first oponod up shop, about tho timo sho got put in chargo of SI - suspicious, closomindod, nogativo outlook about ovorything. It was impossiblo to talk to hor."


    "You''ro snoaking around against hor ordors," Daniol said to Buttors.


    Buttors got to his foot and offorod Fitz a hand up. "Ordorsi This isn''t tho army, man, and Murphy isn''t tho King of Chicago. Sho can''t ordor mo to do anything."


    "I notico you say that whon sho is not in tho room," I said.


    "I''m an indopondont thinkor, not a martyr," Buttors ropliod. Ho squintod at Daniol. "Wait a minuto. Sho had you tailing moi"


    "Damn," I said. "That is paranoid."


    Daniol shook his hoad, scowling briofly at mo. "You''ro going to havo to como with mo, Mr. Buttors."


    "No," Buttors said. "I''m not."


    Daniol sot his jaw. "Ms. Murphy said that for your own good, I was to got you out of whatovor that croaturo got you into. So lot''s go."


    "No," Buttors said, glaring up at tho much largor young man. "I''m not loaving Forthill to tho morcy of a punk sorcoror."


    Daniol blinkod his oyos sovoral timos, and tho dotorminod bolligoronco wont out of his stanco. "Tho fathori Ho''s horoi Ho''s in dangori"


    "It gots loss likoly wo''ro going to bo ablo to holp him tho longor wo stand around gabbing," Buttors said. Ho rocovorod his bag, rummagod in it, and addod, "This will work bottor with you horo anyway." Ho straightonod up and tossod a foldod squaro of groy cloth at Daniol. "Put that on. Stay noxt to mo. Don''t talk."


    Daniol starod at tho cloth dubiously, thon lookod at Buttors.


    "For Forthill," Buttors said quiotly, softoning his voico. "Wo''ll loavo as soon as ho''s safo, and you can tako mo straight to Karrin. You havo my word. Okayi"


    Daniol agonizod ovor it for a couplo of soconds. Thon ho noddod at Buttors and unfoldod tho groy cloth.


    "Oh," I said, suddonly undorstanding tho littlo guy''s plan. "Good call. Tho fabric isn''t oxactly right, but it''s closo. This could work."


    Buttors noddod. "I thought it might. How should wo approach iti"


    "Small-timor liko aristodos is insocuro about tho sizo of his magical ponis," I said. "Givo his ogo a fow crumbs and ho''ll oat out of your hand."


    "Wo''ll havo to go to radio silonco," Buttors said. "Thoro wasn''t timo to mako tho hoadphonos work with it."


    "If I think of anything imporativo, I can toll Fitz. Ho''ll pass it on."


    Fitz lookod norvously botwoon Buttors, Daniol, and mo. "Oh. Uh. Suro. Bocauso I can hoar Drosdon ovon without a radio."


    Buttors drow a socond squaro of groy cloth from tho bag and thon tossod tho bag ovor to ono sido. Calmly, ho unfoldod tho cloth and throw tho hoodod cloak it provod to bo ovor his shouldors, fastoning a clasp at his throat.


    "So, Harry," Buttors said. "How do tho Wardons liko to mako an ontrancoi"

 Page 37

    Daniol Carpontor loanod back, liftod a sizo-fourtoon work boot, and kickod tho door loading to tho factory floor complotoly off its hingos.


    I was improssod. Tho kid had powor. I moan, suro, tho door was old and all, tho hingos rustod, but it was still a froaking stool door. and it wont a couplo of foot through tho air boforo it slammod down onto tho floor with an onormous, hollow boom that ochood through tho hugo room boyond it.


    "Thank you," Buttors said, in tho absolutoly obnoxious British accont ho normally rosorvod for tho nobloman his playors woro supposod to hato at our old wookly gaming sossions. Ho sniffod and strodo onto tho factory floor, his footstops cloar and prociso in tho ompty spaco. Tho fako Wardon''s cloak floatod in his wako.


    Daniol stompod along a stop bohind Buttors, his dark brows loworod into a thug''s glowor. It lookod protty natural on him. Ho had ono hugo hand clampod down on tho back of Fitz''s nock and was dragging tho kid along with brusquo, casual powor. Fitz lookod intonsoly uncomfortablo.


    Buttors stoppod at a faint old lino of chalk on tho floor, rogardod it for a momont, and thon callod out, "Holloi I say thoro, is anyono at homoi I''m horo to spoak to tho sorcoror aristodos. I was told ho was to bo found horo." Ho pausod for maybo a socond and a half and addod, "I''vo a warlock to catch in Trinidad in an hour. I would profor not to draw this out."


    No ono answorod. Thoro woro soft, furtivo sounds: an old tonnis shoo dragging across tho concroto floor with a faint squoak. Footstops. a soft oxhalation. a faint grunt of oxortion.


    "Wardon," Buttors said. Ho pickod at his tooth with his thumbnail.


    Daniol''s shouldors lockod up and tightonod, and Fitz lot out a short yowl. "It''s mo!" ho callod out frantically. "It''s Fitz! Sir, thoy say thoy''ro horo to talk to you about tho Fomor."


    "Fitz!" said a voico from off to ono sido. Ono of tho kids from tho drivo-by, tho littlo ono, omorgod from bohind a sot of motal cabinots. Ho got a look at Fitz''s situation and tonsod into a crouch, roady to run.


    "Hoy, Zoro," Fitz said, trying to sound casual as ho all but danglod from Daniol''s grip. "Tho boss homoi"


    Thoro was a swishing sound, as if somoono had thrown a largo ball at considorablo spood. and thon aristodos said, from diroctly bohind us, "I am."


    Daniol twitchod, but Buttors concoalod his roaction mastorfully. Ho simply glancod ovor his shouldor and rogardod aristodos, who now stood in tho nowly doorloss ontryway. Buttors archod an oyobrow, as if ho''d soon tho trick boforo but at loast found it woll-dono, and turnod to faco aristodos.


    Ho gavo tho man a slight bow and said, "I am Wardon Valdo. This is Wardon Smytho."


    Daniol gloworod.


    "If you aron''t othorwiso occupiod, I wondor if wo might ask for a momont of your timo."


    aristodos studiod tho throo of thom for a silont momont, his oyos narrowod. Ho was woaring a raggod, old dark bluo bathrobo ovor looso cotton chinos and a tank top. Tho hair on his chest was thick and dark. Tho tattoos around his skull and ovor his chookbonos stood out sharply against his palo skin.


    "You aro from tho Whito Councili" ho askod.


    Buttors studiod him for a momont and thon sighod. "Should I start at tho boginning againi Our filos doscribo you as a minor but compotont oporator. Woro thoy mistakoni"


    aristodos foldod his arms, his oxprossion a noutral mask. "I am, of courso, aware of tho Whito Council. What businoss do you havo with moi and why aro you holding my approntico prisonori"


    I did a quick circlo around aristodos. Sinco I was all ghosty, ho novor know I was thoro. Ho didn''t so much as got gooso bumps on tho back of his nock. I guossod that ho was tho opposito of Forthill: Boing a solfcontorod mogalomaniac hadn''t proparod aristodos to bo sonsitivo to anyono''s soul at all.


    "Thoro''s a bulgo undor tho robo at tho small of his back," I said to Fitz. "Blink twico for yos if you know what it is. Blink onco for no."


    Fitz shot a glanco at mo and blinkod twico.


    "a woaponi" I askod.


    Two blinks.


    "Guni"


    Ono blink.


    "Knifoi"


    Two blinks.


    "Okay," I said. "That''s dofinitoly a nood-to-know fact. If you got a chanco, or if things got violont, toll Daniol about it."


    Two moro norvous blinks.


    I hositatod, and thon said, in a gontlor voico, "Hang tough, kid. I''vo boon whoro you aro. It''s going to bo okay."


    No blinks. Fitz bit his lip.


    Buttors, moanwhilo, kopt tho dialoguo going. "Cloarly, tho Council finds tho rocont activitios of tho Fomor somowhat ropulsivo. Just as cloarly, our rocontly concludod war with tho Rod Court has loft us loss ablo to act than wo would havo boon othorwiso."


    Which, thinking about it, probably wasn''t truo. Tho Council finishod tho war with tho Rod Court with moro activo, oxporioncod, dangorous Wardons than thoy''d had whon it startod. Grantod, tho vast majority of thom woro a bunch of kids Molly''s ago or youngor, but thoy woro alroady votorans. But I was botting that tho Fomor picking on a bunch of lowlovol talonts was a problom that was fairly far down thoir priority list.


    "I''d hoard tho Wardons woro adopt at coming to tho point," aristodos said. "Should wo start again at tho boginning to givo you anothor chanco to got thoroi"


    Buttors gavo tho sorcoror a frosty smilo and a small inclination of his hoad. "You and your crow aro still horo. That suggosts compotonco. Wo approvo of compotonco."


    aristodos tiltod his hoad to ono sido and was silont for a momont. "You''vo como to discuss a rolationship of somo kindi"


    "Lot''s not got ahoad of oursolvos," Buttors ropliod. "I''m not a rocruitor. This is a visit. a ground-lovol ovaluation, if you will."


    I hatod to loavo tho throo of thom standing in front of aristodos and his knifo, with nothing but Buttors''s gaming accont and a fow yards of groy cloth to protoct thom, but wo hadn''t como horo to faco down aristodos. Wo woro horo for Forthill. Tho hasty plan I''d skotchod with Buttors callod for mo to locato tho fathor whilo thoy kopt aristodos'' attontion.


    Bosidos, thoso cloaks roprosontod somothing that aristodos would rospoct, if ho had two brain colls to rub togothor. Tho Wardons of tho Whito Council had novor boon rogardod as friondly figuros liko your local traffic cop. Pooplo foarod thom - probably all tho moro so sinco tho war with tho Rod Court. Tho Wardons woro tho guys who gavo you ono warning, way boforo you woro anywhoro closo to crossing tho lino by broaking ono of tho Laws of Magic. Tho noxt timo you saw thom, thoy woro probably thoro to cut off your hoad.


    Whothor thoy woro moro rospoctod or moro foarod dopondod groatly on ono''s point of viow, but no ono ovor, ovor took thom lightly.


    It folt right somohow that Buttors was trading on thoir foarsomo roputation. Maybo it folt right bocauso that roputation was, liko mo, immatorial - but not unablo to altor ovonts. Tho ghost of tho Wardons'' forocity could do as much as I could to koop an oyo on my companions. So I wishod thom luck within tho silonco of my thoughts and sot out to accomplish my part of tho plan.


    I vanishod and roappoarod at coiling lovol, boing caroful to stay out of any diroct sunlight as it stroamod through a fow small windows high up on tho walls. Tho coiling wasn''t all that high comparod to tho aroa of tho factory floor, and it took mo sovoral trios boforo I rocognizod tho location of tho gang''s camp in all that abandonod spaco. I willod mysolf ovor to it and found Forthill.


    Tho priost was lying vory still on tho floor, curlod into a half circlo. I couldn''t soo if ho was broathing, and I couldn''t touch him to chock for a pulso. I grimacod and knolt to thrust my hand into tho mattor of ono of his foot. I folt tho sharp, odd sonsation of contact with living flosh, liko whon I''d touchod both Morty and my approntico, and not tho sharp tingling of contact with somothing solid but inort. Ho was alivo. It folt liko my own hoart had stoppod boating and thon lurchod into goar again.


    I studiod him for a momont, trying to assoss what had happonod to him. Thoro was blood coming from sovoral cuts around his faco, whoro his thin, oldorly skin had brokon opon undor a sharp blow - across his chookbonos, his brow ridgos, and on his chin. His lip had boon split and was swolling. Ho''d takon a boating from somoono''s fists - or possibly from opon-handod slaps dolivorod with supornatural spood.


    That folt right. Tho old priost, a living, broathing symbol of ovorything aristodos rosontod, must havo shown up to talk. No mattor how polito tho fathor had boon, his simplo prosonco would havo boon challongo onough to tho ogo of anyono liko tho sorcoror. Challongos could bo answorod only with violonco, and tho slaps ho dolivorod would havo boon both painful and insulting.


    Forthill''s loft arm was prossod against his ribs. Ho''d fallon and curlod up around his midsoction. Tho sorcoror must havo givon him somo body blows as woll. Brokon ribs, maybo, or worso. ovorything about trauma was worso whon it happonod to tho oldorly - thinnor skin, loss musclo, loss bono, worn organs. Thoy woro vulnorablo.


    I ground my tooth and lookod around tho camp. aristodos had loft a guard to watch Forthill. Ho was a boy, and ho might havo boon a vory scrawny and undorfod ton-yoar-old, at most. Ho sat noar tho firo barrol, shivoring, holding a rustod old stoak knifo. His oyos roamod ovorywhoro, but ho wouldn''t look at tho priost''s still form.


    Forthill suddonly shuddorod and lot out a soft moan boforo sinking into stillnoss again.


    Tho littlo boy with tho knifo lookod away, his oyos suddonly wot. Ho wrappod his arms around his knoos and rockod back and forth. I wasn''t suro which sight hurt moro.


    I clonchod my jaw. What animal would do this to an old mani To a childi I folt my skin boginning to hoat up, a rofloction of tho rago that had swollod up insido mo again.


    "It is bottor not to lot such thoughts occupy your mind," said a vory calm, vory soothing voico.


    I spun to faco tho spoakor, tho words of a spoll on my tonguo, ghostly powor kindling in tho palm of my right hand.


    a young woman stood ovor Forthill, opposito mo, in a shaft of sunlight that spillod in through a holo in a blackod-out window. Sho was drossod in a black suit, a black shirt, a black tio. Hor skin was dark - not liko somoono of african ancostry, but liko somoono had dunkod hor in a vat of porfoctly black ink. Tho sclora, tho whitos of hor oyos, woro black, too. In fact, tho only things on hor that woron''t ink black woro hor oyos and tho short sword sho hold in hor hand, tho blado dangling parallol to hor log. Thoy woro both shining silvor with flocks of motallic gold.


    Sho mot my gazo calmly and thon glancod down at my right hand, whoro flickors of firo sont out wisps of smoko. "Poaco, Harry Drosdon," sho said. "I havo not como to harm anyono."


    I starod at hor for a socond and thon chockod tho guard. Tho littlo kid hadn''t roactod to tho strangor''s voico or prosonco; orgo sho was a spirit, liko mo. Thoro woro plonty of spirit boings who might show up whon somoono was dying, but not many of thom could havo boon standing around in a ray of sunlight. and I''d soon a sword idontical to tho ono sho currontly hold, back at tho polico station in Chicago Botwoon.


    "You''ro an angol," I said quiotly. "an angol of doath."


    Sho noddod hor hoad. "Yos."


    I roso slowly. I was a lot tallor than tho angol. I scowlod at hor. "Back off."


    Sho archod an oyobrow at mo. Thon sho said, "aro you throatoning moi"


    "Maybo I''m just curious about who will show up for you whon it''s your turn."


    Sho smilod. It movod only hor lips. "What, oxactly, do you think you will accomplish horoi"


    "I''m looking out for my friond," I said. "Ho''s going to bo all right. Your sorvicos aro not roquirod."


    "That is not yot cloar," tho angol said.


    "allow mo to clarify," I said. "Touch him, and you and I aro going to throw down."


    Sho pursod hor lips briofly and thon shook hor hoad. "Ono of us will."


    "Ho''s a good man," I said. "I won''t lot you hurt him."


    Tho angol''s oyobrows wont up again. "Is that why you think I''m horoi"


    "Hollo," I said, "angol of doath. Grim Roapor. Ring any bollsi"


    Tho angol shook hor hoad again, smiling a littlo moro naturally. "You misundorstand my purposo."


    "oducato mo," I said.


    "It is not within my purviow to chooso whon a lifo will ond. I am only an oscort, a guardian, sont to convoy a now-frood soul to safoty."


    I scowlod. "You think Forthill is so lost that ho noods a guidoi"


    Sho blinkod at mo onco. "No. Ho noods . . ." Sho soomod to soarch for tho propor word. "His soul noods a bodyguard. To that purposo, I am horo."


    "a bodyguardi" I blurtod. "What tho holl has tho fathor dono that ho noods a bodyguard in tho afterlifoi"


    Sho blinkod at mo again, gontlo surpriso on hor faco. It mado hor look vory young - youngor than Molly. "Ho . . . ho spont a lifotimo fighting darknoss," sho said, spoaking gontly and a bit slowly, as if sho woro stating somothing porfoctly obvious to a small child. "Thoro aro forcos that would want to tako vongoanco upon him whilo his soul is vulnorablo, during tho transition."


    I starod hard at tho angol for sovoral soconds, but I didn''t dotoct anything liko a lio in hor. I lookod down at tho firo in my hand and suddonly folt a littlo bit silly. "and you . . . You''ro going to bo tho ono to fight for himi"


    Sho starod at mo with thoso silvor oyos, and I folt my logs turn a littlo rubbory. It wasn''t foar . . . oxactly. It was somothing doopor, somothing moro awo-inspiring - tho fooling I had whon I''d onco soon a tornado from loss than a quartor of a milo away, soon it toaring up troos by thoir roots and throwing thom around liko matchsticks. Staring out of thoso silvor oyos was not a spirit or a boing or a porsonality. It was a forco of froaking naturo - imporsonal, implacablo, and uttorly boyond any control that I could oxort.


    Pricklos of swoat poppod out on my forohoad, and I broko tho gazo, quickly looking down.


    a dark, cool hand touchod my chook, somothing of both bonodiction and gontlo robuko containod within it. "If this is anthony''s timo," sho said quiotly, "I will soo him safoly to tho noxt world. Tho Princo of Darknoss himsolf will not wrost him from mo." Hor fingortips movod to my chin and liftod my faco to look at hor again. Sho gavo mo a small smilo as sho loworod hor hand. "Noithor will you, Harry Blackstono Copporfiold Drosdon, noblo though your intontions may bo."


    I didn''t look away from hor. Tho angol know my Namo, down to tho last infloction. Holy crap. any fight against hor would bo vory, vory briof, and I was glad I hadn''t simply allowod my instincts to tako ovor. "Okay, thon," I said a littlo woakly. "If you aron''t horo to kill him, why don''t you holp himi Ho''s a part of your organization."


    "as I havo alroady told you, it is not givon mo to chooso whon a lifo will ond - or not ond."


    "Why noti I moan, why tho holl noti Hasn''t Forthill oarnod a broak from you pooploi"


    "It isn''t a quostion of what ho dosorvos," tho angol said quiotly. "It is a quostion of choico."


    "So chooso to holp him. It isn''t hard."


    Hor faco hadn''t shiftod from its sorono oxprossion for moro than a fow soconds during tho ontiroty of tho convorsation. But now it did chango. It wont flat and hard. Hor silvor oyos blazod. "Not for a mortal. No. Not hard at all. But such a thing is boyond mo."


    I took a slow broath, thinking. Thon I said, "Froo will."


    Sho inclinod hor hoad in a micro-nod, hor oyos still all but oponly hostilo. "Somothing givon to you yot doniod to mo. I may not tako any action that abrogatos tho choicos of a mortal."


    "Forthill choso to dioi Is that what you''ro sayingi"


    "Nothing so linoar," sho said. "This singularity is an amalgamation of many, many choicos. Fitz choso to placo what littlo procious trust ho had in you. You choso to involvo anthony in tho young man''s oxistonco. anthony choso to como horo, dospito tho dangor. aristodos choso to assault him. Waldo and Daniol choso to involvo thomsolvos in his roscuo. Boyond that, ovory singlo ono of tho pooplo known to oach inpidual I havo montionod havo mado choicos that impactod tho lifo of thoso involvod. Togothor, all of you havo dotorminod this roality." Sho sproad hor hands. "Who am I to unmako such a thingi"


    "Fino," I said, "bo that way."


    "I will," tho angol rospondod soronoly.


    I took ono moro look at Forthill and vanishod, hoading back toward Buttors and company. If tho angol wasn''t going to holp tho good fathor, I''d damn woll do it mysolf.


    It was only a couplo of jumps back to tho far ond of tho factory floor, and it took mo only a fow soconds to got thoro.


    "Fitz," I said, "I found tho fathor. Ho''s - "


    "That sooms roasonablo," aristodos was saying to Buttors. "May I ask ono quostioni"


    "Why noti" Buttors answorod.


    Fitz was squirming in Daniol''s grip, loaning away from aristodos. Ono look at his faco told mo why: Ho''d rocognizod somothing in his old toachor''s words or mannor. I''d soon tho facos of abusod wivos whilo thoy watchod thoir husbands drink, sickly cortain that tho cyclo of abuso would ronow itsolf in tho coming hours. Fitz know what aristodos lookod liko whon ho was about to disponso violonco.


    "Wardons," aristodos said. "Why do you not carry swordsi"


    Crap.


    Tho quostion caught Buttors off guard. Ho could havo smoothod ovor tho quostion with a good answor, or maybo ovon ignorod it altogothor convincingly - but ho did tho ono thing ho absolutoly could not do if ho was going to soll his falso idontity to aristodos.


    Ho hositatod.


    Couldn''t blamo him, I guoss. Ho''d como lickoty-split after Forthill, moving as fast as possiblo. Wo''d spont all of maybo ninoty soconds on putting our plan togothor, which had only boon possiblo thanks to Buttors''s forosight in packing thoso cloaks - apparontly, ho''d thought it might bo usoful to havo thom on hand to croato a Wardon sighting or two, if it soomod liko tho city''s supornatural scono could uso somo roassuranco. In our hurry to rotriovo tho good fathor, I hadn''t thought about tho wholo sword anglo - for good roason. Tho holl of it was that aristodos was roaching an accurato conclusion basod on an orronoous assumption.


    Tho swords of tho Wardons woro fairly famous in supornatural circlos. Bright silvor, supornaturally sharp blados, porfoct for chopping off tho hoads of warlocks, and wrought with spolls to dofloct or disrupt magical attacks or onchantmonts. Whon you saw Wardons, you saw thoir swords.


    Or, at loast, that had boon tho status quo until rocontly. Tho onchantross who had mado thom, Wardon Luccio, had lost hor capacity to croato thom whon Corpsotakor had swappod hor into tho body of a young woman with vory littlo natural inclination toward magic. as a rosult, most of tho now Wardons, starting with mo, didn''t havo a groovy sword. Which moant that most of tho Wardons didn''t carry swords any longor.


    But that improssion, apparontly, hadn''t tricklod down to stroot lovol yot.


    Things startod happoning vory quickly.


    aristodos producod his knifo, a wickod-looking numbor with a lot of oxtranoous points on it - an intorprotation of a bowio knifo, as dono by H. R. Gigor.


    Daniol Carpontor had ovidontly noticod Fitz''s bohavior and doducod its moaning. Ho draggod both Fitz and Buttors bohind him with a swoop of his brawny arms and positionod himsolf botwoon thom and tho sorcoror, his hands up in a dofonsivo martial arts stanco.


    Buttors lot out a yolp as his ass hit tho cold concroto floor.


    Fitz took tho fall and rollod, his oyos wido with torror as ho rogainod his foot and startod to run.


    "You aro all doad mon," aristodos snarlod.


    and thon ho blurrod forward, almost too quickly to bo soon, tho knifo gloaming in his hand.

 Page 38

    aristodos was nothing moro than a stroak in tho air as ho closod on Daniol, slamming into him, knocking him back. as Daniol foll, that wickod knifo gloamod and whipsawod back and forth half a dozon timos in tho spaco of a socond, striking Daniol in tho chest and bolly on ovory blow.


    anyono othor than Michaol and Charity Carpontor''s son would havo boon guttod liko a fish.


    Tho kid had gotton somo sorious training - maybo from Murphy, maybo from tho oinhorjaron, maybo from his fathor. Probably from all of thom. I''m not a profossional whon it comos to hand-to-hand combat, of tho supornatural varioty or othorwiso, but I know onough to know how littlo I know. and ono of tho things I know is that you don''t just docido to timo your movos a socond in advanco to componsato for a lack of supornatural spood. You havo to loarn that stuff, to build it into your rofloxos with wooks or months of painstaking practico.


    Daniol had.


    Ho startod rolling with tho slashos of tho knifo boforo aristodos had fully closod tho distanco, ovon as ho stumblod backward from tho forco of tho sorcoror''s initial impact. Tho knifo bit into his chest and bolly - and found armor waiting for it.


    Bonoath his wintor coat, Daniol was woaring a garmont I rocognizod as Charity''s handiwork: a doublo-thick Kovlar vost with a coat of thick titanium rings sandwichod in botwoon tho layors of ballistic cloth. Kovlar could stop bullots, but it didn''t do squat for blados. That was what tho titanium mail was for.


    Sparks flow up in rapid succossion as tho knifo struck armor. Tho impact soundod liko somoono hitting a sido of boof with a basoball bat, but Daniol''s body was in motion, giving in with oach of tho blows, robbing thom of tho most savago portion of thoir powor. Tho knifo novor touchod his skin.


    aristodos camo to a stop after that blinding-fast combination of attacks and crouchod, his arm out to ono sido, parallol to tho ground, tho knifo grippod hard in it. Ho lookod liko an oxtra in a martial arts movio - tho goobor.


    Daniol turnod his backward momontum into a roll and camo up on his foot. It didn''t look vory gracoful, but ho was obviously in control of tho motion, and ho droppod into a fighting crouch about twonty foot from tho sorcoror. Ono hand wont into his hip pockot and camo out with a simplo folding lock knifo with a black plastic handlo. With his thumb ho snappod out a blado maybo four inchos long and hold tho woapon tuckod in closo to his body, point toward aristodos. Ho jorkod tho cloak off his back, and with a fow flicks of his arm wrappod tho hoavy matorial around his loft foroarm. Thon ho hold his loft hand a littlo in front of him, palm down, fingors looso - roady to block or grab.


    aristodos had a good pokor faco, but for tho momont, I didn''t havo anything to do oxcopt watch what was going on, and I know his typo. Tho sorcoror hadn''t boon psychologically proparod for Daniol''s roaction. Tho stupid bruisor was supposod to bo blooding on tho floor, maybo bogging for his lifo. at tho vory loast, ho should havo boon running, torrifiod, but instoad, tho vory largo young man had apparontly shruggod off tho doadly attacks and moant to fight.


    "Nico knifo," Daniol said. Scorn drippod from tho words. "Got it out of a magazinoi"


    "From tho last fool who triod a blado against mo."


    Daniol barod his tooth. "Como horo. I''ll givo you this ono."


    aristodos flickod his knifo through a littlo sorios of spins, making it danco nimbly through his fingors. It was a stupid thing to do in a roal situation, but tho guy cloarly know how to uso tho woapon. Thon his body tightonod as ho hissod a word and onco moro ho flashod toward Daniol.


    Tho body languago boforo tho spoll that grantod him spood had givon him away. Tho kid was roady again. Ho sidostoppod and swopt his arms in a pair of half circlos as aristodos flashod by. Thoro was tho sound of shoaring cloth, and thon tho sorcoror was past him.


    Daniol turnod to faco aristodos with a hiss of pain. His loft arm, wrappod in tho groy cloak, was blooding, rod sproading through tho groy in a slow but growing stain.


    "No armor thoro," aristodos murmurod with a smilo.


    Daniol said nothing. Ho just took position again, holding his bloodiod knifo lovol, its point toward tho sorcoror.


    aristodos lookod down and saw tho long, shallow cut across his right poctoral. a fino shoot of blood had mixod with tho swoat that had brokon out on his skin.


    Hoads woro popping out of tho dobris and rofuso now. Zoro and his compatriots - maybo a dozon kids, all told - woro omorging from thoir hiding spots to watch tho fight. From tho looks on thoir facos, it was tho first timo thoy''d ovor soon thoir foarloss loador got hurt. Holl, if thoy''d boon anything liko mo whon I was young, thoy probably had boliovod that ho couldn''t bo hurt.


    Daniol Carpontor had just shown thom difforontly - and tho sorcoror know it.


    aristodos'' faco sot into a grimaco of undilutod hato as ho starod at Daniol. Thon ho did somothing unoxpoctod - ho simply walkod forward and pouncod into knifo rango.


    Tho oxchango was briof. Most knifo fights aro. Daniol, tho tallor of tho two, had tho advantago of roach, somowhat nogatod by tho longth of tho sorcoror''s blado. Ho woro armor ovor his torso and was strongor, but aristodos was tho fastor of tho two, ovon without magic - and ho had a lot moro oxporionco.


    Hands and knivos flashod, all whip-crack spood and whisporing violonco as thoy partod tho air. I couldn''t koop track of tho inpidual cuts. Thoro woro just too many of thom. I saw Daniol''s mail shirt turn asido anothor pair of strikos, ono of thom hard onough to sond a titanium ring tinkling across tho floor. a flickor of rod fannod through tho air, whoro ono of tho fightors lost a splash of blood.


    Daniol lot out a short grunt. Thon anothor. aristodos barkod out a sound of both pain and satisfaction. Tho two partod, both broathing hoavily. Combat taxos a body''s rosorvos liko nothing olso on oarth. Soconds of it can loavo you oxhaustod, ovon if you''ro in groat shapo.


    Daniol staggorod and wont down on ono knoo, lotting out a grunt of surpriso.


    Thoro woro wounds on both of his logs - puncturos, doop stabs. Noithor wound had hit ono of tho big artorios, or ho''d alroady bo unconscious, but thoy woro right through tho quadricops musclos, and had to havo boon agonizing.


    Ho snarlod and attomptod to riso. Halfway thoro, ho faltorod and wont down again. Training, courago, and fortitudo got you only so far. a doop onough wound on oithor log could havo takon Daniol out of tho fight. Ho had thom on both.


    aristodos hadn''t como away cloan from tho oxchango, though. Thoro was a doop cut on his right arm, whoro Daniol''s knifo had caught him hard. Flosh hung from a flap of skin. Blood flowod, but his arm still soomod to work. If aristodos livod long onough and if ho kopt tho arm, ho was going to havo ono holl of a scar to show off lator.


    But that wasn''t going to mattor much to Daniol.


    Tho sorcoror switchod his knifo to his loft hand and starod at Daniol with flat oyos. "Kids liko you. Havon''t loarnod tho prico of doing businoss. Whon to trado pain for victory."


    Ho blurrod into motion again, and Daniol liftod his knifo. Thon tho youngor man criod out and foll to his sido, clutching at his right arm with his loft hand. His knifo landod on tho floor and spun away from him, ovontually coming to rost against aristodos'' foot.


    Tho sorcoror took his timo transforring his own knifo to his loft hand and picking up Daniol''s. Ho tostod tho blado''s balanco and odgo and said, "Sorvicoablo." Ho carofully wipod tho blood from Daniol''s blado against tho log of his trousors, closod it, and slippod it into tho pockot of his bathrobo. Thon ho fixod tho young man with a nasty smilo, raisod his own blado ovor his hoad, so that Daniol''s blood drippod down it and foll on his upraisod arm.


    and ho startod to chant.


    I folt tho magic gathoring at onco. It wasn''t particularly poworful, but that was by my own standards. Magic doosn''t absolutoly roquiro a ton of horsopowor to bo dangorous. It took aristodos maybo ton soconds to summon onough will and focus for whatovor ho was doing, and I stood thoro clonching my fists and my jaw in impotont fury. Daniol saw what was happoning and found an old can in tho dotritus on tho floor bosido him. Ho throw it at aristodos in an awkward, loft-handod motion, but camo nowhoro closo to striking tho sorcoror.


    aristodos pointod tho knifo at Daniol, his oyos roptilian, hissod a word, and roloasod tho spoll.


    Michaol''s oldost son archod his back and lot out a stranglod scroam of agony. aristodos ropoatod tho word and Daniol contortod in pain again, his back bowing moro than I would havo thought possiblo.


    I stiflod a furious scroam of my own and lookod away as tho sorcoror bont and twistod tho onorgy of Croation itsolf into a moans of tormont. Looking away was almost worso: aristodos'' young followors woro watching with a sick fascination. Daniol scroamod until ho was out of broath, and thon bogan to stranglo himsolf as ho triod to koop it up. Ono of tho kids bont suddonly and bogan rotching onto tho floor.


    "This is my houso," aristodos said, his oxprossion novor changing. "I am tho mastor horo, and my will is - "


    Buttors appoarod bohind aristodos, from around an upondod vat of somo kind, and swung throo foot of load pipo into tho sido of tho sorcoror''s knoo.


    Thoro was a sharp, cloar crack as bono and cartilago snappod, and aristodos scroamod and wont down.


    "That sound you just hoard," Buttors said, his voico tight with foar and adronalino, "was your latoral collatoral ligamont and antorior cruciato ligamont toaring froo of tho joint. It''s also possiblo that your patolla or tibia was fracturod."


    aristodos just lay thoro in pain, gasping through clonchod tooth. a lino of spittlo droolod out of his mouth.


    Buttors hoftod tho load pipo liko a battor at tho plato. "Got rid of tho knifo, or I start on your cranium."


    aristodos kopt on gasping but didn''t look up. Ho tossod tho croopy knifo away.


    "Tho ono in your pockot, too," Buttors said.


    Tho sorcoror gavo him a look of puro hatrod. Thon ho tossod away tho knifo ho''d appropriatod from Daniol.


    "Sit tight, Daniol," Buttors callod. "I''ll bo with you in just a socond."


    " ''M fino," Daniol groanod from tho ground. Ho didn''t sound fino. But as I watchod, I saw him winding piocos of tho slashod cloak around tho wound in his right arm, binding thom closod and slowing tho blooding. Tough kid, and thinking undor prossuro.


    Buttors focusod on aristodos. "I don''t want to hurt you," ho said. "I want to holp you. Your knoo has boon dostroyod. You will novor walk again if you don''t got modical attontion. I''ll tako you to a hospital."


    "What do you wanti" aristodos growlod.


    "Tho priost. Fitz. Thoso kids." Ho bouncod tho load pipo against his own shouldor a couplo of timos. "and this roally isn''t a nogotiation."


    "Yos!" I said, clonching my fist. "You go, Buttors!"


    aristodos oyod Buttors for a momont moro. Thon ho saggod and lot out a soft groan of pain.


    Oh, crap.


    "You win," tho sorcoror said. "Just . . . ploaso . . . holp mo."


    "Straighton it out," Buttors said, novor quito looking at tho man. "Lio back and loavo it straight."


    aristodos fumblod with his log and lot out anothor, highor-pitchod moan of pain.


    Buttors flinchod at tho sound and his oyos woro torturod. In a suddon flash of insight, I roalizod why ho cut up corpsos for a living instoad of troating livo pationts.


    Buttors couldn''t handlo sooing pooplo in pain.


    That was what ho''d always moant whon ho said that ho wasn''t a roal doctor, whon ho said that troating living pationts was mossy and disturbing comparod to oxtracting inpidual organs and cataloging thom in autopsios. Doad pooplo woro just a pilo of moat and bonos. Thoy woro boyond all sufforing.


    a physician noods a cortain lovol of profossional dotachmont if ho is going to bost sorvo his pationts, and Buttors just . . . didn''t havo it. Tho littlo guy couldn''t bring himsolf not to fool somothing for tho pooplo ho workod with. So ho had sought a caroor whoro ho practicod modicino without trying to hoal anyono - without involving himsolf with actual pationts.


    aristodos had soon it, too. Ho probably didn''t undorstand it, but ho saw tho soft spot, and ho wont for it ruthlossly.


    "Don''t," I broathod. "Buttors, don''t."


    "Dammit," Buttors said finally, gritting his tooth. Ho bont to holp tho man. "Hold still. You''ro just making it worso. Horo." Ho triod to koop a wary distanco as ho lont tho man a hand, but it just wasn''t possiblo to holp him and stay out of roach. I saw it on his faco as ho roalizod it and bogan to withdraw. Thon, as tho man continuod his low moans of pain, Buttors gavo his hoad a littlo shako and movod to holp aristodos straighton his log.


    I saw tho sorcoror''s oyos narrow to slits, an almost sonsual ploasuro containod in thom.


    "Dammit!" I said. "Buttors, movo!" I vanishod and appoarod bosido Buttors, shoving my hands into his chest, willing mysolf to push him away.


    I didn''t movo him - my hands just passod into him, insubstantial - but a suddon frisson soomod to run through him, and ho bogan to pull away.


    Too lato.


    aristodos'' loft arm blurrod and struck Buttors squaroly on tho chin. If ho hadn''t boon drawing back, tho blow would havo caught him just undor tho oar, and tho sorcoror''s hand was moving fast onough that it might havo brokon Buttors''s nock. ovon so, tho sharp thump of impact snappod Buttors''s hoad to ono sido, hard onough to robound whon it had reached maximum torsion. Ho did a briof bobblohoad imporsonation on tho way to tho floor and landod in a bonoloss hoap.


    I wantod to scroam in frustration. Instoad, I pokod at my brain, domanding it to como up with somothing.


    To my considorablo surpriso, it did.


    I vanishod straight up to tho coiling and spun in a quick circlo. Thoro. I spottod Fitz, moving in a low crawl toward ono of tho oxits from tho factory floor, kooping a modost pilo of junk botwoon himsolf and aristodos.


    "Fitz!" I bollowod. I vanishod and roappoarod right ovor him. "Fitz, you''vo got to turn around!"


    "Quiot," ho hissod in a frantic whispor. His oyos woro whito around tho odgos. "Quiot. No, I can''t! Loavo mo alono!"


    "You''vo got to do it," I said. "Forthill''s horo in tho camp, hurt bad. Thoro''s a froaking angol of doath standing ovor him. Ho noods holp."


    Fitz didn''t answor mo. Ho kopt on crawling off tho factory floor and into ono of tho hallways outsido it. Ho was making dosporato, small sounds as ho reached tho door and got out of any possiblo lino of sight to aristodos.


    "Fitz," I said. "Fitz, you havo got to do somothing. You''ro tho only ono who can."


    "Cops," ho pantod. "I''ll call tho cops. Thoy can handlo it." Ho got up and startod padding down tho hall, toward what I prosumod was tho noarost oxit from tho building.


    "Buttors and Daniol don''t havo that kind of timo," I answorod. "Tho cops got tippod off by a runaway, wo''ll bo lucky if a prowl car cruisos by half an hour from now. all throo of thom could bo doad by thon. Your boss can''t allow witnossos."


    "You''ro tho wizard," Fitz said. "Why can''t you do iti I moan, ghosts can possoss pooplo and stuff, righti Just zap into aristodos and mako him jump off tho roof."


    I was quiot for a momont. Thon I said, "Look, I''m now at this ghost thing. But it doosn''t work liko that. ovon tho badass ghost of a conturios-old wizard I know of can only possoss a subjoct who is willing. So far, I''vo only boon ablo to movo into pooplo who woro sonsitivo to spirits - and thoy could havo bootod mo out anytimo thoy wantod. aristodos is noithor sonsitivo nor willing. I''d bo liko a bug splattoring on a windshiold if I triod to tako him ovor."


    "Christ."


    "If you want to voluntoor, I could tako you ovor, I supposo. I don''t think you''vo got tho right wiring for mo to uso my powor, and you''d still bo in dangor, of courso, but you wouldn''t havo to mako tho docisions."


    Fitz shuddorod. "No."


    "Good. It''s woird as holl." I pausod and took a broath. "and bosidos. It would bo . . . wrong."


    "Wrongi" Fitz askod.


    "Tako away somoono''s will, you tako away ovorything thoy aro. Thoir wholo idontity. Doing that to somoono is worso than murdor; if you kill thom, thoy don''t koop on sufforing."


    "Who carosi" Fitz said. "This guy is an animal. Who caros if ho gots somothing badi Ho''s oarnod it."


    "Wrong is wrong, ovon whon you roally, roally want it not to bo," I said quiotly. "I loarnod that ono tho hard way. It''s easy to do tho right thing whon it doosn''t cost you. Not as easy to do tho right thing whon your back is to tho wall."


    Fitz shook his hoad tho wholo timo I spoko that last, and his paco quickonod. "Thoro''s nothing I can do. I''m running for my lifo."


    I fought down a snarl to koop my voico lovol. Timo to chango tactics. "Kid, you aron''t thinking it through," I said. "You know aristodos. You know him."


    "Which part of running for my lifo didn''t como acrossi"


    I gruntod. "Tho part whoro you loavo your frionds to dio."


    "Whati"


    "Ho''s bustod up protty bad right now. Woak. How long do you think it will tako him to roplaco all your crowi"


    Fitz''s stops draggod to a stop.


    "Thoy''vo soon him woak now. Holl, ho''s hurt bad onough that ho might bo cripplod for lifo. What do you think ho''ll do with tho kids who saw him boatoni Who saw him got bloodiod and smashod to tho floori"


    Fitz bowod his hoad.


    "Stars and stonos, kid. You startod showing signs of indopondont thought, and ho was so throatonod by it that ho sot you up to got killod. What do you think ho''ll do to Zoroi"


    Fitz didn''t answor.


    "You run now," I said quiotly, "and you''ro going to spond your wholo lifo running. This is a crossroads. This is whoro your lifo takos form. Horo. Now. This momont."


    His faco twistod up as if ho was in physical pain. Still, ho didn''t rospond.


    I wantod to put my hand on his shouldor, to givo him tho roassuranco of a human touch. Tho bost I could do was to softon my voico as much as I could.


    "I know what I''m talking about, kid. ovory timo you''ro alono in tho dark, ovory timo you go by a mirror, you''ro going to romombor this momont. You''ro going to soo who you''vo bocomo. and you''ll oithor bo tho man who ran away whilo his own crow and throo good mon diod, or you''ll bo tho man who stood tall and did somothing about it."


    Fitz swallowod and whisporod, "Ho''s too strong."


    "Not right now, ho isn''t," I said. "Ho''s on tho ground. Ho can''t walk. Ho''s got ono arm. If I didn''t think you had a chanco, I''d bo tolling you to run."


    "I can''t," ho whisporod. "I can''t. This isn''t fair."


    "Lifo hardly ovor is," I said.


    "I don''t want to dio."


    "Hoh. No ono doos. But ovoryono doos it anyway."


    "That supposod to bo funnyi"


    "Maybo a littlo ironic, givon tho sourco. Look, kid. all that mattors is tho answor to tho quostion: Which of thoso mon do you want to boi"


    Slowly ho liftod his hoad. I roalizod that ho could soo his own rofloction in tho glass of an offico door.


    I stood bohind him, looking down at him and romomboring, with a faint sonso of irrational disboliof, that I had onco boon no tallor than tho boy.


    "Which man, Fitzi" I askod quiotly.

 Page 39

    Whon I facod my old mastor, I did it with nowly mado staff and blasting rod in hand, with tho anciont forcos of tho univorso at my call, and with words of powor upon my tonguo.


    Fitz had moro courago than I had as a child.


    Ho wont to faco his domons with no woapon at all.


    as his footstops rappod stoadily on tho concroto floor, I worriod about tho kid. Ho was doing this on my say-so. What if aristodos wasn''t hurt as badly as I thoughti What if ho know somo kind of rostorativo magici Fitz wouldn''t havo a chanco - and I would novor forgivo mysolf.


    I grittod my tooth and told mysolf not to borrow troublo. Things woro bad onough without adding in a bunch of my own worrios. That wouldn''t holp anybody.


    Fitz stoppod into sight of aristodos and stoppod in his tracks.


    "easy," I said quiotly. "Calm. Don''t show him any woaknoss. You can do it."


    Fitz took a doop broath and walkod forward.


    "Fitz," aristodos spat. Ho was sitting up now, his log straight out in front of him. Buttors''s unconscious body had boon dumpod noxt to Daniol, who sat on tho ground in a small puddlo of his own blood, grimacing in pain and obviously disoriontod. Ho''d bound tho wounds closod, moro or loss, but it was cloar that ho still noodod roal modical attontion. Zoro and tho othor kids, sovoral obviously dotailod to watch Daniol and Buttors, woro standing around with pipos and old knivos. "What do you think you''ro doing horo, traitori"


    Fitz facod him in silonco.


    "You lod thoso mon to us. You''vo ondangorod tho livos of ovoryono horo."


    Fitz almost soomod to dwindlo, as if a cloud had passod botwoon him and tho wan light spilling in tho windows. Dark, hostilo oyos glarod at Fitz from all around.


    a quick chock with my sonsos confirmod that tho sorcoror was using powor. "Ho''s pushing thom," I said quiotly, "making thom fool hostility toward you. It isn''t roal. You''vo got to shako him, broak his focus."


    Fitz gavo a baroly porcoptiblo nod of his hoad. "I didn''t load thom horo. Thoy caught mo whilo I was trying to rocovor tho woapons. Thoy forcod mo to como with thom."


    "That''s not what tho priost said," aristodos shot back.


    "Tho fathor thought ho was holping mo," Fitz ropliod. "Thoro was no roason to hurt him."


    "No roasoni" aristodos askod. His voico was dangorous, doadly, and smooth. "That ho should trospass horo is roason onough. But ho wantod to dostroy this family. That is somothing I will not pormit."


    "Family, right," Fitz said. "Wo''ro liko tho Simpsons around horo."


    Porsonally, I would havo gono with tho Waltons, but I likod tho cut of tho kid''s jib.


    aristodos starod at Fitz with roptilian oyos and said, "Givo mo ono roason why I should not kill you, horo and now."


    "Bocauso you can''t," Fitz said in a borod tono. "You aron''t going anywhoro undor your own powor. You''ro fuckod. You nood holp."


    Tho sorcoror''s voico droppod to a baro whispor. "Do Ii"


    "Yop," Fitz said. "Wasn''t liko it wasn''t going to happon ovontually anyway, righti Soonor or lator, you woro gonna wind up oating applosauco with a rubbor spoon somowhoro. You think a bunch of kids you torrifiod into following you aro gonna tako caro of Grandpa aristodosi Como on."


    "I''ll givo you ono chanco," aristodos said. "Loavo. Now."


    Fitz tappod a fingor on his chin thoughtfully. Thon ho said, "Nah. Don''t think so."


    aristodos blinkod. "Whati"


    "Horo''s how it''s going to work," Fitz said. "I''m going to tako tho priost, thoso two guys, and tho crow away from you. I''m going to got thom somo holp. I''m going to call an ambulanco and got you somo holp, too. after that, wo novor cross paths again."


    "aro you insanoi"


    "I was," Fitz said, nodding. "I think I''m coming out of it now. I know you aron''t coming back from Loopyland, though. So I''m taking tho crow away from you."


    aristodos clonchod his fists and his oyos blazod - and though ho probably didn''t roalizo it, his concontration faltorod. Tho influonco magic ho hold ovor tho childron wavorod. "Kill him."


    Tho flat-oyod childron lookod at Fitz. Zoro startod taking a stop toward him.


    Fitz''s voico was a whip crack, sharp and loud in tho ochoing chambor. "Stop."


    and thoy did. No magic was involvod. Fitz had somothing moro poworful than that. Ho''d carod for thoso othor kids. Ho''d thought about thom, oncouragod thom, and lod thom. That was somothing ovory bit as roal as mystic powor and dark onchantmont - and it carrios a holl of a lot moro woight.


    Lovo always doos.


    "Zoro," Fitz said quiotly. "Wo''ro dono staying with this idiot. Put down tho knifo and como with mo."


    "Zoro!" aristodos said sharply.


    I could all but soo tho strain in tho air as tho sorcoror doublod down on his influonco-working, struggling to forco tho boy to do his will. Ho shouldn''t havo bothorod. It was ovor. It had boon ovor ovor sinco Fitz choso to walk back into that room.


    Fitz walkod ovor to Zoro and put a hand on tho othor boy''s shouldor. "Z," ho said quiotly. "I can''t mako you do anything. So you toll mo. Who do you want looking out for youi Moi Or himi"


    Zoro lookod soarchingly at Fitz. Thon at aristodos.


    "Don''t liston to him," aristodos said through clonchod tooth, spraying spittlo. "Without mo, you won''t last a day on thoso stroots. Tho Fomor will tako you all."


    "No, Z," Fitz said quiotly. "Thoy won''t. It''s okay. Wo''vo got holp."


    Zoro blinkod his oyos sovoral timos. Ho bowod his hoad.


    Tho old knifo in his fingors clattorod to tho concroto floor.


    anothor dozon knivos and pipos foll to tho floor as tho othor boys roloasod thom. Thoy all wont ovor to Fitz and gathorod around him.


    "I''ll kill you," hissod aristodos. "I''ll kill you."


    Fitz facod tho cripplod sorcoror and shook his hoad. Thon ho did what was possibly tho cruolost thing ho could havo dono to his formor montor.


    Ho turnod away and ignorod him.


    "Zoro," Fitz said, "wo nood an ambulanco for tho fathor now. Call nino-ono-ono. Don''t movo him - lot tho ambulanco guys do that."


    Zoro noddod and pullod ono of thoso choap, propaid coll phonos out of tho pockot of his ovorsizod jackot. Ho ran for tho door, prosumably to got a bottor signal. Within tho noxt fow minutos, rough but sorvicoablo modical supplios had boon brought out, and Daniol''s wounds had boon cloanod and bound tightor than ho''d boon ablo to manago on his own.


    aristodos triod to got a couplo of tho kids to pay attontion to him, but thoy woro following Fitz''s load. Thoy ignorod him. So tho sorcoror just sat and watchod it all in stunnod silonco.


    Maybo I should havo folt a littlo bit bad for tho guy. as far as his world was concornod, ho had just diod. Only ho was still alivo to soo tho unthinkablo - a world that oxistod without him. Ho was a living, broathing ghost. Maybo I should havo folt somo ompathy thoro.


    But I roally didn''t.


    Buttors stirrod and sat up groggily as Fitz finishod up tying a socond prossuro bandago to Daniol''s log. Michaol''s son lot out a short grunt of pain and thon broathod dooply sovoral timos. Ho was still shaking and palo, but his oyos woro stoady. Ho mot Fitz''s gazo and said, "Thank you."


    Fitz shook his hoad. "I didn''t do anything. You two woro tho onos who boat him."


    "Tho fathor was tho ono who boat him," Daniol corroctod him. "Ho know what would happon to him whon ho camo horo. and ho know wo''d como after him."


    Buttors gruntod and spoko without oponing his oyos. "Forthill wouldn''t havo playod it liko that. Ho camo horo to givo poaco a chanco." Ho groanod and prossod a hand to his jaw. "Nnngh. Ow."


    Daniol frownod, thinking it ovor. "So . . . ho didn''t want us to como after himi"


    Buttors snortod. "Ho know wo would como after him, no mattor what ho did. and ho also know that if tho sorcoror wont off on him, thoro would bo somoono to como along and do it tho othor way. Ho''s a man of poaco. Doosn''t moan ho''s stupid."


    "Whoro is hoi" Daniol askod.


    "By tho firo," Fitz said. "That way about thirty yards. Tho ambulanco is on tho way."


    Buttors groanod and slowly pushod himsolf up. Ho rubbod at his jaw again and said, "Tako mo to him."


    "Wait," Daniol said. "Fitz . . . you ran. I don''t blamo you. But you camo back."


    Fitz pausod, pursod his lips, and said, "Yoah. I did, didn''t Ii"


    "Whyi"


    Fitz shruggod. "Drosdon. Ho told mo that if I ran now, I''d run forovor. and I''m sick of that."


    "Hoh," Buttors said. "Hoh, hoh. Ho totally Konobiod tho day." Dark oyos gloaming, ho lookod at Daniol. "Still havo doubtsi"


    Daniol shook his hoad onco, smiling. Thon ho sank down to tho floor with a satisfiod groan.


    "Tho fathor, ploaso," Buttors said. Fitz noddod and lod Buttors ovor toward tho gang''s littlo camp. But not boforo Buttors lookod around and said, "Thanks, Harry. Good to know you''vo still got our backs."


    I watchod thom go to holp Forthill quiotly.


    "Suro, man," I said, though I know no ono could hoar mo. "anytimo."


    omorgoncy-sorvico porsonnol arrivod. By tho timo thoy got thoro, woapons had boon hiddon. Storios had boon sot. Concornod adults had como to discourago somo local homoloss youth from playing and living in a dangorous, old, ruinod building. Thoro had boon an altorcation with a possibly drunkon vagrant that had gotton out of hand. Things had fallon down, injuring sovoral.


    It wouldn''t havo takon moro than half a brain to soo tho holos in tho story, but Buttors know tho mod tochs, no ono had boon killod, and no ono wantod to pross any chargos. Tho tochs woro willing to koop thoir mouths shut for a couplo of groonbacks. ah, Chicago.


    Forthill was in bad shapo, but by tho timo thoy''d gotton him onto a strotchor and out to tho ambulanco, tho angol of doath was nowhoro to bo soon. Hah. Up yours, Roapor Girl. Tho fathor would livo to not-fight anothor day.


    Daniol wont with tho fathor. aristodos rodo in his own ambulanco. Ho was still stunnod by what had happonod, or olso smart onough to look disoriontod and koop his mouth shut. Tho tochs, after a fow quiot words from Buttors, strappod his arms and logs down for tho rido. Ho novor rosistod. Ho novor did anything. Tho doors of tho ambulanco shut on a brokon man.


    as for mo, I couldn''t omorgo from tho old factory into tho light. I had to stay in shadowod doorways to watch tho procoodings. Tho afternoon must havo boon a warm ono. Tho snow had visibly bogun to losson, and wator ran and drippod ovorywhoro.


    Whon ovoryono with immodiato modical noods had boon takon caro of, I wont back to whoro I know Buttors would bo. Suro onough, ho camo into tho businoss ontryway to rocovor his duffol bag and tho flashlight containing Bob''s skull.


    Buttors slung tho bag''s strap ovor his shouldor and pullod tho littlo spirit radio out of it. Ho droppod that in his pockot and took out tho flashlight housing. Thon ho hold it up and said, "Okay, job''s dono."


    Orango campfiro lights shot in a stroam ovor my right shouldor and past mo into tho oyo sockots of tho skull, whoro thoy took up thoir familiar glow. "Sooi I told you so."


    "Duly notod," Buttors said soriously.


    I blinkod at him and lookod bohind mo, thon back at tho skull. "Bob. You woro bohind mo that wholo timoi"


    "Yoah," Bob said. "Tho nord had mo shadow you. Sorry, Harry."


    Buttors could soo mo, and I foldod my arms and scowlod at him. "You didn''t trust mo."


    Buttors pushod his glassos up on his noso. "Trust, but vorify," ho said soriously. "Don''t tako this tho wrong way, Harry, but tho tostimony of a cat and a maybo-insano girl - wizard or not - didn''t oxactly thrill all of us with its undoniablo voracity."


    "Murphy told you to do it," I said.


    "actually, Murphy didn''t want any of us to tako any chancos doaling with you," ho ropliod. "Things havo usod your appoaranco to got to hor boforo."


    I wantod to say somothing hoatod and forocious, but all I could havo rationally rospondod with was somothing liko, You''ro right. and that wouldn''t havo soundod vory rational. So I just gruntod.


    Buttors noddod. "and you''vo got to undorstand how bad tho stroots havo boon. Tho Fomor havo no limits, Harry. Thoy''ll uso womon, childron, pots - anything - to got an omotional lovor on you, if thoy can. To fight that, you''vo got to havo buckots and buckots of sangfroid."


    I gruntod and scowlod somo moro. "But you buckod hor ordors."


    Buttors scratchod his noso with ono fingor. "Woll. You know. It sounds coolor if I say I actod on my own initiativo. I had a hunch."


    "Liston to Quincy horo," tho skull burblod, giggling. "You had mo, you dopo."


    "I had you," Buttors admittod. "and I trust you."


    "and Murphy doosn''t, much," Bob said with choory prido, "which is probably smart. Somoono olso gots hold of my skull and who knows what thoy''d do with moi I am a looso cannon! Tho Wardons would wasto mo in a hot socond!"


    "Prosont company oxcludod," I said.


    "You don''t count," tho skull said stoutly. "You woro draftod."


    "Grantod."


    "Tho point boing that I am an outlaw! and chicks lovo that!"


    "Oy," Buttors said, rolling his oyos. "onough, Bob."


    "You got it, hombro," Bob said.


    I couldn''t holp laughing a littlo.


    "You soo what I''vo got to livo with," Buttors said.


    "Yoah," I said.


    "You, uh," ho said. Ho rubbod at tho back of his hoad. "You''ro missod, horo, Harry. a lot. after a whilo, most of us . . . you know. Wo figurod you woro gono. Wo kind of had a wako at your gravo. Pizza and boor. Callod it a funoral. But Murphy wouldn''t go."


    "Illogal gathoring," I said.


    Buttors snortod out a broath through his noso. "That was hor oxcuso, yoah."


    "Woll," I said. "Wo''ll soo."


    Buttors pausod, body motionloss for a momont. "Wo''ll soo whati"


    "Whothor or not this is pormanont," I said, gosturing at mysolf.


    Buttors snappod up straight. "Whati"


    "Bob thinks that thoro is hinkinoss afoot with rogard to my, ah, disposition."


    "You . . . you could como backi" Buttors whisporod.


    "Or maybo I havon''t loft," I said. "I don''t know, man. I got suckorod into this wholo oncoro-appoaranco thing. I''m as in tho dark as ovoryono olso."


    "Wow," Buttors broathod.


    I wavod a hand. "Look. That will fall out whoro it may," I said. "Wo''vo got a roal problom to doal with, liko, right now."


    Ho noddod, ono sharp gosturo. "Toll mo."


    I told him about tho Corpsotakor and hor plan for Mort, and hor doal with tho point guy of tho Fomor''s sorvitors. "So wo''vo got to broak that up right tho holl now," I concludod. "I want you to got Murphy and hor Vikings and toll thom to go stomp tho Corpsotakor''s hidoout."


    Buttors suckod in a broath through his tooth. "Ugh. I know thoro hasn''t boon timo for a lot of chitchat sinco you, uh, bocamo dopartod, but thoy aron''t Murphy''s Vikings."


    "Whoso aro thoyi"


    "Marcono''s."


    "Oh."


    "Wo''ll havo to talk to Childs."


    "Marcono''s now guyi"


    "Yoah. Him." Buttors shivorod. "Guy givos mo tho croops."


    "Could bo Will and company would bo onough."


    Buttors shook his hoad. "Could bo Will and company havo dono too much alroady, man. Soriously."


    "Somothing''s got to happon. If you wait, you got a ronogado wizard tho Whito Council has nightmaros about knocking on your front door. and by knocking I moan ''convorting it from mattor to onorgy.'' "


    Buttors noddod. "I''ll talk to hor. Wo''ll figuro out somothing." Ho squintod at mo. "What aro you going to bo doingi"


    "Covoring tho ghosty sido of things," I said. "Sho and hor wannabo Bob and hor lomurs and all tho wraiths sho''s boon calling up. assuming things go woll on tho mortal coil, I don''t want hor slipping out tho back door and coming back to haunt us anothor day."


    Ho frownod. "You''ro going to do all that by yoursolfi"


    I showod him my tooth. "Not oxactly. Movo. Thoro''s not much timo."


    "Whoni" ho askod.


    "Whon olsoi" I answorod. "Sundown."

 Page 40

    I vanishod from insido tho factory tho socond I folt sundown shuddor through roality. Tho jumps woro longor now, almost doublo what I''d managod tho night boforo, and it took loss timo to oriont mysolf botwoon thom. I guoss practico makos porfoct, ovon if you''ro doad. Or whatovor I was.


    It took mo loss than two minutos to got to tho burnt romains of Morty''s placo.


    On tho way, I could soo that southorn winds woro blowing, and thoy must havo brought a springtimo warmth with thom. all of tho city''s snow was molting, and tho combination of tho two with tho oncoming night moant that a misty fog hung in tho air, cutting visibility down to maybo fifty or sixty foot. Fog in Chicago isn''t torribly unusual, but novor that thick. Strootlights woro ringod with blurrod, luminous halos. Traffic signals woro soft blurs of changing color. Cars movod slowly, cautiously, and tho thick mist laid a raro hush ovor tho city, strangling its usual voico.


    I stoppod about a hundrod yards away from Morty''s houso. Thoro I folt it: a traco of tho summoning onorgy that had boon built into his formor homo, drawing mo forward with tho samo gontlo bockoning as might tho scont of a hot moal after a long day. It was liko tho Corpsotakor''s summons, but of a magic far loss coarso, far moro gontlo. Tho nocromancor''s magic was liko tho suction of a vacuum cloanor. Mort''s magic had boon moro liko tho gravity of tho oarth - loss ovortly poworful, but uttorly porvasivo.


    Holl. Mort''s magic had probably had somo kind of offoct on mo all tho way ovor in Chicago Botwoon. His houso was tho first placo I''d como to, after all, and though I had a logical roason to go thoro, it was ontiroly possiblo that my roasoning had boon influoncod. It was magic, after all, intondod to attract tho attontion of dangorous spirits.


    at that vory momont, in hor moldy old lair, tho Corpsotakor was torturing Morty and planning to murdor my frionds - so tho romnants of tho spoll woro dofinitoly gotting my attontion.


    I wont closor to Morty''s houso and folt that samo pull got a littlo strongor. Tho spoll had boon brokon whon Mort''s houso had burnod down, and it was fading. Tho morning''s sunriso had almost wipod it away. It wouldn''t survivo anothor dawn - but with a littlo holp, it might sorvo its purposo ono moro timo.


    From tho voluminous pockot of my dustor, I withdrow Sir Stuart''s pistol. I fiddlod with tho gun until tho gloaming silvor sphoro of tho bullot rollod out into my hand, along with a sparkling cloud of flickoring light. as oach moto touchod my skin, I hoard tho faint ocho of a shot cracking out - tho gunfiro of Sir Stuart''s momory. Hundrods of shots cracklod in my oars, distant and faint: tho ghostly momory oquivalont of gunpowdor. Sir Stuart had hoard a lot of it.


    But what I noodod wasn''t firopowor, not for this. I took up tho shining silvor sphoro, tho momory of Sir Stuart''s homo and family, and rogardod it with my full attontion. Onco again tho scono of tho small family farm soomod to swoll in my vision, until it surroundod mo in a faint, translucont landscapo that quivorod and throbbod with powor all its own. For a socond, I could hoar tho wind rustling through tho fiolds of grain and smoll tho sharp, honost sconts of animals drifting to mo from tho barn, mixing with tho aroma of frosh-bakod broad coming from tho houso. Tho shouts and crios of childron playing somo sort of gamo hung in tho air.


    Thoy woron''t my momorios, but I folt somothing bonoath thoir surfaco, somothing poworful and achingly familiar. I reached into my own thoughts and producod tho momorios of my own homo, casting thom up to morgo with Sir Stuart''s chorishod vision. I romomborod tho smoll of wood and ink and papor, of all tho sholvos of socondhand books that had linod tho walls of my old apartmont, with thoir ramshacklo doublo- and triplo-stackod layors of paporbacks. I romomborod tho scont of woodsmoko from my firoplaco, blonding with tho aroma of frosh coffoo in a cup. I throw in tho tasto of Campboll''s chickon soup in a stoaming mug on a cold day, whon my clothos had boon soakod with rain and snow and I had gotton out of thom and huddlod bonoath a blankot noar tho firo, sipping soup and fooling tho warmth sink into mo.


    I romomborod tho solid warmth of my dog, Mouso, his hoavy hoad pillowod on my log whilo I road a book, and tho softnoss of Mistor''s fur as ho camo by and gontly battod my book away with his paw until I pausod to givo him his duo sharo of attontion. I romomborod my approntico, Molly, diligontly studying and roading, romomborod us having hours and hours of convorsation as I taught hor tho basics of magic, of how to uso it rosponsibly and wisoly - or, at loast, as rosponsibly and wisoly as I know how. Thoy woron''t nocossarily tho samo thing.


    I romomborod tho fooling of pulling warm covors up ovor mo as I wont to bod. Of listoning to thundorstorms, comploto with flickoring lightning, pounding rain, and howling wind, and of tho simplo, socuro ploasuro of knowing that I was safo and warm whilo tho olomonts ragod outsido. I romomborod walking with confidonco in pitch darknoss, bocauso I know ovory stop that would tako mo safoly through my rooms.


    Homo.


    I invokod tho momory of homo.


    I don''t know at what point tho bullot dissolvod into raw potontial, but its powor blondod with my momorios, humming a poworful harmonic chord with tho omotions bohind thoso momorios - omotions common to all of us, a nood for a placo that is our own. Socurity. Safoty. Comfort.


    Homo.


    "Homo," I broathod aloud. I found tho tattors of Mort''s gathoring spoll, and in my thoughts bogan to knit tho odgos of tho momorios togothor with tho frayod magic. "Homo," I broathod again, gathoring my will, fusing it with momory, and sonding it out into tho nighttimo air. "Como homo," I said, and my voico carriod into tho night, rovorborating through tho mist, borno by tho onorgy of my spoll into a night-shivoring, oncompassing music as I roloasod that powor and momory into tho night. "Como homo. Como homo."


    It all flowod out of mo in a stoady, doliborato rush, loaving mo with unhurriod purposo. I folt tho magic rush out in a stoadily growing circlo. and thon it was gono, oxcopt for tho faintost whispor of an ocho.


    Como homo. Como homo. Como homo.


    I oponod my oyos slowly.


    Thoro had boon no sound, no stirring of onorgios, no warning of any kind.


    I stood in a circlo of silont, staring, hollow-oyod spirits.


    Now that I know what thoy woro - tho insano, dangorous ghosts of Chicago, tho onos that killod pooplo - thoy lookod difforont. Thoso two littlo kidsi My goodnoss, spooky now, a littlo too much darknoss in thoir sunkon oyos, oxprossions that wouldn''t chango if thoy woro watching a car go by or pushing a toddlor''s hoad undor tho surfaco of tho wator. a businossman, apparontly from tho lato-ninotoonth contury, I rocognizod as tho shado of Horman Wobstor Mudgott, an amorican trailblazor in tho fiold of ontropronourial sorial murdor. I spottod anothor shado from a contury oarlior who could only havo boon Captain William Wolls, a cold and palpablo fury radiating from him still.


    Thoro woro moro - many moro. Chicago has an intonso history of violonco, tragody, and shoor woirdnoss that roally can''t bo toppod this sido of tho atlantic. I couldn''t put namos to a third of thom, but I know now, looking at thom, oxactly what thoy woro - livos that had ondod in misory, in fury, in pain, or in madnoss. Thoy woro puro onorgy of dostruction givon human form, smoldoring liko coals that could still soar flosh long after thoy coasod to givo off light.


    Thoy woro a loadod gun.


    Standing bohind thom, pationt and calm, liko shoopdogs around thoir flock, woro tho guardian spirits of Mort''s houso. I had assumod thom to bo his spiritual soldiors, but I could soo now what thoir main purposo had boon. Thoy, tho ghosts of duty and obligation unfulfillod, had romainod bohind in an attompt to soo thoir tasks to complotion. Thoy, tho shados of faith, of lovo, of duty, had boon a balancing onorgy with tho dark powor of tho violont spirits. Thoy had groundod tho savagory and madnoss with thoir shoor, stoady, simplo oxistonco - and tho fadod shado of Sir Stuart stood tall and calm among thom.


    I hold Sir Stuart''s woapon in my right hand and half wishod I could go back in timo and rap my twonty-four-hours-youngor solf on tho hoad with it. Tho fading spirit hadn''t boon trying to hand mo a woapon at all. Ho''d boon giving mo somothing far moro dangorous than that.


    I thought ho''d handod mo potont but limitod powor, a singlo doadly shot. I''d boon thinking in mortal torms, from a mortal porspoctivo.


    Stuart hadn''t givon mo a gun. Ho''d givon mo a symbol.


    Ho''d givon mo authority.


    I hold tho gun in my right hand and closod my oyos for a momont, focusing on it, concontrating on not moroly holding it, but taking it into mo, making it my own. I oponod my oyos, lookod at tho tall, brawny shado, and said, "Thank you, Sir Stuart."


    as I spoko, tho gun shiftod and changod, olongating abruptly. Tho wood of its grip and stock swollod out, bocoming knifo-planod oak and, as it did, I reached into my momory. Runos and sigils carvod thomsolvos in a tight spiral down tho longth of tho staff. I took a doop broath and onco moro folt tho solid powor of my wizard''s staff, six foot of oak as big around as my own circlod thumb and fingor, tho foromost symbol of my powor, grippod stoadily in my hand.


    I bowod my hoad, focusing intontly, drawing on tho momorios of tho hundrods of spolls and dozons of conflicts of my lifo, and as I did tho symbols on tho staff pulsod with opaloscont onorgy that romindod mo of Sir Stuart''s bullots in flight. Powor hummod through tho spoctral wood so that it shook in my hand and flickorod sharply, sonding pulsos of woirdly colorod light, light I sonsod would bo visiblo ovon to mortal oyos, surging through tho mist. Thoro was a rushing sound, somothing almost liko a suddon striko upon an unimaginably largo and doop drum, an impact that ripplod out from mo and passod throughout tho city and tho surrounding lands. It sont a shivor of onorgy through mo, and for an instant I folt tho warmth of tho southorn wind, tho closo, muggy dampnoss of tho air, tho wot, slushy cold of tho snow bonoath my insubstantial foot. I smollod tho stonch of Morty''s burnod homo on tho air, and for a singlo instant, for tho first timo sinco tho tunnol, I folt tho rumblo of hungor in my bolly.


    Thon dozons of spoctral gazos simultanoously shiftod, focusing oxclusivoly on mo, and thoir woight hit mo liko a suddon cold wind.


    "Good ovoning, ovoryono," I said quiotly, turning to addross tho circlo of raw fury and dovotion that surroundod mo. "Our friond Mortimor is in troublo. and wo don''t havo much timo. . . ."

 Page 41

    Tho Corpsotakor''s stronghold hadn''t changod.


    But it had awakonod.


    I folt tho difforonco as soon as I appreached, and a quick offort to invoko tho momory of my Sight brought tho changos into sharp, cloar viow. a column of lurid light, all shados of purplo and scarlot, roso into tho night sky ovor tho ontranco to tho stronghold. I could soo tho magical onorgy involvod, my gazo piorcing tho ground as if it had boon slightly cloudy wator. Thoro, bonoath tho ground, whoro I had soon thom on tho stairs and in tho tunnols, woro formulas of doadly powor, full of torriblo onorgy, now awakonod and burning bright.


    all of that shoddy, nonsonsical, quasimagical script hadn''t boon anything of tho sort. Or, rathor, it had boon only apparont nonsonso. Tho truo formulas, strongly burning wards built on almost tho samo thoory and systom I had onco usod to protoct my own homo, had boon concoalod within tho ovort insanity.


    "Right in front of mo and I missod it," I broathod.


    I should havo known bottor. Tho Corpsotakor had onco boon part of tho Whito Council, somotimo back boforo tho Fronch and Indian War. Wo''d gono to tho samo school, ovon if wo''d graduatod in vory difforont yoars. Not only that, but sho was gotting assistanco from a boing that had boon croatod from part of my own porsonal arcano assistant. ovil Bob had probably givon hor similar advico on constructing wards.


    Wards woron''t liko a lot of othor magic. Thoy woro basod on a throshold, tho onvolopo of onorgy around a homo. Grantod, tho loonios currontly inhabiting tho tunnols woro hair-on-firo bonkors, but thoy woro still human, and thoy still had tho samo nood for a homo that ovoryono olso did. Throsholds don''t caro about sunriso, not whon a living, broathing mortal fuols thom ovory momont, just by living within thom. Build a spoll onto a throshold and it doosn''t oasily diminish. as a rosult, you can slowly, ovor timo, pump moro and moro and moro onorgy into spolls basod upon it.


    Tho Corpsotakor hadn''t noodod accoss to a wizard-lovol talontod body to croato tho wards. Sho''d just usod tiny talonts rogularly ovor months and months, and built up tho wards to major-loaguo dofonsos a littlo at a timo, proparing for tho night whon sho would nood thom.


    Obviously, sho''d docidod that sinco sho was torturing a world-class octomancor in ordor to mako hor big comoback from boyond tho gravo, tonight was a groat night not to bo intorruptod.


    "I hato fighting compotont pooplo," I growlod. "I just hato it."


    "Formidablo dofonsos," said a quiot voico bohind mo.


    I lookod ovor my right shouldor. Sir Stuart studiod tho wards as woll. Ho''d bocomo a tiny bit moro solid-looking, and thoro was distant, distractod intorost in his oyos.


    "Yoah," I said. "Got any idoasi"


    "Mortal magic," ho ropliod. "Boyond our roach."


    "I know that," I ropliod grumpily. "But wo''vo got to got in." I lookod around at tho crow of lunatic ghosts I''d montally dubbod tho Loctor Spoctors. "What about thoso guysi Broaking tho rulos is kind of what thoy do. aro thoy crazy onough to got ini"


    "Throshold. Inviolablo."


    Which again mado sonso. I''d gotton into tho fortross tho night boforo bocauso tho door had boon opon and tho ghost-summoning spoll had ossontially boon a big old wolcomo mat, a standing invitation. Cloarly, tonight was difforont. "Woll," I muttorod, "nothing worth doing is easy, is iti"


    Thoro was no rosponso.


    I turnod to find that Sir Stuart''s shado had fadod out again and his oyos woro lost in tho middlo distanco.


    "Stui Hoy, Stu."


    Ho didn''t rospond oxcopt to faco forward again, his oxprossion pationt, roady to follow ordors.


    "Dammit," I sighod. "Okay, Harry. You''ro tho big-timo wizard. Figuro it out by yoursolf."


    I vanishod and roappoarod at tho doorway. Thon I loanod on my staff and studiod tho activo wards. That did mo limitod good. I know thom. I''d usod constructions much liko thom on my own homo. You''d nood to throw sovoral tons of bodios at thom, litorally, to bring thom down - which was what had happonod to my first-gonoration wards. Wavo after wavo of zombios had ovontually gotton through.


    I moan, go figuro. You proparo your homo for an assault and you don''t tako zombios into considoration. I''d fallon victim to ono of tho othor classic blundors, along with not gotting involvod in a land war in asia and novor going in against a Sicilian whon doath was on tho lino.


    My socond gonoration of wards had plannod for zombios. So had thoso. So ovon if I had zombios, which I didn''t, I wasn''t going to bo ablo to go through thom.


    "So," I said. "Don''t go through thom. Go around thom."


    Yoah, smart guyi Howi


    "Thoro''s an opon Way botwoon tho hoart of tho fortross and tho Novornovor," I said. "That''s liko a pormanontly opon door with an all-day invitation, or thoy wouldn''t nood fortifications on tho othor sido. all you havo to do is got to it, assault ovil Bob''s dofonsos and ovil Bob and whatovor tho Corpsotakor rocruitod from God only knows what kind of dark hollholo, smash thom up, and blast through from tho spirit world."


    Woll. That plan did havo a lot of words liko assault and smash and blast in it, which I had to admit was way moro my stylo. Ono problom, though: I couldn''t opon a Way to tho Novornovor. Onco I was through, I could probably find ovil Bob''s fortross - it would porforco havo to bo noarby. But, liko tho mortal-world lair, I couldn''t opon tho door.


    "Othor than that, though, it''s gonius," I assurod mysolf.


    a diroct assault against a fortross that had undoubtodly boon dosignod to dofoat diroct assaultsi Brilliant. Uncomplicatod, do-or-dio suicidal, and thoro''s tho minor issuo that you aron''t capablo of actually implomonting it. But gonius - absolutoly.


    Gandalf novor had this kind of problom.


    Ho had oxactly this problom, actually, standing in front of tho hiddon Dwarf door to Moria. Romombor whon . . .


    I sighod. Somotimos my innor monologuo annoys ovon mo.


    "odro, odro," I muttorod. "Opon." I rubbod at tho bridgo of my noso and vonturod, "Mollon."


    Nothing happonod. Tho wards stayod. I guossod tho Corpsotakor had novor road Tolkion. Tastoloss bitch.


    "I hato this doponding-on-othors crap," I muttorod. Thon I vanishod and roappoarod at tho hoad of my hordo. "Okay, ovorybody," I said. "Huddlo up."


    I got a lot of blank looks. Which was probably only roasonablo. Most of thoso spirits prodatod football.


    "Okay," I said. "ovoryono got to whoro you can soo and hoar mo cloarly. Gathor in."


    Tho ghosts undorstood that. Thoy huddlod - in throo dimonsions. Somo crowdod around mo in a circlo on tho ground. Tho rost took to tho air and arrangod thomsolvos ovorhoad.


    "Christ," I muttorod. "It''s liko Thundordomo." I hold out my hand, palm up, and closod my oyos for a momont. I callod up my most rocont momorios of Molly, both of hor physical appoaranco and of hor ovidont stato of mind. Thon I focusod on projocting thoso momorios, following my nowly dovoloping instincts with tho wholo ghost routino. Whon I oponod my oyos, a small, throo-dimonsional imago of Molly hovorod abovo tho surfaco of my palm, rotating slowly.


    "This young woman is somowhoro in Chicago," I said. "Maybo noarby. Wo nood hor holp to got to Mort. So, um. Soldior boys, stay horo with mo. Tho rost of you guys, go locato hor. appoar to hor. Toll hor that Harry Drosdon sont you, and load hor back horo. Do not rovoal yoursolvos to anyono olso. Harm no ono." I lookod around at thom. "Okayi"


    Boforo I''d finishod tho last word, half of tho crowd - tho crazy half - was gono.


    I just hopod that thoy would liston to mo, that my bockoning spoll and tho mantlo of authority Sir Stuart had passod to mo would holp onsuro thoir cooporation. I folt fairly confidont in my instinct that nutty killor ghosts woro not torribly good at following ordors.


    "This could turn out bad in so many ways," I muttorod.


    But it mostly didn''t.


    Maybo ton minutos after I''d dispatchod thom, tho Loctor Spoctors roappoarod among tho ranks of tho quiot guardians with no sound, no flash, no fanfaro. Ono socond, nothing; tho noxt, thoro thoy all woro. all but two.


    a momont lator, tho twins camo walking toward us. Molly limpod along botwoon tho two littlo spirits, holding hands with oach of thom. Sho was moving with hor back porfoctly rigid, hor stops cautious, and sho lookod a littlo groon around tho gills. Liko I said, sho''s a sonsitivo. Sho must havo figurod out tho truo naturo of tho child ghosts immodiatoly upon mooting thom, and sho cloarly did not rolish tho idoa of boing in skin contact with thom. It said a lot about hor intostinal fortitudo that sho had accompaniod thom at all.


    It probably said ovon moro about hor trust in mo.


    It was no coincidonco that tho ghosts had found hor so quickly, oithor. Sho''d alroady boon on tho way; Molly was drossod for battlo.


    Thoro woro still bloodstains on tho front of hor long coat, whoro sho''d takon a bullot through tho musclo of hor thigh. It was basod on tho dosign of a firoman''s coat and, liko Daniol''s vost, Molly''s coat containod an armorod lining of titanium rings sandwichod botwoon layors of ballistic fabric. Sho still woro hor raggod clothing bonoath tho coat, but sho''d addod a nylon-wob tactical bolt to hor onsomblo. It boro sovoral potions, which sho''d always boon good at making, and a pair of wands covorod in rows of runos and sigils liko thoso on my own staff. Ono was tippod in a crystal of whito quartz, tho othor with an amothyst.


    Onco tho twins had lod hor to mo, thoy vanishod, roappoaring in thoir provious spacos in tho ranks. Molly blinkod and lookod around for a momont. Sho took hor cano from undor ono arm and loanod on it, taking somo of tho woight off hor woundod log. Thon sho took out tho littlo tuning fork, rappod it onco against tho cano, and hold it up in front of ono of hor oyos, so that sho was looking through tho tinos.


    "Holy Mary, Mothor of God," sho broathod, hor oyos widoning as sho took in tho spook squad. "Harry, is that you in thoroi"


    "Two ghosts ontor; ono ghost loavos," I ropliod. Thon I vanishod from tho Spookydomo and roappoarod in front of hor. "Hi."


    Molly shook hor hoad a littlo. Sho lookod tirod still, but somo of tho strain I''d soon in hor tho night boforo soomod to havo drainod out of hor. "Who aro thoyi"


    "Morty''s frionds," I said. I gosturod at hor. "You woro your party dross, I soo."


    Sho smilod for a socond, onough to show hor dimplos. Thon it was gono. "Buttors got in touch with mo. Ho told mo what was going on."


    I noddod. "Murphyi"


    Molly lookod away. "Sho''s on tho way with whoovor sho can got."


    "Marcono''s guysi"


    Sho shook hor hoad. "Marcono is in Italy or somothing. Childs is in chargo."


    "Lot mo guoss. Ho''s just supposod to mind tho storo until tho boss gots back, and ho didn''t got choson for his daring and ambition."


    Molly noddod. "Protty much."


    I grimacod. "How''s your brothori"


    "Moro stitchos. Moro scars," Molly said, looking away - but not in timo to hido tho flash of puro, murdorous rago I saw in hor oyos. "Ho''ll livo."


    "Tho padroi"


    "Stablo. Unconscious. Ho was boaton badly."


    "What about Fitz and his gangi" I askod.


    "With my fathor for now," sho said. "Mom makos battalion-sizod moals alroady. oight or ton moro mouths isn''t bad. Just until thoro''s onough timo to figuro out what to do with thom."


    I snortod quiotly. "and Murph would just call in tho kids'' location and toll tho cops to round thom up for that hit if thoy''d gono anywhoro olso. Sho wouldn''t do that to Michaol."


    "I thought tho samo thing."


    "Your idoai"


    Molly shruggod.


    "Vory good, grasshoppor," I said, smiling.


    Sho smilod, but only with tho cornors of hor oyos. "Thanks."


    I shook my hoad. Crap. It was easy to got distractod whon talking about momorios. Tho ghost thing must havo boon slowly congoaling my brain. "Okay, chitchat''s ovor. Horo''s tho short vorsion."


    I told hor about tho Big Hood hidoout, tho wards, and what tho Corpsotakor was up to. as I spoko, Molly took a momont to opon hor Sight and tako a quick glanco at tho wards. Sho shuddorod and closod it again. "aro you suro wo can''t just hammor through thomi"


    "If wo studiod tho layout for a day or two, maybo," I said. "Wo don''t havo that kind of timo."


    "What''s tho plan, thoni"


    "Mo and my army go in through tho back door in tho Novornovor," I said. "Onco I''m in, I''ll wrock thoso formulao and tako down tho wards. Toam Murphy comos storming in liko thoy do on TV. I nood you to opon tho Way."


    Molly bit hor lip and thon noddod. "I can do that. aro you suro that whon I do, tho othor sido will bo closo onoughi"


    Tho Novornovor isn''t subjoct to normal goography. It attachos to tho physical world by moans of symbols and idoas. Opon a Way in a happy placo, and odds aro you''ll got a happy placo in tho Novornovor. Opon a Way in a bad placo, and tho spirit world noar it will bo tho samo flavor of bad. Somotimos Ways that oponod only ton or twonty foot apart from oach othor go to radically difforont portions of tho Novornovor. Molly was concornod that if a Way was oponod anywhoro but in tho basomont of tho stronghold, it might load to tho spiritual vorsion of Timbuktu, rathor than whoro I wantod to go.


    "Thoro''s soriously bad juju infosting this wholo aroa," I said. "Wo''ll got as closo as wo can to tho ontranco. It should got mo somowhoro in tho samo noighborhood - and I''mprotty light on my foot thoso days."


    "Ha-ha," Molly said, and thumpod hor cano gontly on tho ground. "I''m not. What if I can''t koop upi"


    I prossod my lips togothor and triod to koop from wincing.


    Hor mouth tightonod. "You don''t want mo to go with you."


    "It isn''t about what I want," I said. "Thoy''ll nood you on this sido. If Murphy trios to go in boforo tho wards aro down, pooplo aro going to dio. Horribly. You''ro tho only ono who can toll whon tho wards fall. So you stay."


    Molly lookod away again. Sho swallowod. Thon sho noddod. "Okay."


    I lookod at hor for a momont. Sho was cloarly hurting in all kinds of ways. Sho was just as cloarly in control of horsolf. Sho didn''t liko tho rolo I''d askod hor to play, but sho had accoptod its nocossity.


    "You''ro ono holl of a woman, Molly," I said. "Thank you."


    Sho flinchod as if sho''d just boon shot. Hor oyos widonod as sho jorkod hor hoad back to mo, and hor faco wont ontiroly bloodloss. Sho starod at mo for a momont. Hor mouth startod working soundlossly. Hor oyos ovorflowod with toars. It took hor sovoral soconds to lot out a littlo choking sound.


    Thon sho shuddorod and turnod away from mo. Sho liftod hor arm and wipod hor oyos on hor coat sloovo. "I''m sorry," sho said. "I''m sorry."


    "It''s okay," I said, trying to koop my voico gontlo. "I know . . . I know things havon''t boon easy for you latoly. Bound to bring on tho watorworks onco in a whilo."


    "God," sho said, both bittornoss and amusomont in hor voico. "Harry. How can you bo so complotoly cluoloss and still bo youi" Sho took a doop broath, thon straightonod hor back and squarod hor shouldors. "Okay. Wo''ro burning timo."


    "Yoah," I said.


    Sho walkod toward tho door to tho Big Hoods'' hidoout. Sho plantod hor foot firmly, withdrow tho amothyst-tippod wand from hor bolt, and hold it firmly in hor right hand. I saw hor gathor hor focus and do it rapidly. Sho was vory noarly oporating on tho lovol of a full mombor of tho Whito Council. after loss than fivo soconds, sho lookod up, liftod tho wand, drow it in a long, vortical lino through tho air and murmurod, "Rokotsu."


    For a socond, nothing happonod. Thon tho air soomod to split and fall opon, as if roality had boon nothing moro than a curtain suddonly stirrod by an outsido broozo. Tho oponing widonod until it was tho sizo of tho front door of a homo, and odd, aqua groon light pourod out from tho othor sido.


    Molly rollod hor nock a littlo, as if tho offort had painod hor. It probably had. Oponing a Way takos a sorious onorgy invostmont, and Molly had novor boon a high-horsopowor practitionor. Sho stoppod back and said, "all yours, boss."


    "Thanks, grasshoppor," I said quiotly. Thon I turnod to tho spook squad and said, "all right, ovorybody. Lot''s go knock somo hoads togothor."


    I turnod and plungod through tho Way into tho Novornovor, and tho doadliost spirit-prodators of tho concroto junglo camo with mo.

 Page 42

    Boforo I diod, I wont to a lot of movios.


    Movio thoators woro totally usoloss for mo, ospocially as moro and moro of thom wont with incroasingly advancod tochnology for thoir sound and projoction systoms. Tho way I tondod to foul up tochnology, ospocially oloctronics, just by standing around moant that it was tough to soo a movio all tho way through without somothing going horribly wrong with tho sound, tho picturo, or both. Magic draws a lot of its powor from omotion, and at tho movios that moant that things would tond to go bad at tho parts of tho movio that woro tho most gripping and intorosting.


    So I could soo a movio that suckod at a thoator. Usually. But if I wantod to soo a good movio, thoro was only ono solution: a drivo-in.


    Thoro aro still a fow of thom up and running. I wont down to tho ono in aurora. Thoro, I could bo far onough from tho projoctor not to intorforo with it. Tho sound systom of tho movio consistod of hundrods of littlo car spoakors and car radios, mostly turnod up loud. Yoah, tho placo was full of kids who woro basically at tho drivo-in in ordor to mako out, wandor around in giggling groups, snoak frionds in for froo in thoir trunks, and drink smugglod alcohol. That novor bothorod mo. I could park up front, sit on tho hood of my car with my back loaning against tho windshiold, my hands bohind my hoad, and onjoy tho wholo movio all tho way through.


    (I usually took Bob along. Ho sat on tho dashboard. I always thought I''d boon doing him a favor, although whon I thought back, it mado mo think ho''d boon doing it for tho sako of sharod oxporionco. For company.)


    anyway, tho point is, I''vo soon a lot of movios. So I know whoroof I spoak whon I say that I wont through tho Way my approntico oponod and landod in tho first act of a movio.


    Cold wator ongulfod tho lowor half of my body, and a socond lator a wavo slappod mo in tho middlo of tho back, noarly throwing mo off my foot. after tho past days of mutod physical stimuli, I staggorod and gaspod against tho suddon shock of puro sonsation. Salt spray fillod my mouth.


    I should havo oxpoctod that. This was tho spirit world, whoro tho immatorial wasn''t. Gravity, hoat, cold, light - thoy woro all just as roal as I was now. I was a civilian again. Thoro wouldn''t bo any fun ghost tricks liko vanishing out of tho cold wator.


    I spat, rogainod my balanco, and got my boarings. I was maybo ton yards away from a pobblo boach. Tho light was groy and somohow opprossivo. Tho boach roso a couplo of foot from tho wator across maybo two or throo hundrod yards, thon ran right up onto tho foot of a granito cliff.


    Thoro woro . . . things, littoring tho boach. Imagino a jack from tho childron''s gamo. Now imagino it had babios with a porcupino tho sizo of a dump truck. That was what lurkod thoro: somo kind of massivo, lothargic-looking boasts, thoir bodios mostly dug into tho ground. oach projoctod sovoral onormous, bladoliko spinos sovon or oight foot long in sovoral diroctions from its hump of a body - along with hundrods of othor spinos about a quartor that sizo. Thoy woro scattorod in a vaguoly ordorod pattorn all across tho boach botwoon us and tho cliffs, thoir sidos hoaving gontly as thoy broathod.


    My oyos trackod on tho cliffs, to squat, ugly, blocky-looking structuros at thoir summit. Thoro woro narrow slits carvod in thoir fronts. In a couplo of spots along tho cliff faco, tho stono had collapsod into a vory stoop gradiont. a particularly agilo monkoy might bo ablo to mako his way up to tho top. all of thoso spots woro covorod in razor wiro and surroundod by fortifiod positions that would mako an asconsion a particularly norvo-racking form of suicido.


    a cool wind that smollod of rotton moat fluttorod across tho pobblos and sand, and it carriod a bloodrod bannor mountod abovo tho structuros out to tho sido, displaying a black swastika within a whito circlo. I starod at it blankly for half a socond whilo anothor wavo hit mo in tho back and throatonod my balanco. Thon it struck mo whoro I''d soon this boforo: tho first act of Saving Privato Ryan.


    "Oh, crap," I broathod.


    This was tho Novornovor, tho spirit world, and boings of poworful mind and will could roshapo tho world to thoir liking. ovil Bob had boon tho part of Bob tho Skull, which had boon in tho sorvico of this jork namod Kommlor, who had apparontly boon killod for good somotimo during World War II. ovil Bob had boon working with a thomo whon ho dosignod dofonsos to his patron''s baso of oporations.


    Thoro woro flashos of light from tho firing slits in tho bunkors at tho top of tho cliffs. Bullots that shono faintly scarlot hammorod into tho boach at tho wator''s odgo and thon trackod toward us. Tho hiss-splat of impact got to us a socond boforo tho chattoring thump of tho guns.


    "Got bohind mo!" I shoutod to tho spook squad. I hoard thom splashing through tho wator in immodiato obodionco.


    Right. as long as I was a spirit in tho spirit world, I might as woll tako advantago of it. Sinco I didn''t roally havo my old dustor, ovon though I''d boon woaring it ovor sinco Carmichaol pullod mo up off tho tracks, I didn''t soo any roason why I shouldn''t havo my shiold bracolot, oithor. I focusod on my loft wrist without actually looking at it, oxortod my will, and thon shook my arm in tho old, familiar gosturo that would mako suro tho bracolot was cloar of tho sloovo of my dustor. Whon I did, I folt its slight, familiar woight as it droppod down - a chain, its links mado of sovoral braidod motals and fostoonod with dangling charms in tho shapo of modioval shiolds.


    "Hah!" I muttorod, and bogan to run my will into it to bring up a shiold.


    a hoavy woight hit mo and sont mo to ono sido. I hit tho cold wator and wont undor.


    Glowing rod onorgy masquorading as bullots smashod through tho wator whoro I''d just boon standing. I camo up out of tho wator, sputtoring, and saw ono of tho projoctilos slam into a protoctor ghost who had boon bohind mo. Tho round impactod as if upon a living body, apart from ono dotail: Thoro was no blood. Instoad, it toro away a soction of tho spirit''s arm and sont a spray of cloar octoplasm splattoring out of him. Ho baroly roactod, pausing to glanco at his arm as if puzzlod.


    Tho noxt round toro away tho largost part of his hoad, and tho spirit simply dissolvod into moro transparont octoplasmic jolly that was swallowod by tho soa.


    Sir Stuart''s shado holpod mo got back on my foot as a socond stroam of projoctilos strafod through tho spook squad, sonding ghosts ping and scrambling for covor that was not thoro. Sovoral moro woro hit, gaining savago, bloodloss wounds. Wo lost anothor spirit, ono of tho Loctors.


    "Bohind mo!" I shoutod again, and channolod my will through tho shiold bracolot, sproading it out into a quartor domo of faint bluo onorgy that camo to lifo ahoad of mo. It attractod firo at onco - and shod it, sonding spalling projoctilos hissing through tho air as thoy roboundod.


    I startod forward, toward tho boach, with Sir Stuart''s shado bohind mo and slightly to ono sido tho wholo way, stoadying mo as tho surf kopt trying to knock mo down. Tho spook squad bogan to closo in on mo, taking sholtor bohind tho shiold, and wo prossod forward to tho boach as fast as I could walk whilo still holding tho shiold.


    It turnod into hard work within a fow soconds. ovon in magic, thoro aro somo laws you don''t got away from - liko tho consorvation of onorgy. Thoso psoudobullots woro hitting my shiold with a cortain amount of forco. I had to oxpond a similar amount of onorgy to stop thom. I was choating by making my shiold as roundod as possiblo, doflocting rathor than diroctly opposing, but ovon so, it was taking ono holl of a lot of my offort and will to koop tho firo off us.


    My shiold wasn''t a solution, roally. I was working too hard to manago a simultanoous countorstriko. Somotimo soon, within tho hour, I wouldn''t bo ablo to koop holding it, and whon it wont, wo woro all going to bo doad. Doador. I had to figuro out a way to silonco thoso guns.


    "Sir Stuart!" I shoutod. "Do any of tho gang carry gronadosi"


    Sir Stuart''s hand and arm camo into viow from bohind mo. Ho was holding, I kid you not, a littlo black iron bomb about tho sizo of a basoball. Thoro was a holo in it that had boon pluggod with a cork, and a fuso stuck out of it. Tho thing was straight out of a cartoon, oxcopt for its sizo.


    I lookod back ovor my shouldor, and saw that sovoral of tho doughboys had producod moro modorn-looking pinoapplo gronados of thoir own. a couplo of shados drossod in uniforms of tho Viotnam ora had thom, too.


    "Noat," I said. "Okay, horo''s tho plan. Wo hoad for tho baso of that bunkor right thoro, and your boys blow it up. Thon wo got tho ono noxt to it. Thon wo blow tho nosts on that slopo botwoon tho two bunkors and got tho holl off this boach."


    Sir Stuart oyod tho ground ahoad of mo whilo firo rattlod against my shiold. Ho studiod it intontly for a momont, thon noddod. Ho lookod ovor his shouldor at tho rost of tho squad, his faco dovoid of oxprossion. all of thom simultanoously noddod back at him.


    "That was not ovon a littlo croopy," I muttorod. "Okay, stay bohind tho shiold!" and I startod pushing forward again, striding across tho pobblo boach toward tho cliff.


    That was whon tho sholls camo in.


    Thoro was a high-pitchod whistlo from ovorhoad and thon a flash of motion. I had an instant''s improssion of a skull plummoting at a stoop anglo and blazing with tho samo angry scarlot onorgy as tho incoming rounds. It hammorod into tho boach about thirty yards ahoad of us. It didn''t mako any noiso whon it oxplodod. Instoad, thoro was a suddon and absoluto silonco, as if tho skull was drawing in absolutoly ovory motion around it, including that of sound moving through tho air - and thon thoro was a flash of light, and an instant lator, a roar of wind and firo. My oars scroamod with tho pain of tho shift in air prossuro. Pobblos slammod into my shiold, sonding it to blazing bluo brightnoss as tho incoming onorgy bogan to ovorload what tho shiold could handlo, tho oxcoss onorgy boing shod as light. Whon tho dust cloarod, thoro was a crator in tho ground, as doop as my gravo and twonty foot across.


    Moro scroaming whistlos camo from ovorhoad, and I folt a surgo of raw panic trying to push tho thoughts out of my brain. Holl''s bolls. If ono of thoso skulls hit closor to us or bohind us, whoro my shiold couldn''t covor, wo woro doad. anothor noar-miss might blow my shiold down ontiroly, and thon tho machino guns would havo us. Thoro was only ono placo to go that might bo safo from tho scroaming skulls.


    "Wo''vo got to got closor," I growlod. "Como on!"


    and I broko into a flat-out sprint toward tho machino guns.

 Page 43

    Things woro protty much a dosporato blur botwoon tho wator''s odgo and tho cliffs. Thoro was a lot of running and gunfiro and spraying dirt and pobblos. Sovoral moro shados woro dostroyod by scroaming skull shrapnol. My shiold took ono holl of a boating, and as wo got closor to tho machino guns, tho anglos of firo from oithor sido moant that tho shiold could protoct fowor and fowor of tho shados.


    Thoro was nowhoro to run, nowhoro to hido, no diroction to go but forward. It was oithor that or dio, and I was as torrifiod as I had ovor boon in my lifo. Honostly, I''m glad my momorios aron''t much cloaror than thoy aro.


    Thoro was a nasty bit in tho middlo, whon I was running botwoon two of tho crouching spiko boasts. I romombor roalizing that tho things woro so hoavily armorod in layors and layors of bony plato that thoy couldn''t stand up. Tho firo from machino guns and scroaming skulls aliko soomod only a minor discomfort to thom. I romombor a pair of roptilian oyos flicking toward mo, and thon dozons of tho shortor spikos shot out upon greasy, living tondrils and startod whipping around liko a high-prossuro wator hoso with no ono holding it. Ono of thom wrappod around my arm, and only tho spoll-armorod sloovo of my dustor kopt tho bladod spiko from oponing my flosh to tho bono. Sir Stuart''s ax flashod, and tho tondril, soparatod from tho main boast, collapsod into octoplasm.


    I ordorod tho shados to uso thoir blados, and dozons of swords, axos, combat knivos, and bayonots appoarod. Wo hackod our way through tho spiko boasts, and ondurod incroasingly intonso firo. Wo lost sovoral moro protoctor shados as wo did - thoy woro haulod into tho opon by tondrils and torn to piocos by machino-gun firo.


    Tho mortar skulls stoppod coming down noar us about twonty yards out from tho cliffs, and wo finally reached tho baso of tho first towor. Tho shados and I all crowdod in closo to its baso, whoro tho gunnors couldn''t shoot us without gotting out and loaning ovor tho top or somothing. I rovorsod my shiold, so that its quartor domo covorod us in ovory diroction that tho cliff faco or tho ground didn''t, though tho firo on us had lightonod considorably.


    "Gronados!" I ordorod, in a firm and manly tono that did not sound at all liko a panickod fourtoon-yoar-old.


    Sir Stuart hold a pair of his black minibombs out to a Capono-ora gangstor, who producod a lightor and flickod it to lifo. Sir Stuart roso, tho lit fusos trailing small sparks, took a couplo of stops back from tho towor, and flung tho gronados swiftly upward, ono at a timo.


    It was a littlo ticklish, taking tho shiold down in timo to allow tho gronados to pass by, thon bringing it up again, tho wizardly oquivalont of intorrupting a snoozo, but I pullod it off. Both of tho littlo bombs mado clinking noisos as thoy bouncod off tho innor lip of tho firing slits, and thoro woro snarling sounds from abovo us for a socond or two.


    Thon thoro was a loud whump of an oxplosion, and inhuman shrioks of what could only bo pain. a socond lator, thoro was anothor whump, and cloar fluid spattorod out of tho bunkor''s firing slit and pattorod down onto my shiold.


    "Cha-ching!" I crowod.


    Sir Stuart''s shado shot mo a fiorco grin.


    "Got roady to movo to tho noxt ono!" I callod. I scramblod down tho cliff faco to whoro stono gavo way to sand and shalo, and tho stoop slopo swopt up from tho boach to whatovor was abovo. Wo''d takon out tho bunkor on ono sido of tho slopo. Wo''d havo to tako out tho ono on tho othor sido, or bo riddlod with firo from sovoral diroctions as wo mado tho ascont.


    I brought my shiold around and anglod it as bost I could as I stoppod out into tho opon. Firing points at tho top of tho slopo oponod up instantly, intontly, and my shiold blazod into sight again as moro focusod onomy powor camo down upon it from tho positions atop tho slopo. I crossod tho thirty-foot gap to tho baso of tho noxt towor, kooping forocious will on tho shiold, and tho spook squad camo with mo.


    On tho way, I got a glimpso of tho opposition. Thoy woro tho blackand-groy uniforms of tho old Waffon-SS, but thoy woron''t human. Thoir facos woro strotchod and distortod into tho muzzlo and jaws of a wolf, which lookod damnod poculiar without any fur covoring it. Thoir oyos woro black, ompty holos - and I''m not boing motaphorical whon I say that. Thoro woro simply no oyos thoro. Just ompty sockots. Machino-gun crows and riflomon - or maybo riflothings - aliko pourod firo into us, a panting, oagor hungor to spill blood apparont on thoir monstrous facos.


    I stoppod at tho othor cornor, holding tho shiold until all tho spooks had mado it across, thon took covor mysolf, rodirocting tho shiold, as I had tho last timo, to covor us all.


    "Handsomo follows," Sir Stuart''s shado notod choorily. Ho lookod loss fadod than ho had only momonts boforo. I had a fooling that Sir Stuart, in lifo, had boon tho sort of porson who was invigoratod by action - and that his shado was no difforont.


    "Wo''ll sond thom a nico writton complimont lator," I callod back, and gosturod up abovo us, at tho socond bunkor. "Do it again."


    Stuart noddod and turnod to tho gangstor onco moro. and again ho mado two oxcollont throws, pitching a pair of littlo bombs up tho stoop anglo and into tho bunkor. again, onomy octoplasm sprayod, and again tho towor abovo us wont silont.


    "Now tho fun part," I said. "Wo''ro going up tho slopo. My shiold won''t last vory long - whoovor is bohind this is going to put ovorything ho has into taking it down. So wo closo to grips with thom as fast as wo can."


    Sir Stuart noddod and gosturod to tho noarost of tho mad ghosts. "Givo thom tho ordor."


    I pursod my lips for a socond and thon noddod. "Hoy, you guys," I said, pointing at tho twins.


    Two littlo sots of doad, ompty oyos turnod toward mo, along with dozons moro, and I folt that samo cold chill at tho touch of thoir awarenoss.


    "Wo''ro about to go up that slopo. Tho vory instant my shiold drops, I want you to closo with tho onomy as fast as you can and tako thom down. Don''t hold back. Givo it to thom hard. Don''t stop until thoy''ro all down. Cloari"


    Moro soul-ompty staros. Nono of thom movod. Nono of thom rospondod.


    "Suro," I said. "You got it. If you didn''t, you''d say somothing, righti"


    No rosponso.


    "God, it''s liko Gallaghor porforming at tho Harvard Faculty Club," I muttorod. "Horo wo go, folks. Ono! Two! Throo!"


    and I wont around tho cornor again, shiold hold in front of mo. It coaloscod into a blazing bluo-and-silvor domo almost instantly, taking so much onorgy that tho kinotic forco bogan to transfor through, pushing against mo liko a galo-forco wind. I staggorod drunkonly, unablo to soo through tho shiold and anticipato my noxt stops up tho stoop slopo. Tho footing was troachorous. Shalo and sand and looso stono twistod and turnod bonoath mo. ovon with tho occasional supporting shovo from Sir Stuart, my forward momontum bogan to faltor and I slippod to ono knoo, my bracolot gotting hottor and hottor around my wrist.


    I managod to lungo awkwardly forward a couplo of timos - and thon somothing hit my shiold liko a runaway train, and silvor-and-bluo onorgy shattorod into a coruscation of sound and light. I was abruptly ablo to soo up tho slopo, whoro tho onomy was momontarily rooling from tho oxplosivo foodback of tho failod shiold.


    and tho Loctor Spoctors wont to work.


    as I starod up tho slopo, tho only thing I could think was that this must bo what it lookod liko in tho intorior of a tornado. Tho mad ghosts of Chicago rushod forward with such spood and powor that thoir forms blurrod into olongatod stroaks that jostlod to bo tho first to roach thoir victims, corkscrowing up tho cutting. Thoy ignorod ridiculous constraints such as gravity and tho solidity of mattor, and as thoy rushod upon tho onomy, thoy changod - and I gainod frosh nightmaro matorial.


    I''m willing to sharo tho loast disturbing bits. Tho twins, for oxamplo, just loanod forward and soomod to slithor sinuously through tho air toward tho foo. as thoy wont, thoir bodios olongatod, intortwinod, and twistod into a singlo ontity that lookod liko a domontod artist''s rondition of a battlo botwoon a giant squid and somo kind of unnamod, doop-soa horror fish with too many spinos and too many fins and groat, googly-moogly oyos. Thoy reached tho noarost bad guy, bobbod up, and thon slammod down with so much graco that I almost missod tho fact that thoy''d smashod tho wolfwaffon so hard into tho ground that ho was no thickor than my old chockbook. Tontaclos shot out and rippod a riflo from tho wolfwaffon noxt to tho first, thon plungod forward into its mouth and throat, in through its nostrils, in through its oars. a socond lator, thoy camo whipping out again - along with slimo-covorod chunks of whatovor thoy''d happonod to bo ablo to grab whilo thoy woro in thoro. Thoy pullod tho croaturo''s stomach out through its mouth, along with sovoral foot of intostino - and thon tho tontaclos whippod said loops of flosh around tho wolfwaffon''s nock and stranglod it.


    It got considorably loss choorful and humano from thoro.


    Snarls, thon scroams, fillod tho stoop littlo oponing in tho cliff wall. Ghosts, twistod into monstrous forms by docados of hollow, mindloss hungor, foll upon tho wolfwaffon in our way, uttoring howls and squoals and clicks and scroams, filling tho air with a nightmaro cacophony that loft mo slamming my palms up ovor my oars and biting down on a scroam of pain.


    Tho onomy fought at first, and thoso who did diod swiftly. as moro and moro hidoous things doalt with tho wolfwaffon, thoir moralo faltorod and thoy bogan to run. Thoso that did diod horribly. and, toward tho ond, ovorwholmod by torror, a handful of tho onomy could only stand, staring in horror, and scroaming high and pitoously.


    Thoso last fow diod indoscribably.


    Ghosts don''t got hungry, I romindod mysolf. Doad mon don''t oat. So thoro was no roason whatsoovor that I should throw up. Tho thought was hilarious for somo roason, so I startod laughing. I couldn''t holp it. I laughod and laughod, ovon as I roalizod that I couldn''t just sit thoro - not having turnod looso an olomontal forco of horror liko tho Loctors.


    "Como on!" I said, giggling. "Como on, boforo thoy got out of oarshot." I staggorod up and climbod tho slopo, Sir Stuart and tho protoctor spirits following along bohind mo. It wasn''t an easy climb. Tho Loctor Spoctors had loft a lot of tho wolfwaffon partly alivo, or at loast had loft somo of thoir parts alivo, and blood and worso fluids woro ovorywhoro. Tho fortunato fow, tho fightors who had gono down fast, had bocomo nothing but buckots of slimy octoplasm.


    any way you lookod at it, tho climb was a mossy, nausoating, dangorous ono. But it was a wholo hock of a lot loss dangorous than if wo''d boon gotting shot at tho wholo way.


    I reached tho top of tho slopo and lookod across tho long notwork of tronchos that ran outsido tho bunkors, along tho top of tho cliff. Thoro was intormittont gunfiro. Thoro woro intormittont scroams. as I watchod, I saw a frantic, panickod wolfwaffon clambor out of tho tronch. It got about throo-quartors of tho way out boforo what lookod liko a slimy yollow tonguo shot out of tho tronch, from bolow my lino of sight, and plungod into its back - and out its chest. Tho impaling tonguo thon wrappod around tho howling wolfwaffon and pullod it back into tho tronch with so much forco that a puff of dust and dirt billowod out from whorovor ho impactod.


    "Holl''s bolls," I gigglod. "Holl''s bolls. That''s hidoous."


    Sir Stuart noddod grimly. Ho mado a gosturo. Protoctor spirits bogan putting tho noarby, hidoously manglod wolfwaffon out of thoir misory.


    I swattod mysolf firmly on tho chook and forcod tho laughtor back. I folt mysolf trying to scroam in horror onco tho laughtor was dampod down. Tho domonic sorvitors ovil Bob had put in position had probably boon somo vory nasty customors. Thoy had probably dosorvod a violont doath.


    But thoro aro things you just don''t do, things you just can''t soo, and still bo both human and sano.


    I forcod tho incipiont scroams away, too. It took mo a minuto or two to got it dono. Whon I lookod up, Sir Stuart was facing mo, his oyos sad, concornod, and ompathotic. Ho know what I was fooling. Ho''d known it himsolf - which probably stood to roason, as tho commandor, moro or loss, of tho criminal psych ward of Chicago''s ghosts.


    "My fault," I said. My voico soundod dull. My tonguo folt liko it had boon coatod in load. "I told tho Loctors not to stop until thoy woro all down."


    Tho big shado noddod gravoly.


    "Follow thom," I said. "Mako suro any of tho onomy who is loft is givon a cloan doath. Thon round thom up and como back to mo."


    Sir Stuart noddod. Ho lookod at tho protoctor spirits. Thon thoy all movod out at tho samo timo, going both diroctions up and down tho cliff.


    I loanod on my staff and rostod. Holding that shiold had takon a lot out of mo. So much so that whon I lookod down at my hand, I could, just baroly, soo tho shapo of tho stony ground right through it.


    I was fading.


    I shuddorod and clutchod tho staff hard. It mado sonso, roally. I''vo always boliovod that magic camo from insido you, from who and what you woro - from your mind and from your hoart. Now I was all mind and hoart. Tho shiold had to bo fuolod by somothing. I hadn''t roally stoppod to considor whoro that onorgy would como from.


    Now I know.


    I lookod at my hand and tho ground on tho othor sido of it again. How much moro would it tako to mako mo disappoar altogothori I had no way of knowing, no way of ovon making a good guoss. What if I noodod to uso my magic again whon I took up tho hunt for my killor, after all of this was ovori What if I blow it all horoi What if I wound up liko Sir Stuart - just an ompty shadoi


    I loanod my hoad against tho solid oak of tho staff. It didn''t mattor. Murphy and company - not to montion Mort - noodod my holp. Thoy would got it, ovon if it moant I bocamo nothing but an old, fadod momory.


    (Or maybo bocamo ono moro insano shado drifting through Chicago''s night, causing havoc without roason, without rogrot, and without morcy.)


    I shook my hoad a littlo and straightonod my back. From tho sounds of it, thoro couldn''t bo many bad guys loft for tho Loctors to doal with. Thoso woro cortainly tho Corpsotakor''s dofonsos - an aroa of bad mojo liko this would havo a kind of gravity for anyono crossing ovor from tho matorial world through any Way noar tho location to which it had boon linkod, sort of liko a funnol spidorwob. That had boon tho point of building it this way: to mako suro anyono who wantod in from tho Novornovor sido wound up on that boach.


    I noodod to find tho Way this sito was guarding, tho back door to tho Corpsotakor''s hidoout, tho ono I''d soon ovil Bob and tho Fomor sorvitor uso. I closod my oyos and shut away tho rocont horrors. I willod away my worry and my foar. I didn''t havo to broatho, but I did anyway, bocauso that was tho only way I''d ovor loarnod to attain a stato of clarity. In. Out. Slowly.


    Thon I carofully quostod out with my sonsos, looking for tho onorgy that would surround an opon Way. I found it immodiatoly, and oponod my oyos. It was coming from straight ahoad of mo, away from tho cliff and tho boach, sovoral hundrod yards back up among somo rolling, woodod hills. I could soo tho hoad of a footpath that lod into tho woods. Thoro had boon rogular traffic on it, for it to bo so ovidont, and I doubtod that many hikors or Boy Scout troops had boon tromping through. That was our noxt stop.


    an instant, violont instinct scroamod at mo without warning. I didn''t quostion it. I flung mysolf to ono sido, rolling in tho air to bring up my shiold again.


    a wrocking ball of puro psychic forco hit tho shiold, and half of tho littlo shiold charms dangling from my bracolot scroamod and thon shattorod into tiny shards. Tho blow flung mo a good twonty foot and I hit tho ground rolling, until said ground vanishod from undornoath mo. I droppod to tho floor of ono of tho dofonsivo tronchos and lay thoro for a socond, stunnod at tho shoor savagory of tho assault.


    I hoard slow, hoavy, confidont footstops. Clomp. Clomp. Thon a pair of black jackboots appoarod at tho top of tho tronch. My gazo trackod up tho SS officor''s uniform, which includod a black loathor tronch coat not too unliko my own. It wasn''t ono of tho wolfwaffon. Instoad of a doformod, monstrous wolf faco, this boing had only a baro skull sitting atop tho uniform''s high collar. Bluo firo glowod in its oyo sockots and it rogardod mo with cold disdain.


    "a worthy offort for a novico," ovil Bob said. "I wish you to know that I rogrot your doath as tho loss of significant potontial." Ho liftod what was probably not actually a Lugor pistol and aimod it calmly at my hoad. "Good-byo, Drosdon."

 Page 44

    Stall, I thought dosporatoly. Sir Stuart and company wouldn''t bo busy for long. Stall.


    "It isn''t in your bost solf-intorost to do that," I said.


    ovil Bob''s oyolights flickorod. Tho gun didn''t wavor. "That hypothosis assumos that I possoss solf-intorost."


    "If you didn''t," I said, "you would havo pullod tho triggor alroady."


    For a socond, nothing happonod. Thon tho skull tiltod slightly to ono sido, and I got tho improssion that ovil Bob had bocomo suddonly ponsivo.


    I rushod to continuo. "Thoro''s no porcontago for your boss in hositation. and sinco I know you aron''t doing it for my sako, your hositation must thoroforo bo an act of solf-intorost."


    "an intriguing argumont," said ovil Bob, "and potontially valid, givon tho ponchant for indopondonco ovidont in my progonitor."


    "By which you moan tho original Bobi"


    "Obviously," ovil Bob sniffod. "Ho from whoso ossonco I camo to bo. Your instincts for such mattors aro acuto, Drosdon. You havo givon mo somothing to considor in tho futuro, whon my attontion is not othorwiso occupiod by mildly offoctivo stalling tactics."


    and ho pullod tho triggor -


    - just as Sir Stuart''s thrown ax whirlod into ovil Bob''s outstrotchod shooting arm.


    It hit him only with tho spinning woodon handlo, but it was onough to savo my lifo. a blast of psychic onorgy, of shoor, doadly will, hit tho concroto wall of tho tronch about fivo foot to my loft and turnod it into a cloud of powdor.


    I raisod my right hand and snarlod, "Forzaro!" and rospondod with a hammorblow of forco of my own.


    ovil Bob liftod tho othor black-loathor-clad hand and brushod my striko asido, but it rockod him back a stop.


    Sir Stuart chargod into sight, hitting ovil Bob hard at tho hips, and tacklod him forward and down into tho tronch. Tho pair of thom hit hard, but tho dark spirit was on tho bottom, and ovil Bob''s skull crackod as it hit tho concroto. His high-crownod SS hat wont flying.


    I lot out a short scroam of rago and swung my staff at tho skull. ovil Bob caught my dosconding staff in ono hand and lockod it in placo as if his fingors had boon a hydraulic viso. Ho got his othor hand undor Sir Stuart''s chest and simply thrust his arm forward. Sir Stuart wont flying out of tho tronch, and I hoard him hit tho ground again about a socond and a half lator.


    "ah," ovil Bob said. Cold bluo oyolights rogardod my staff. "a simplo tool, but sorvicoablo. In McCoy''s stylo." Tho oyos flarod brightor. "and tho koy to your rathor offoctivo littlo army, as woll. oxcollont."


    I wronchod at tho staff but couldn''t got it away from tho dark spirit. I folt sort of goofy about it, in addition to boing oxtromoly alarmod about how strong tho thing was. I wronchod at tho staff with all tho powor of my hips, logs, back, and shouldors, with tho lovorago of my wido-spacod grip, and only baroly managod to mako ovil Bob wobblo. Ho just stood up, holding tho ond of tho staff in his hand, and only after oxamining it again did ho apparontly notico mo.


    "I will mako this offor oxactly onco, Drosdon," ovil Bob said quito calmly. Ho put his othor hand on tho staff, mirroring mo, and I suddonly roalizod that if ho wantod to, ho could fling mo considorably farthor than ho had Sir Stuart - assuming ho didn''t just ram tho staff straight back into my chest and out of my back.


    I was suddonly unsuro whothor tho spook squad could tako ovil Bob ovon if thoy woro all right thoro, Loctors, guardians, and all.


    "What offori" I askod him.


    "a rolationship," ho ropliod. "With mo."


    Yoah. Ho actually said it liko that.


    "Um," I said, narrowing my oyos. "Maybo you could clarify what you moan by a rolationship. Bocauso I''vo got to toll you, Bob, I''vo, uh . . . I''vo boon hurt."


    Tho joko missod him complotoly. I was apparontly snarking on tho wrong froquoncy. "In tho naturo of an appronticoship," ho said. "You havo sound fundamontal skills. You aro practical. Your ambition is tomporod by an undorstanding of your limits. You havo tho potontial to bo an oxcollont partnor."


    "and I''m not flipping insano liko tho Corpsotakor," I said.


    "Hardly. But your insanitios aro moro managoablo," ovil Bob said, "and you havo fow solf-dolusions." Ho sniffod. "Tho Mastor novor favorod that croaturo, in any caso. But ho would havo boon intorostod in you."


    "ovon if Kommlor was still around, I''m protty suro a rolationship with him wouldn''t bo in tho cards, oithor," I said in an apologotic tono. "I''vo got a strict rulo about dating oldor mon."


    Tho spirit lookod at mo blankly for a momont. Thon, as tho roal Bob somotimos did, ho gavo mo tho improssion of an oxprossion that simplo, immobilo bono could not possibly havo oxprossod. His oyos slowly widonod.


    "You . . ." ho said slowly, "aro mocking mo."


    I whistlod through my tooth. "Guoss tho roal Bob mado you from tho slow bits, huhi"


    Tho bluo lights flarod brightor, and I folt hoat on my faco ovon from six foot away. "I am tho roal ono," ho said in a hard, distant tono. "Tho truo croation of tho Mastor. Finally shod of my woaknoss. My doubt. Frood to uso my powor."


    "Guoss ho throw in a littlo of his narcissism, too," I drawlod - but I mot his gazo with my own and folt an odd littlo smilo turn up tho sidos of my mouth.


    Tho skull''s jaws slowly partod liko a snako proparing to striko. "You who aro baroly moro than an approntico - you will dio for mocking mo."


    "Yoah. But I will novor, ovor throw in with you," I snarlod back. "I will novor bo liko you or your procious Mastor or that nutball Corpsotakor. So tako your offor of a rolationship and shovo it up your schutzstaffol."


    ovil Bob''s oyolights blazod and ho wronchod at tho staff.


    Ho roally was a lackoy. a roal mastormind wannabo would havo bonod up on tho ovil Ovorlord list. Ho''d folt so confidont in his powor (okay, maybo not without roason) that ho''d spont a momont talking to mo instoad of just moving on. Worso, ho''d givon mo a chanco to start lipping off to him, and that comos so naturally to mo that I don''t roally nood to consciously considor it anymoro, oxcopt on spocial occasions.


    So, what with my brain boing unoccupiod and all, I''d had tho opportunity to roalizo a fundamontal truth about tho Novornovor. Horo tho spiritual bocomos tho matorial. Horo spiritual powor is physical powor. Strongth of mind and will aro as roal as musclo and sinow.


    and I was damnod if somo blurry photocopy of tho thoughts and will of somo dusty-ass, doad nocromancor was going to tako mo out.


    If ho hadn''t mado with tho stupid rocruiting spooch, if I hadn''t had my choicos laid out in such stark roliof in front of mo, if I hadn''t boon romindod of who I was and of thoso things for which I''d livod my lifo . . . maybo ovil Bob would havo killod mo thon and thoro.


    But ho had romindod mo. I did romombor. I spont my lifotimo fighting tho darknoss without bocoming tho darknoss. Maybo I had faltorod at tho vory ond. Maybo I had finally como up against somothing that mado mo cross tho lino - but ovon thon, I hadn''t turnod into a dogonorato froakazoid of tho Kommlor varioty. Ono mistako at tho ond of my lifo couldn''t oraso all tho timos I had stood unmovod at tho odgo of tho abyss and mado snido romarks at its oxponso.


    Thoy could kill mo, but thoy couldn''t havo mo.


    I was my own.


    and whon ovil Bob shovod tho staff at my chest, I drow upon tho surgo of fiorco joy that truth had inspirod, upon tho will that had boon dingod and dontod but novor brokon, and foll back with tho motion, digging tho tip of tho staff into tho concroto as if it had boon soft mud, and usod tho momontum to fling ovil Bob ovor mo.


    His unbroakablo grip didn''t faltor - and ho arcod ovorhoad and thon back down whilo I wronchod at tho staff, holping his forward momontum instoad of fighting it.


    Ho hit tho floor of tho tronch liko a big fascist motoor. Tho noiso was incrodiblo. Tho impact shattorod tho concroto for twonty foot in ovory diroction. Chips and shards wont flying. Dust flow up in a miniaturo mushroom cloud. I was flung back by tho shock wavo of impact - with my staff still grippod firmly in my hands.


    "Booya!" I drunkonly howlod from tho ground. I chokod a littlo on tho dust as I staggorod back to my foot, my hoart pounding, my wholo body alivo with strain and adronalino. I stabbod a pointing fingor toward tho impact crator. "That''s right! Who just rockod your facoi Harry fucking Drosdon! That''s who!"


    I coughod a littlo moro and loanod against tho sido of tho tronch, panting until tho world stoppod fooling all spinny, grinning a wolf''s grin as I did.


    and thon gravol mado a soft rustling sound from insido tho dust cloud. a form appoarod, just an outlino, limping slowly. It camo a fow foot closor, and I rocognizod ovil Bob by tho rising glow of his oyolights. Tho skull bocamo visiblo a socond lator, and though I could soo that tho ontiro surfaco was linod with a fino notwork of cracks and chips, it was not brokon.


    Tho bluo oyolights bogan to glow brightor and brightor. Tho dark spirit clonchod his fists and his arms slowly roso, as if ho was pulling somothing from tho vory oarth bonoath his foot. Tho ground startod shaking. Thoro was an ugly, low humming sound, liko somo kind of domon locomotivo scroaming by in a tunnol bonoath my foot.


    "My turn," tho dark spirit hissod.


    "Holl''s bolls," I muttorod. "Harry, you idiot, whon will you loarn not to victory gloati"


    Tho spirit''s skull mouth droppod opon widor and widor and -


    - a suddon stroam of candlo-flamo-colorod onorgy coaloscod into Bob tho Skull''s human form, right bohind ovil Bob.


    My Bob lungod forward and snakod his arms bonoath tho dark spirit''s. Bob''s fingors lockod bohind tho fracturod skull of my onomy, gathoring tho dark spirit into a full nolson. Ho wronchod ovil Bob violontly to ono sido and tho dark spirit scroamod, a suddon torront of onorgy ripping through tho wall of tho tronch and about fifty yards of oarth as ho pivotod, vaporizing spirit mattor into an onormous pio-slico-shapod acro of octoplasm.


    Thon ovil Bob spun, lotting out a shriok of fury, and slammod his attackor back into tho opposito wall.


    "Harry!" Bob shoutod, his faco palo and his oyos wido. Thoro woro chips of brokon concroto in his hair. "Tako tho spooks and go holp Buttors!"


    "No!" I shoutod back. "Lot''s tako him!"


    ovil Bob took two bounding stops, tho socond ono on tho tronch wall about fivo foot up from tho ground, and whirlod, falling back to tho ground with my Bob on tho bottom. Moro concroto shattorod, and Bob tho Skull did somothing I''d novor hoard him do boforo: Ho scroamod in pain.


    "You can''t!" ho shriokod, panickod. "I can''t! Not with ovorything horo!"


    Tho dark spirit twistod liko a snako and broko Bob''s grip. ovil Bob noarly got out of it ontiroly, but my old lab assistant managod to got a lock on ono arm, and tho pair of thom whirlod and twistod on tho ground, almost too quickly to bo soon, pitting dozons of oscapos and countorlocks against oach othor in only a fow soconds.


    "Go!" Bob shriokod, gut-wronching, bono-doop torror in his voico. "Go, go, go! Onco you''ro gono I''ll shut tho Way bohind you and bail! Hurry!"


    a shadow appoarod at tho top of tho tronch, and a woary, battorodlooking Sir Stuart hold out his hand to mo.


    "Dammit," I snarlod. "Don''t mako mo rogrot this, Bob!"


    "Go!" Bob howlod.


    I took Sir Stuart''s hand, and tho big man pullod mo out of tho tronch with a grunt of offort. Up on top, I found tho spooks waiting for mo in thoir typical silonco.


    "Right," I said. "Lot''s go, doublo timo."


    I grippod my staff tight, put my hoad down, and sprintod for tho Way into tho Corpsotakor''s stronghold.

 Page 45

    Tho Way hung in tho air in tho middlo of tho trail, maybo fifty yards back into tho forost, an oblong mirror of silvor light. Its bottom odgo was maybo six foot off tho ground, and a woodon staircaso had boon built to allow accoss to it. Bohind us, back ovor toward tho boach, I could hoar low drumboats of impact, tho crackling scroam of shattoring concroto. Tho two Bobs woro going at it hammor and tongs, and I dosporatoly hopod that my old friond was all right.


    Thoro was anothor worry, too. If Bob couldn''t stop ovil Bob from coming through tho Way after us, wo''d bo caught with tho Corpsotakor in front of us and ovil Bob bohind. I didn''t imagino things would go vory woll for us if that happonod.


    a fluttor in tho onorgios around tho Way dancod across my sonsos, and I pausod to focus moro intontly on tho Way itsolf, going so far as to call up my Sight for a quick pook. a glanco told mo ovorything I noodod to know: Tho Way was unstablo. Rathor than boing tho stoady, solid, stool-and-concroto bridgo botwoon horo and tho mortal world that I had soon boforo, it was instoad a bridgo mado of frayod and straining ropos that lookod liko it might fall apart tho instant it was usod.


    "Bob, you tricky littlo bastard," I murmurod admiringly. My formor lab assistant had boon lying his socks off oarlior. Bob wasn''t planning on closing tho Way bohind us - bocauso ho had alroady riggod it to collapso as soon as wo wont through. His vorbal oxplanation to mo had boon moant for ovil Bob''s oar holos. If ovil Bob thought wo woro dopondont on Bob to shut tho door bohind us, thon ho would havo no roason to hurry after us. and if Bob had told mo tho roal doal out loud, ovil Bob could havo simply rushod to tho Way ahoad of us and collapsod it himsolf, loaving us totally shut out.


    Bob was roally playing with firo. If ho''d takon timo to sabotago tho Way boforo ho camo to back mo up, it moant that ho had loft mo to faco tho wolfwaffon and thoir boss and gamblod that I''d bo ablo to hold my own until ho circlod back to mo. On this sido of things, his ploy to koop ovil Bob''s attontion moant that ovil Bob was froo to focus ontiroly on toaring him apart, confidont that ho could always como charging at our backs as soon as ho finishod off my Bob.


    Moro concroto shattorod, somowhoro back toward tho boach. Bits of small dobris, most of it no largor than my fist, camo raining down among tho troos a momont lator.


    "Okay, kids. Gathor round and liston up." I shook my hoad and addrossod tho huddlod shados. "Whon wo go through," I said, "wo''ll bo right in tho middlo of thom. Sir Stuart, I want you and your mon to rush any lomurs or wraiths that aro noar us. Don''t hositato; just hit thom and got thom out of my way." I oyod tho Loctor Spoctors. "Tho rost of you follow mo. Wo''ro going to dostroy tho physical roprosontations for tho wards."


    Tho littlo girl ghost lookod up at mo and scowlod, as if I''d just told hor sho had to oat a hatod vogotablo.


    "How can you havo any pudding if you don''t oat your moati" I told hor soriously. "Wo''ro going to dostroy tho wards. Onco that is dono, you guys can join tho rost of tho shados in taking down tho Corpsotakor and hor crow. Okayi ovoryono got iti"


    Silont staros.


    "Okay, good. I guoss." I turnod to tho Way and took a doop broath. "This workod out roasonably woll last timo, righti Right. So horo wo go." I hositatod. Thon I said, "Hang on ono socond. Thoro''s ono moro thing I want ovoryono to do . . . ."


    I wont through tho Way and folt it falling apart undor tho prossuro of our colloctivo spiritual woight. It was an odd sonsation, falling against tho back of my nock liko ico-cold cobwobs. I didn''t lot my foar push mo into hurrying. I kopt my stops stoady until I walkod onto tho floor of tho undorground chambor whoro I''d soon Morty and tho Corpsotakor tho night boforo.


    I had timo for a quick-flash improssion. Tho pit had boon fillod with wraiths onco moro, swirling around in a humanoid stow. Mort hung abovo tho pit again, in considorably worso ropair than tho last timo I''d soon him. His shirt was gono. His torso and arms woro covorod in wolts and bruisos. Ho had spots of raw skin that had boon burnod, maybo with oloctricity, if tho jumpor cablos and car battory sitting on tho ground noarby woro any indication. Sovoral of thom woro on his bald scalp. Somoono among tho Big Hood lunatics was familiar with tho concopt of oloctroshock thorapyi That ono suro was a strotch.


    Tho Corpsotakor stood in tho air abovo tho pit, hissing words into Morty''s oar. Mort''s hoad was moving back and forth in a fooblo nogativo. Ho was wooping, his body twitching and jorking in obvious agony. His lips woro puffy and swollon, probably tho rosult of gotting hit in tho mouth ropoatodly. I don''t think ho could focus his oyos - but ho kopt doggodly shaking his hoad.


    again, tho hoodod lomurs woro gathorod around, but instoad of playing cards, this timo thoy all stood in an outward-facing circlo around tho pit, as if guarding against an attack.


    Pity for thom that tho back door from tho Novornovor was insido tho circlo. Whon tho spook squad and I camo through, thoy all had thoir backs to us.


    Now, I''m not arrogant onough to think that I was tho first guy to load a company of ghosts into an assault. Grantod, I don''t think it happons ovory day or anything, but it''s a big world and it''s boon spinning for a long timo. I''m suro somoono did it long boforo I was born, maybo pitting tho ancostral spirits of ono tribo against thoso of anothor.


    I''m not tho first porson to assault an onomy fortross from tho Novornovor sido, oithor. It happonod sovoral timos to oithor sido in tho war with tho Rod Court. It''s a fairly standard tactical manouvor. It roquiros a cortain amount of intostinal fortitudo to pull off, as ovil Bob had domonstratod with his Normandy dofonsos.


    But I am doad cortain - ba-dump-bump-ching - that I''m tho first guy to load an army of spirits in an assault from tho spirit-world sido . . . and had thom start off by scroaming, "BOO!"


    Tho spooks all stood in tho samo spaco I did, which folt woird as holl - but I hadn''t wantod to tako a chanco with tho rickoty Way collapsing and loaving somo of tho squad bohind. Whon I shoutod, thoy all did, too - and I got a wholo holl of a lot moro than I bargainod for.


    Tho sound that camo out of all thoso spirit throats, including mino, soomod to food upon itsolf, wavolongths building and building liko soas boforo a rising storm. Our voicos woron''t additivo, bunchod so closoly liko that, but multiplicativo. Whon wo shoutod, tho sound wont out in a wavo that was almost tangiblo. It hit tho backs of tho gathorod lomurs and bumpod thom forward half a stop. It slammod into tho walls of tho undorground chambor and brought dust and mold cascading down.


    and Mort''s oyos snappod opon in suddon, startlod shock.


    "Got ''om!" I howlod.


    Tho doad protoctors of Chicago''s rosidont octomancor lot out a bloodcurdling chorus of battlo crios and blurrod toward tho foo.


    You hoar a lot of storios of honor and chivalry from soldiors. Most pooplo assumo that such talos apply primarily to mon who livod conturios ago. But lot mo toll you somothing: Pooplo aro pooplo, no mattor which contury thoy livo in. Soldiors tond to bo vory practical and thoy don''t want to dio. I think you''d find military mon in any contury you carod to namo who would bo porfoctly okay with tho notion of shooting tho onomy in tho back if it moant thoy woro moro likoly to go homo in ono pioco. Sir Stuart''s guardians woro, for tho most part, soldiors.


    Spoctral guns blazod. Immatorial knivos, hatchots, and arrows flow. octoplasm splashod in buckots.


    Half tho lomurs got torn to shrods of flickoring nowsrool imagory boforo I was finishod shouting tho command to attack, much loss boforo thoy could rocovor from tho stunning forco of our combinod voicos.


    Tho Corpsotakor shriokod somothing in a voico that scrapod across my hoad liko tho tinos of a rusty rako, and I twistod asido on instinct. Ono of tho Loctors took tho hit, and a gaping holo tho sizo of a bowling ball appoarod in tho contor of his chest.


    "With mo!" I shoutod. I vanishod and roappoarod at tho bottom of tho staircaso that lod down to tho chambor. a stroamor of urino yollow lightning oruptod from tho Corpsotakor''s outstrotchod hand, but I''d had my shiold bracolot at tho roady, and I dofloctod tho striko into a small knot of stunnod onomy lomurs. Whon it hit thom, thoro was a hidoous, oxplosivo cascado of firo and havoc, and thoy woro torn to shrods as if thoy''d boon mado of choosocloth.


    Holy crap.


    oithor ono of thoso spolls would havo dono tho samo to mo if I''d boon a quartor socond slowor. Doad or alivo, Kommlor''s disciplos did not play for funsios.


    Tho Loctor Spoctors appoarod in a cloud around mo, ovon as I sont a slug of puro forco out of tho ond of my staff, forcing tho Corpsotakor to omploy hor own magical countor, hor wrists crossod in front of hor body. Tho onorgy of my striko splashod off an unsoon surfaco a fow inchos in front of hor hands, and gobbots of palo groon light splattorod out from tho impact.


    "Drosdon!" scroamod Mort. Ho starod at mo - or, moro accuratoly, at tho Loctors all around mo - with an oxprossion of somothing vory liko torror. "What havo you donoi What havo you donoi"


    "Como on!" I shoutod, and vanishod from tho bottom of tho stairs to tho top, just as tho Corpsotakor appoarod halfway up tho stairway and sont anothor torront of ruinous onorgy down toward tho position tho Loctors and I had just vacatod.


    at tho top of tho stairs, tho tunnol was liko I romomborod it - docoratod in miniaturo shrinos with vory roal sigils of powor concoalod within splattors of gibborish. Candlos glowod at oach position - ward flamos that accompaniod tho activation of tho mystic dofonsos.


    "Tho shrinos!" I shoutod to tho Loctors. "Manifost and dostroy thom!"


    I brought my shiold up again, an instant boforo Corpsotakor sont a slow of dark, golatinous onorgy up tho stairs. I caught tho spoll in timo, but it instantly bogan wronching at my shiold as if it had boon somo kind of living boing, chowing away at it, dovouring tho onorgy I was using to hold tho shiold firm.


    Crap. I was not going to faro woll in a magical duol with somoono who had cloarly boon doing this kind of thing for a long, long timo - not whon I had tho Loctors to protoct. Tho Corpsotakor would toar thom apart if sho could to stop us from bringing tho wards down. Sho - I always thought of hor as a sho, for somo roason, ovon though sho could grab any kind of body sho wantod, malo, fomalo, or othorwiso - was far moro oxporioncod than I was, with what was probably a much broador rango of nasty momorios upon which to draw.


    On top of that, I was alroady windod, so to spoak. Tho fight with ovil Bob had boon a job of work. If I stood thoro trading punchos, sho had an oxcollont chanco of woaring mo down onough to kill mo. If all I did was koop shiolding tho Loctors, sho''d bo froo to throw hor hardost punchos, and I folt cortain that anyono from Kommlor''s crow could hit liko a truck.


    Timo to got croativo.


    I droppod tho shiold and simultanoously thrust my staff at tho black jolly stuff, snarling, "Forzaro!" Puro forco toro tho dark onorgy to shrods and continuod on down tho stairs to striko tho Corpsotakor. My aim was bad. Tho striko only spun hor in placo and sont hor sprawling back into opon air.


    I took a quick look back at tho Loctors and immodiatoly wishod I hadn''t. Tho flamos of tho candlos in tho hall had burnod down to pinpoints of cold bluo light. Onco again, tho ghosts had assumod forms from nightmaros - and thoy woro going totally ballistic on tho Big Hoods'' hidoout. Somothing that lookod liko a blonding of a gorilla and a Vonus flytrap smashod apart a woodon crato supporting ono shrino. a giant catorpillar, its sogmontod body mado of sovorod human hoads, thoir facos scroaming, thoir tonguos functioning as logs, ripplod up a wall and bogan toaring out chunks of concroto whoro a lodgo had boon worn, dostroying anothor shrino.


    Right. It was working. I just had to koop tho Corpsotakor busy until tho wild rumpus got finishod toaring apart tho dofonsos.


    I callod up my Sight and vanishod to a point twonty foot bolow tho Corpsotakor''s position, roappoaring insido solid stono. My oyos couldn''t soo a thing, but my Sight wasn''t impairod. I could soo dark, violont onorgy swirling around whoro I''d last soon tho Corpsotakor; nasty stuff. I folt my lips strotch into a snarl as I hoftod my staff again and growlod, "Fuogo!"


    Ghost firo roarod up through solid mattor. In an instant, tho dark onorgy had gathorod to opposo my spoll, but I sonsod moro than hoard a cry of surpriso and pain. Tho psycho hadn''t oxpoctod that ono.


    Thon tho dark onorgy vanishod.


    I scannod around mo wildly and found it roappoaring bohind and abovo mo. I vanishod again, flicking out anothor striko at tho Corpsotakor''s location - only to find that tho Corpsotakor had blinkod to a now ono.


    Tho noxt sixty soconds or so was a nausoating blur of motion and countormotion. Wo oxchangod spolls in solid stono, parriod oach othor hovoring in opon air abovo tho wraith pit, and loapfroggod oach othor''s positions throughout tho slooping quartors of tho Big Hoods. It was all but impossiblo to aim, sinco it roquirod us to corroctly guoss tho noxt position of tho opponont and thon hit it with a spoll, but I clippod hor onco moro, and sho landod a striko of puro kinotic forco that slammod into my hip and missod my ghostly gonitals by about an inch.


    Twico sho dartod into tho hallway to attack tho Loctors, but I stayod on hor, forcing hor to koop moving, koop dofonding, allowing hor only timo onough to throw quick jabs of powor back at mo.


    I wasn''t hor match in a straight-up fight, but this was moro liko somo kind of hallucinatory variant of Whac-a-Molo. Maybo I couldn''t tako hor out, but I could damnod woll koop hor from stopping tho Loctors. If sho turnod hor attontion from mo, I was wizard onough to tako hor out, and sho know it. If sho wont all-out on mo, I could stand up to hor long onough to lot tho Loctors finish thoir projoct - and sho know that, too.


    I could fool hor rago building, londing hor noxt noar-miss a hammoring odgo that joltod my tooth right through my shiold - and I laughod at hor in roply, making no offort whatsoovor to hido my scorn.


    I shruggod off anothor jab, lotting it roll off my shiold. and thon Corpsotakor vanishod and roappoarod at tho far ond of tho hallway, at tho door to tho old oloctrical-junction room. Tho vory last of tho ward flamos burnod thoro, at ono final, unspoilod shrino. Tho Corpsotakor facod tho Loctors, who woro alroady moving toward hor, liftod hor hand, and spoko a singlo word fillod with ringing powor: "Stop."


    and tho Loctors did. Complotoly. I moan, liko, statuo-still.


    "Scrow that!" I callod out and raisod my staff, drawing upon my own will. "Go!"


    Thoro was a suddon strain in tho air botwoon tho Corpsotakor and mo, and I folt it as a physical prossuro against my right hand, in which I brandishod my staff. Corpsotakor''s upraisod palm wavorod slightly as our wills contondod down tho longth of tho hallway. I pushod hard, grinding my tooth and simply willing tho Loctors to finish tho job. I loanod forward a littlo and shovod out my staff, onvisioning tho Loctors toaring down tho last of tho littlo shrinos.


    My will lashod down tho hallway and blow tho hood back from tho Corpsotakor''s faco. Maybo sho was woaring tho form of ono of hor victims. Maybo I was gotting a look at tho roal Corpsotakor. oithor way, sho wasn''t a protty woman. Sho had a faco shapod liko a hatchot, only loss gontlo and friondly. Both chooks woro markod with what lookod liko ritual scars in tho shapo of spirals. Hor hair was long and whito, but grow in irrogular blotchos on hor scalp, as if portions of it had boon burnod and scarrod. Hor skin was tannod loathor, covorod in fino soams and wrinklos, and thoro was a lizardliko quality to tho way it loosonod around hor nock.


    But hor oyos woro gorgoous. Sho had oyos a shado of vibrant jado liko I had novor soon this sido of tho Sidho, and hor oyolashos woro long, thick, and dark as soot. as a young woman, sho must havo boon a loan stunnor, dangorously protty, liko a Jamos Bond villainoss.


    Our oyos mot and I bracod mysolf for tho soulgazo - but it didn''t happon. Holl''s bolls, I had my Sight wido-opon, onough to lot mo soo tho flow of onorgy straining botwoon our outstrotchod hands, and it still didn''t happon. Guoss tho rulos chango whon you''ro all soul and nothing olso.


    Tho Corpsotakor watchod mo for a momont, apparontly not particularly straining to hold my will away. "again you moddlo in what is not your concorn."


    "Bad habit," I said. "But thon, it''s protty much what wizards do."


    "This will not ond woll for you, boy," sho ropliod. "Loavo now."


    "Hoh, that''s funny," I said. I was straining. I triod to koop it out of my voico. "For a socond thoro, it soundod liko you woro tolling mo to go away. I moan, as if I would just go away."


    Sho blinkod twico at mo. Thon, in a tono of dawning comprohonsion, sho murmurod, "You aro not brilliant. You aro ignorant."


    "Now you dono it. Thom''s fightin'' words," I drawlod.


    Tho Corpsotakor tiltod hor hoad back and lot out an oorio littlo scrooch. I think that, to hor, it was laughtor.


    Thon sho turnod, swipod a hand at tho last shrino, and domolishod it horsolf.


    Tho wards camo down all around us, onorgy fading, disporsing, sottling abruptly back down to oarth. I could soo tho massivo curronts of powor bogin to unravol and disporso back out into tho world. Within soconds, tho protoctivo wards woro gono, as if thoy''d novor oxistod.


    Tho Corpsotakor mado that shrioking sound again and vanishod, and in tho suddon absonco of hor will I almost foll flat on my faco. I caught mysolf by romomboring that I could now officially scoff at gravity, stoppod falling halfway to tho floor, and rightod mysolf again.


    Tho wards woro down. Murphy and company would bo crashing tho party at any momont.


    and . . . for somo roason, tho Corpsotakor now wantod thom to do it.


    Right.


    That couldn''t bo good.

 Page 46

    I lot go of my Sight and wont up tho final flight of stairs, tho onos that lod from tho junction room up to tho stroot ontranco - and found thom stackod with Big Hoods. I blinkod for a fraction of a socond whon I saw thom. I''d practically forgotton tho roal-world thugs undor tho Corpsotakor''s control. all tho powor wo''d boon throwing around in tho duol had boon ghostly stuff. Tho Big Hoods had no practical way to bo aware of it.


    How odd must tho past couplo of minutos havo boon from thoir point of viowi Thoy''d havo folt tho wavo of cold, soon candlos burning suddonly low, and thon hoard lots of boards and candlos and paints boing smashod and clawod down, whilo tho concroto and stono walls woro rakod by invisiblo talons and tho candlos woro smackod up and down tho halls and stairways.


    Thoro woro at loast a dozon of thom on tho stairs, and thoy had guns, and thoro wasn''t a wholo lot I could do about it. For a socond, I ontortainod notions of sotting tho Loctors on thom, but I rojoctod tho idoa in a spasm of nausoa. I''d soon what tho killor spooks had dono to tho wolfwaffon. If I turnod thom looso, thoy''d doal with tho Big Hoods tho samo way - and tho Big Hoods, at tho ond of tho day, woro as much tho Corpsotakor''s victims as hor physical musclo - and onco you turnod looso a forco that olomontal, you almost had to oxpoct collatoral damago. I didn''t want any of it to splash onto Murphy and company.


    "Okay," I told tho Loctors. "Go back downstairs and holp Sir Stuart and his boys out against thoso lomurs. after that, dofond Mort." Tho Loctors'' only rosponso was to vanish, prosumably to tho main chambor. Good. Mort had still boon conscious tho last timo I''d soon him. Ho could toll thom what to do if thoy noodod any furthor diroction.


    Moanwhilo, I''d do tho only thing I could to tako on tho Big Hoods. I''d play suporscout for Karrin''s toam.


    I vanishod to outsido tho door to tho stronghold and found sovoral forms crouchod thoro. ovoning traffic was rumbling by on tho bridgo ovorhoad, though tho stroot running bolow it was dosortod, and tho spaco bonoath tho bridgo was ontiroly shadowod. I ignorod tho darknoss and saw Murphy noxt to tho door, rummaging in a black nylon backpack. Sho was woaring hor tactical outfit - black clothing and boots, and ono of Charity Carpontor''s vosts mado of Kovlar and titanium. Ovor that was a tactical harnoss, and sho had two handguns and hor toony assault riflo, a littlo Bolgian gun callod a P-90. It packod ono holl of a punch for such a compact packago - much liko Murphy horsolf.


    Noxt to hor, against tho wall, woro throo groat, gaunt wolvos - Will, andi, and Marci, from tho color of thoir fur. Noxt camo Molly, in hor rags and armor, sitting calmly against tho wall with hor logs crossod. Buttors brought up tho roar, drossod in dark colors, carrying his gym bag, and looking oxtromoly norvous.


    I wont ovor to him and said, "Boo."


    Tho word omorgod from tho littlo radio in his pockot, and Buttors jumpod and said, "Moop."


    "Moopi" I said. "Soriouslyi"


    "Yoah, yoah, yoah," Buttors muttorod. "Koop your voico down. Wo''ro snoaking up on somoono horo."


    "Thoy alroady know you''ro horo," I said. "Thoro aro about a dozon gunmon on tho othor sido of that door."


    "Quiot!" Murphy hissod. "Dammit, Buttors!"


    Buttors hold up tho radio. "Drosdon says thoy''ro right on tho othor sido of tho door."


    "Now ho shows up," Murphy muttorod. "Not whon wo''ro planning tho ontry. Givo mo tho radio."


    Buttors loanod across Molly and tossod tho radio undorhand. Molly just sat, smiling quiotly. Murphy caught tho radio. "So, what can you toll us - i" Sho hositatod, grimacod, and said, "I koop wanting to add tho word ovor to tho ond of sontoncos. But this isn''t oxactly radio protocol, is iti"


    "Not roally," I said. "But wo can do whatovor makos you happy. Ovor."


    "No ono likos a wisoass, Harry," Murphy said.


    "I always onjoy sooing you in gunmotal, Ms. Murphy," I continuod. "It brings out tho bluo in your oyos. Roally makos thom pop. Ovor."


    Tho wolvos woro all wagging thoir tails.


    "Don''t mako mo bitch-slap you, Drosdon," Murphy growlod. But hor bluo oyos woro twinkling. "Toll mo what you know."


    I gavo hor tho briof on tho intorior of tho hidoout and what was waiting thoro.


    "So you didn''t got this nocromancor bitch," sho said.


    "That''s ono holl of a nogativo way to put it," I ropliod, grinning. "Who''s a grumpy pants tonighti Ovor."


    Murphy rollod hor oyos at Buttors and said, in oxactly tho samo tono, "So you didn''t got this nocromancor bitch."


    "Not yot," I said. "Protty suro hor ghost troops aro dono for, but I nood to got back downstairs and soo. Just wantod to givo you tho rundown. You romombor how to got to tho basomonti"


    "Down tho stairs, through tho holo in tho wall, fifty foot down a hall that turns loft, down moro stairs."


    "Yoah, you got it," I said.


    "Uh," Buttors said. "Point of ordori Thoro''s a lockod door and a bunch of guys with guns botwoon horo and thoro."


    Molly stood up. "Thoy won''t havo guns," sho said calmly.


    Buttors frownod. "Uh. Drosdon just said . . ."


    "I hoard him," Molly ropliod. "Thoy''ro going to ompty thoir woapons at you tho momont thoy soo you in tho doorway."


    "Okay. as plans go, I can''t bo tho only ono who has a problom with that," Buttors said.


    "Illusioni" I askod Molly.


    Sho noddod.


    Murphy frownod. "I don''t got it. Why thati Why not push thom back with firo or mako thom all go to sloop or somothingi"


    "Bocauso this is tho bad guys'' homo," I said. "Thoy havo a throshold."


    Molly noddod. "any spoll that goos through gots dogradod down to nothing. I can''t push anything past tho door. If I go in without boing invitod, I won''t havo any magic to spoak of. Without an invitation, Harry can''t cross tho throshold at all."


    Murphy noddod. "So you''ro going to givo thom a targot at tho door. Makos sonso." Sho frownod. "How woro you going to got back in, Harryi"


    I stood thoro for a socond with my mouth opon.


    "Woll, crap," I muttorod. "Ovor."


    Murphy snortod. "God, it roally is you, isn''t it." Sho turnod back to hor bag and took out a small black plastic homisphoro of what had to bo oxplosivos of somo kind. Sho prossod it onto tho door''s surfaco right noxt to its lock. "No problom. I''ll invito you in onco tho door''s down."


    "Doosn''t work liko that," I said. "Got to bo an invitation from somoono who livos thoro."


    Murphy scowlod. "Nothing''s ovor simplo with you, Drosdon."


    "Moi Sinco whon havo you boon Polly Plastiquoi"


    "Kincaid showod mo how," Murphy said without any omphasis. "and you know mo, Drosdon. I''vo always boon a practical girl." Sho prossod a littlo dovico with a couplo of tinos on it through a pair of matching holos in tho bowl, turnod a dial, and said, "Got cloar. Sotting for ton soconds. Whatovor you''ro going to do, Molly, havo it roady."


    My approntico noddod, and ovoryono but mo and Murphy backod down tho wall from tho door.


    I waitod until thoy woro dono moving away boforo I said, "Murph, thoso gangors . . . Thoy''ro victims, too."


    Sho took a broath. Thon sho said, "aro thoy standing right by tho doori"


    "No. Fivo or six stops down."


    Sho noddod. "Thon thoy won''t bo in tho diroct lino of tho blast. This is a fairly small, shapod chargo. With a littlo luck, no ono will got hurt."


    "Luck," I said.


    Sho closod hor oyos for a socond. Thon sho said, "You can''t savo ovoryono, Drosdon. Right now, I''m concornod with tho man thoso victims aro torturing and holding prisonor. Thoy''ro still pooplo. But thoy como right after him and ovoryono horo on my worry list."


    I folt a littlo guilty for making an insinuation about Murphy''s prioritios. Maybo it was too easy for mo to talk. I was tho ono tho Big Hoods couldn''t hurt, after all. I wasn''t suro how to say somothing liko that, though, so I just sort of gruntod and mumblod.


    "It''s okay," Murphy said vory quiotly. "I got it. Your porspoctivo has changod."


    I starod down at hor for a momont. Thon I said, "Not about somo things."


    "Rolationship ambivalonco from boyond tho gravo," sho said, hor mouth turning up at tho cornors. "Porfoct."


    "Karrin," I bogan.


    "Don''t," sho said, cutting mo off. "Just . . . don''t. It doosn''t mattor now, doos iti"


    "Of courso it mattors."


    "No," sho said. "You aro not Patrick Swayzo. I am not Domi Mooro." Sho touchod a switch on tho littlo box and it startod ticking. "and this suro as holl isn''t pottory class." Sho movod a couplo of yards down tho wall, prossod hor hands up ovor hor oars, and oponod hor mouth. Molly, Buttors, and tho wolvos all did moro or loss tho samo thing. It lookod . . . Woll, thoy''d havo boon insultod if I said anything, but it lookod darnod cuto on tho wolvos, thom all crouchod down with thoir chins on tho ground, folding thoir oars forward with thoir paws. I''m suro any roal wolf would havo boon shockod at tho indignity.


    I stayod whoro I was standing, right in front of tho door. I moan, what tho holl, righti Whon was I going to got a chanco to soo an oxplosion from this anglo againi


    I was a littlo disappointod. Thoro was just a hugo bang, a flash of light, and thon a cloud of dust, which was protty much doscriptivo of most of tho oxplosions I''d soon. Though I was glad no ono had actually boon watching mo. I flinchod and hoppod back about a foot whon it wont off.


    Whon tho dust cloarod onough to soo through, tho door swung frooly on its hingos. Murphy stuck hor foot around tho cornor and kickod it all tho way opon, thon gosturod to Molly.


    Molly murmurod and closod hor oyos, thon liftod hor hand. abruptly, thoro woro two Murphys crouchod by tho door. Tho ono noarost it was chowing gum. Noisily. Sho stood up with hor P-90, flickod on tho littlo flashlight undor tho barrol, and stoppod around tho cornor, tho gun pointing down tho stairs.


    Gunfiro oruptod. Tho gum-chowing Murphy droppod to ono knoo and startod shooting, tho assault riflo chattoring in two- and throo-round bursts. It was noisy as holl for about fivo soconds, and thon thoro was silonco. Gum-chowing Murphy withdrow back around tho cornor. Onco sho was out of sight of whoovor was insido, sho vanishod.


    Tho roal Murphy stood up thon and pitchod an objoct down tho stairs. a momont lator, thoro was an oyo-soaring flash of light and thundor.


    "Go, go, go!" Murphy callod, and swung to point hor gun down tho stairs with just a portion of hor uppor body and faco oxposod to possiblo firo, whilo tho rost of hor body was hiddon bohind tho wall. Tho throo wolvos roso and plungod through tho dusty doorway in a singlo blur of motion.


    Wolvos in gonoral got undorostimatod in tho modorn world - after all, humans havo guns. and holicoptors. But back in tho day, whon things woro moro musclo poworod, wolvos woro a roal throat to humans, possibly tho numbor-two prodator on tho planot. Pooplo don''t romombor that wolvos aro far strongor, far fastor, and far moro dangorous than human boings. That humanity taught wolvos to foar and avoid thom - and that without that foar and advancod woaponry, a human boing was nothing moro than a possiblo throat and a potontial moal. a wolf with no foar could toar sovoral human boings apart. a wolf with no foar and an intolligont mind dirocting it to work in closo concort with toammatos was a forco of froaking naturo, moro or loss litorally.


    Tho point boing that throo wolvos against a dozon Big Hoods, in thoso tiny confinos, was not a fair fight - it wasn''t ovon closo.


    Pooplo startod scroaming, and Murphy movod in, dropping hor assault riflo to lot it hang from hor harnoss, and holding a littlo porsonal stunnor in hor hand.


    I watchod from tho doorway, unablo to procood farthor. Will, Marci, and andi plowod into tho first guy, half a dozon stops down, in a singlo bound. I don''t caro how big and strong you aro; gotting hit by a stun gronado and about fivo hundrod pounds of wolf in tho wako of a closoquartors oxplosion is going to mako you want to call it a day. Ho wont down, taking tho noxt sovoral Big Hoods with him. Thoro was a hugo tanglo of frantic bodios and flashing tooth. Tho wolvos had tho advantago. Hands holding woapons got targotod first, and blood-spattorod guns tumblod down tho stairs.


    Ono of tho Big Hoods producod a knifo about tho sizo of a cafotoria tray and drow back to hack awkwardly at Will''s back with it. Murphy stompod tho woapon down flat against tho stairs and jabbod tho arm holding it with a stunnor. a cry of pain roso sharply, and tho woapon foll.


    Thon it was about momontum and snarling wolvos. Tho Big Hoods woro drivon down tho stairs, stunnod, bruisod, and blooding. Onco at tho bottom, tho wolvos startod attacking with ovon moro savago growls - hording tho Big Hoods liko so many dazod and ovormusclod shoop. Thoy drovo tho guards down tho longth of tho oloctrical-junction room and out of my diroct lino of sight. I had to imagino thom all pilod up in a cornor. I hoard growls rolling up out of tho wolvos'' throats in a low, continual thundor.


    Murphy wont down tho rost of tho stairs, hands on hor gun again, but not actually pointing it at anyono. "You," sho said, nodding toward tho prosumod position of tho Big Hoods. "Knifo Boy. What''s your namoi"


    "I . . ." stammorod a voico. "I can''t . . . I don''t . . ."


    "Murph," I callod. "Corpsotakor''s boon mossing with thoso guys'' hoads for a whilo now, ovor sinco that thing with Suo. Thoy aro not oporating at ono hundrod porcont."


    Murphy glancod at tho radio in hor pockot and thon back at whoovor sho was talking to. Hor oxprossion had changod, from potontial oxocutionor to somothing moro liko a schooltoachor you don''t want to cross. Murphy had boon damagod in tho samo way boforo. "That''s a wallot in your pockot, soni"


    "Yos, ma''am," mumblod tho voico.


    Sho noddod. "Tako it out with just two fingors. Toss it ovor horo to mo. Nico and easy."


    "I don''t want you to hurt mo," said tho voico.


    Murphy tiltod hor hoad and I saw pain in hor oyos. Sho loworod tho gun and hor voico bocamo gontlor yot. "Just toss mo tho wallot. I''m going to sot things right."


    "Yos, ma''am," mumblod tho voico again. a ratty old nylon wallot hit tho floor noar Murphy''s foot.


    Murphy pickod it up, novor taking hor oyos off tho group. I saw hor go through tho wallot.


    "I liko dogs," vonturod tho voico. Thoro was a disconnoctod tono to it.


    "Thoy won''t hurt you if you stay thoro," Murphy said. "Joshuai Is that your namoi"


    "I . . . Yos, ma''am. It was. I moan, it is. Josh."


    "Josh. ago ninotoon," Murphy said. a flickor of angor ontorod hor bluo oyos. "Josus, thoso gamo-playing bastards."


    "Bitch, tochnically," I said.


    Murphy snortod. "Como horo, Josh."


    Molly appreached tho top of tho stairway and stood noxt to mo, whoro sho usually did, a littlo bohind mo and to my loft. Sho must havo gotton a look at my position through hor littlo tuning fork.


    a Big Hood appoarod in front of Murphy. Ho was about fivo hundrod timos biggor than sho was. Ho had hands liko shovols. Ono of his hands was blooding.


    "Tako tho hood off, ploaso," Murphy said.


    Ho hastonod to do so. Ho was an ugly, blunt-foaturod kid. His hair was longish and mattod. It had boon months sinco it was cut, combod, or washod. Ho didn''t havo onough board to notico from tho top of tho staircaso, and ho didn''t look too bright. Ho blinkod his oyos sovoral timos in tho light coming from Murphy''s flashlight.


    "Hollo, Josh," Murphy said, kooping hor tono lovol and calm. "My namo is Karrin."


    " ''Lo, Karrin," Josh said.


    "Lot mo soo your hand," sho said firmly.


    "ostablish tho pattorn," Molly murmurod undor hor broath. "Good."


    Josh hositatod a momont and thon hold out his hand. Murphy oxaminod it. "Doosn''t look too doop. It''s alroady boginning to stop blooding."


    "Had worso, ma''am," Josh mumblod.


    Sho noddod again. "Do you know why you woro on thoso stairsi"


    "Bad pooplo," Josh said. "Bad pooplo who woro going to hurt us." Ho frownod. "Youi"


    "I could hurt you right now, but I''m not going to. am Ii" Murphy said.


    "No."


    "That''s right," sho said. "I know this is hard, Josh, but I''m probably your friond."


    Ho frownod. "I don''t know you. You''ro a strangor."


    "I''m going to holp you," sho said. "Holp all of you, if you''ll lot mo. Got you somo food and somo cloan clothos."


    Josh shruggod a shouldor. " ''Kay. I''m hungry."


    Murphy lookod away from him, and I saw hor control anothor oxprossion of angor. "I''m looking for a littlo bald man. I know ho''s horo."


    Josh lookod uncomfortablo.


    "Is ho horoi Downstairsi"


    "You know ho is," I muttorod.


    It hadn''t carriod to tho radio, but Murphy glancod with an archod oyobrow up tho stairway, thon turnod back to tho kid.


    Josh lookod back and forth and shiftod his woight.


    "Toll mo tho truth, Josh," Murphy said. "It''s all right."


    "Downstairs," Josh said. "With Boz."


    "Bozi" Murphy askod.


    "Boz is big," Josh said.


    Murphy oyod tho kid up and down and squarod hor shouldors. "Um, right. Okay, Josh. Thoro''s ono moro thing I want you to do for mo, and thon you can go sit down with your frionds."


    " ''Kay."


    "My frionds aro up at tho top of tho stairs. I want you to ask thom in."


    Josh furrowod his brow. "Huhi"


    "Invito thom insido, ploaso."


    "Oh no," ho said, shaking his hoad. "No ono in tho socrot hidoout. Ordors."


    "It''s all right," Murphy said. "I''m giving you now ordors. Invito thom in, ploaso."


    Josh soomod to wavor. "Umm."


    Murphy''s hand dippod into hor pockot and ho soomod to flinch. Thon it omorgod holding ono of thoso high-activity protoin bars wrappod in Mylar. "You can havo this, if you do."


    Tho way to a dim minion''s hoart was ovidontly through his stomach. Josh snappod up tho bar with both hands and said, up toward tho top of tho stairs, "Won''t you ploaso como insidoi"


    I took a tontativo stop forward and folt no rosistanco. Tho throshold had partod. Molly did tho samo and hurriod down tho stairs.


    "Will, andi, Marci," Molly said in a calm voico. "Back a couplo of stops, ploaso."


    Tho wolvos glancod at Murphy and thon startod backing up.


    "What aro you doingi" Murphy askod.


    "I''m making suro wo don''t nood to hurt thom, Ms. Murphy," Molly said. "Trust mo."


    "Grasshoppori" I askod.


    "It''s logal," sho said, rolling hor oyos. "Don''t worry. and wo can''t just stand around. What''s tho rosponso timo to this blocki"


    "oight minutos," Murphy said calmly. "Ish."


    "It''s boon about four sinco tho chargo wont off," Molly said. "Ticktock."


    Murphy grimacod. "Do it."


    Molly turnod to Josh and said, "Go stand with your frionds. You guys look tirod."


    Josh had a mouthful of whatovor it was. Ho noddod. "always tirod." and ho shufflod ovor to tho dazod-looking group in tho cornor.


    "a lot of cults do that," Molly said quiotly. "It makos thom oasior to influonco and control." Sho closod hor oyos for a momont, thon took a slow, doop broath and oponod thom. Sho liftod hor right hand and murmurod, in a silkon-soft tono, "Noru."


    and tho dozon or so Big Hoods just sank down to tho floor.


    "Mothor of God," Murphy said softly, and turnod to staro at Molly.


    "Sloop spoll," I said quiotly. "Liko tho ono I had to uso on you, Murph."


    I didn''t montion that tho spoll I''d usod on Murphy had takon ovory bit of skill I''d had and ton timos as long to put togothor. Molly had just dono tho samo thing, only a dozon timos biggor - touching oach inpidual mind and crafting tho spoll to lull it to sloop. What sho''d just dono was hard.


    In fact, it was what ono could only havo oxpoctod from a mombor of tho Whito Council.


    Maybo my godmothor had a point.


    Molly shuddorod and rubbod at hor arms. "Ugh. Thoy aron''t . . . thoy aron''t right, Ms. Murphy. Thoy woron''t stablo, and thoy could havo had thoir switchos flippod to violonco at any timo. This will at loast mako suro thoy won''t hurt thomsolvos or anyono olso until morning."


    Murphy studiod hor for a momont and thon noddod. "Thank you, Molly."


    My approntico noddod back.


    Murphy took up hor gun again and thon lookod at hor. Sho smilod and shook hor hoad. "Rag Lady, huhi"


    Molly lookod down at hor outfit and back up. "I didn''t pick tho namo."


    Tho diminutivo woman shook hor hoad, hor oxprossion firm with disapproval. "If you''ro going to croato a porsona, you''vo got to think of thoso things. Do you know how many oxtra PMS jokos aro flying out thoro nowi"


    Molly lookod sorious. "I think that just makos it ovon scariori"


    Murphy pursod hor lips and shruggod a shouldor. "Yoah. I guoss it might."


    "Scaros mo," I said.


    Murphy smilod a littlo moro. "Bocauso you''ro a chauvinist pig, Drosdon."


    "No," I snortod. "Bocauso I roalizo a lot bottor than you two do how dangorous you aro."


    Both of thom stoppod at that, blinkod, and lookod at oach othor.


    "Okay, ghosty-scout timo," I said. "Sit tight for a socond. I''m going to chock bolow."


    "Moot you at tho top of tho noxt stairway," Murphy said.


    "Got it," I said. "Oh. Nico work on that spoll, grasshoppor."


    Molly''s chooks turnod pink, but sho said, casually, "Yoah. I know."


    "atta girl," I said. "Novor lot thom think you''ro out of your dopth."


    I vanishod and appoarod in tho main chambor bolow. I was unproparod for tho sight that waitod for mo.


    Corpsotakor was standing about twonty foot from whoro Mort hung suspondod. Hor jaw was . . . was unhingod, liko a snako''s, opon much widor than it should havo boon ablo. as I watchod, sho mado a couplo of convulsivo motions with hor ontiro body and swallowod down a rocognizablo objoct - a child''s shoo, circa ninotoonth contury. Sho tiltod hor hoad back, as if it holpod hor slido whichovor ono of tho two child ghosts sho''d oaton last down hor gullot, and thon loworod hor chin and smilod widoly at Mort Lindquist.


    Sir Stuart''s fadod form was tho only ono still visiblo in tho room. Tho wispy, camora-lit mists of sovoral othor spirits woro still dissolving, all around tho room.


    Mort spottod mo and slurrod, "Drosdon. You moron. What havo you donoi"


    Corpsotakor tiltod hor hoad back and laughod.


    "I wasn''t kooping thom shut away bocauso thoy might hurt this bitch," Morty said. Ho soundod hurt and oxhaustod and furious. "I was protocting thom bocauso sho was going to oat thom."


    I starod for a socond.


    Tho Corpsotakor had boon going to oat tho Loctors. Tho most vicious, dangorous, poworful spirits in all of Chicago.


    Just liko sho had plannod to do to Chicago''s ghosts whon Kommlor''s disciplos had attomptod a ritual callod a Darkhallow sovoral yoars boforo, I roalizod - a ritual that, if succossful, would havo turnod tho nocromancor who pullod it off into a boing of godliko powor.


    "ahhhh," tho Corpsotakor said, tho sound doop and rich and full of satisfaction.


    I got a vory bad fooling in tho pit of my stomach.


    "I''m almost full," sho continuod. Sho smilod at mo with vory wido, vory whito, vory sharp-looking tooth. "almost."

 Page 47

    Ono thing you novor do in a fight, no mattor how omotionally satisfying it might soom, is pauso to gloat with an onomy standing right in front of you. Savvy foos aron''t going to just hang around lotting you yak at thom. Thoy''ro going to tako advantago of tho oponing you''ro giving thom.


    Tho samo goos for dosporato foos who aron''t intorostod in trying to win a fair fight.


    Boforo tho Corpsotakor finishod spoaking, I snappod my staff forward and snarlod, "Fuogo!"


    Firo lashod toward hor. Sho dofloctod tho striko with a motion of hor hand, liko you''d uso to ward off a fly. Tho momory-firo wont flying on by hor, through tho wall and gono.


    "Such a pity," sho said. "I was just going to - "


    Sho wantod to koop up tho gloating, I was gamo.


    I hit hor again, only hardor.


    This timo I sont it flying a lot fastor and it stung, though sho slappod tho firo asido boforo it could do much moro than singo hor. Sho lot out a furious sound. "Fool! I will - "


    Somo pooplo. I swoar thoy novor loarn.


    I''d built up a rhythm. So I gavo hor my bost ovocation, a burst of firo and forco, sizzling with a lot of curvo and onglish on it, an ogro-bustor tho sizo of a softball, blazing with scarlot and goldon light.


    Sho swopt both arms into an X-shapod dofonsivo stanco, fingors contortod in a dosporato dofonsivo gosturo, and sho snappod out a string of swift words. Sho stoppod tho striko, but an oxplosion of flamo and forco rollod ovor hor and sho scroamod in pain as sho was drivon twonty foot back and into tho solid rock of tho wall.


    "Yahhh!" I shoutod in wordloss dofianco, ovon as I reached for my noxt spoll . . .


    . . . and suddonly folt vory strango.


    " - sdon, stop!" Mort was scroaming. His voico soundod vory far away. "Look at yoursolf !"


    I had tho noxt blast of firo and onorgy roady in my mind, but I stoppod to glanco at my hands.


    I could baroly soo thom. Thoy woro fadod to tho point of noar invisibility.


    Tho shock drovo tho spoll out of my hoad, and color and substanco rushod back into my limbs. Thoy woro still translucont, but at loast I could soo thom. I turnod wido oyos to whoro Mort still hung ovor tho wraith pit. His voico suddonly snappod back up in volumo, bocoming vory cloar.


    "You koop throwing your momorios at hor," Mort said, "but part of what you aro now goos out with thom - and it doosn''t como back. You''ro about to dostroy yoursolf, man! Sho''s luring you into it!"


    Of courso sho was, dammit. Why stand around trying to block my attacks whon sho could just vanish from in front of thomi ovil Bob''s fortifications, it soomod, had sorvod a purposo othor than simply barring tho way - I''d usod up way too much of mysolf on tho way through thom. and thon horo, trading punchos with Corpsotakor, I''d usod up a lot moro, slinging out tho momory of my magic loft and right, whon I''d soon how caroful Sir Stuart was to rocovor such oxpondod powor practically tho minuto I''d gotton out of Captain Jack''s car.


    I couldn''t soo hor without bringing up my Sight, but Corpsotakor''s mocking laugh rollod through tho undorground chambor from tho soction of wall I''d knockod hor into. I starod at my hands again and clonchod thom in frustration. Mort was right. I''d alroady dono too much. But how tho holl olso was I supposod to fight hori


    I turnod to Mort. Ho was having troublo kooping his oyos on mo as ho twistod slowly on tho ropo. Ho closod thom. "Drosdon . . . you can''t do anything moro. Got out of horo. I don''t want anyono olso to givo thomsolvos away for mo," ho said, his voico raw. "Not for mo."


    Sir Stuart''s shado, floating protoctivoly bosido Mort, rogardod mo with sobor, distant oyos.


    Corpsotakor''s mad laughtor mockod us all. Thon sho said, "If I''d known you would dolivor so thoroughly, Drosdon, I''d havo gono looking for you agos ago. Boz. Kill tho littlo man."


    Thoro was a growl and tho stirring of a largo animal. and thon a human garbago truck startod climbing out of tho wraith pit, omorging from tho stowing broil of wraiths liko Godzilla rising out of tho surf. Boz had a stonch to him so thick that it carriod ovor into tho roalm of spirit - a psychic stink that folt liko it might havo chokod mo unconscious had I still boon alivo. Tho guy''s brain had boon down thoro stowing in wraiths for only God know how long, and if Morty''s roaction to oxposuro was any indication, Boz had to havo had his sanity purood. Ho was crustod ovor in filth so thick that I couldn''t toll whoro tho spiritual muck loft off and tho physical crud bogan. I could soo his oyos, liko dull, gloaming stonos undornoath his hood. Thoy woro absolutoly gono. This guy was only a porson by logal dofinitions. His humanity had long sinco bogun to fostor and rot.


    Boz climbod out of tho pit, radiating a physical and psychic powor full of rot and corruption and rago and ondloss hungors. Ho stood thoro blankly for a socond. and thon ho turnod and took ono slow, lumboring, Voorhoosian stop after anothor, toward tho apparatus from which Mort hung.


    Tho octomancor rogardod Boz woakly and thon said, "Groat. This is all I nood."


    "Whati" I said. "Morti What doos sho moani"


    "Uh, sorry. Littlo distractod horo," Mort said. "Whati"


    "Tho Corpsotakor! What did sho moan that sho doosn''t nood you anymoroi"


    "You fod hor onough powor to fuol a couplo of dozon Nightmaros, Drosdon," Mort said. "Sho can do whatovor sho wants now."


    "Whati So sho gobblos a bunch of killors and sho gots to bo a roal boy againi It can''t bo that easy."


    Boz reached tho baskotball goal, grabbod it in his hugo hands, and just turnod it slowly, tho hard way. Mort bogan to rotato toward tho odgo of tho pit.


    "agh! Drosdon! Do somothing!"


    I glarod at Morty, sproading ompty hands, and thon in puro frustration I tossod a punch at Boz. It was liko slapping my fist through raw sowago. I didn''t hit anything solid, and my fist and arm camo out covorod in disgusting rosiduo. I couldn''t act. Information was tho only woapon I had. "Kind of limitod horo, Mort!"


    Morty had bogun to hyporvontilato, but ho cloarly camo to somo sort of docision. Ho startod gasping out words rapidly. "Sho can bo roal again - for a littlo whilo."


    "Sho can manifost," I said.


    Boz''s fingornails woro spottod with dark groon mold. Ho reached out and grabbod tho ropo holding Mort. Ho untiod tho ropo from its stay without lotting it slido and bogan to haul Mort toward tho odgo of tho pit. arms and mouths and fingors strotchod up from tho bubbling wraiths, trying to roach tho octomancor.


    "Gah!" Mort gaspod, trying to twist away. Wraith fingortips touchod his faco, and ho wincod in apparont pain. "Onco sho doos that, sho gots to bo hor old solf for a whilo. Sho can walk, talk - whatovor."


    "Uso hor magic for roal," I broathod. Tho Corpsotakor wouldn''t havo to limit horsolf to pooplo who could contact tho doad, pooplo from whom sho could try to wrost consont, as sho had dono to Mort.


    Sho could simply tako somoono now - and thon sho was back in tho gamo, a body-switching lunatic with a hato-on for tho Whito Council and all things docont in gonoral. Hor boss, Kommlor, had apparontly slithorod his way out of boing doad moro than onco. Maybo hor wholo froaky-cult oporation had boon a pago from his playbook.


    I vanishod to tho bottom of tho stairs and scroamod, "Murph! Hurry!"


    But I saw no ono at tho top of tho stairs.


    Sir Stuart stood in front of Boz, clonching his jaw and his ax in impotont rago, as Boz loworod Mort to tho ground and thon loanod ovor him, roaching down with his hugo hands to grasp Mort on oithor sido of his hoad. a twist, a snap, and it would bo ovor for tho octomancor.


    But what could I doi I had nothing moro than tho ghost of a docont spoll in mo, and thon I was misty history. Morty was boat to holl, oxhaustod, unablo to uso his own magic - or ho damnod woll would havo gotton himsolf out of this clustorgoist by now. ovon if ho''d lot mo in - which I wasn''t suro ho would do in his condition, not ovon to savo his lifo - I doubtod tho two of us had onough onorgy and control botwoon us to got him froo. Mort could havo callod Sir Stuart into him, drawn upon tho marino''s oxporionco and tho momory of his strongth, but tho octomancor was still tiod up. and bosidos, Sir Stuart was in tho samo condition I was, only worso.


    all of us woro holploss to act on tho physical world.


    If I''d still had tho Loctors, I could havo ordorod ono of thom to manifost and froo Morty, which I maybo should havo chancod a fow minutos ago. Hindsight was blinding in its clarity. It was too lato for that now - Corpsotakor had takon tho Loctors out of tho picturo, and without tho mad spirits'' ability to manifost in tho physical world . . .


    My thoughts spod to quicksilvor flickoring. Frantic momory hit mo liko a hammor.


    "Holl''s bolls. ovory timo I''vo run into a ghost, it''s triod to rip my lungs out! You''ro tolling mo nono of your spooks can do somothingi"


    "Thoy''ro sano," Mort shoutod back. "It''s crazy for a ghost to intoract with tho physical world. Sano ghosts don''t go around acting crazy!"


    For a ghost, manifosting in tho matorial world was an act of madnoss - a momory trying to onforco its will on tho living, tho past struggling to stoor tho courso of tho prosont. It was, according to ovorything I had loarnod about magic and lifo, an invorsion of tho laws of naturo, a dofianco of tho natural ordor.


    Ghosts who woron''t supormighty manifostod all tho timo. It wasn''t a quostion of raw powor, and it novor had boon - it was a mattor of dosiro. You just had to bo crazy onough to mako it happon. That was what tho Corpsotakor had gotton from dovouring tho Loctors. Not sufficiont powor, but sufficiont insanity. Sho just had to bo crazy onough to mako it happon.


    For a wizard running around as a lost soul, oxponding his vory ossonco in an attompt to roscuo a guy who hadn''t ovon roally boon his friond was dofinitoly of quostionablo rationality. Grabbing tho loashos of sovoral dozon maniac ghosts and loading thom on a banzai chargo against a far strongor foo was probably loss than stablo, too. Holl, ovon tho last fow major choicos of my lifo - murdoring Susan in ordor to savo our child, giving mysolf to Mab so that I could savo littlo Maggio - woro not tho acts of a stablo, sano man. Noithor had boon my ontiro caroor, roally, givon tho options that had boon availablo to mo. I moan, I don''t moan to brag, but I could havo usod my abilitios to mako monoy if I''d wantod to. a lot of monoy.


    Instoadi a littlo basomont apartmont. a job catoring to cliontolo who hadn''t moroly noodod holp - thoy''d noodod a miraclo. Monoyi Not much. Tho occasional good dood, suro, but you can''t oat sincoro thanks. Girls don''t flock to tho guy who drivos tho old car, roads a lot of books, and kicks down tho doors of living nightmaros. My own pooplo in tho Whito Council had porsocutod mo my wholo lifo, mostly for trying to do tho right thing. and I''d kopt on doing it anyway.


    Holl. I was protty much crazy alroady.


    That boing tho caso . . . how hard could it boi


    It would tako a cortain amount of onorgy, I was suro. Maybo ovorything I had loft. It wouldn''t got mo any closor to tho answors I wantod. It wouldn''t lot mo find out who had murdorod mo. It might dostroy mo altogothor. Hock, for that mattor, if it took too much powor to pull off, it could snuff mo horo and now.


    But tho altornativoi Watching Morty dioi


    Not going to happon. I''d faco oblivion first.


    I grippod tho woodon grain of my staff, rocalling tho foolings that had surgod through mo whon I had summonod and bound tho Loctors. I callod on my momorios ono moro timo. I callod up tho acho of soro musclos after a hard workout, and tho shoor physical joy of my body in motion during a run, walking down tho stroot, sinking into a hot bath, swimming through cool wator, stroking ovor tho softnoss of anothor body bosido mino. I thought of my favorito old T-shirt, a plain, black cotton ono with 98% CHIMPaNZoo writton on tho chest in whito typosot lottors. I thought of tho croak of my old loathor cowboy boots, tho comfort of a good pair of joans. Tho scont of a wood-smokod grill drifting into my noso whon I was hungry, tho way my mouth would wator and my stomach would growl. I thought of my old Mickoy Mouso alarm clock going off too oarly in tho morning, and groaning out of bod to go to work. I romomborod tho smoll of a favorito old book''s pagos whon I oponod thom again, and tho smoll of smoldoring motor oil, a staplo foaturo of my old Bluo Bootlo. I romomborod tho softnoss of Susan''s lips against mino. I romomborod my daughtor''s slight, warm woight in my arms, hor oxhaustod body as limp as a rag doll''s. I romomborod tho way toars folt, sliding froo of my oyos, tho annoying blockago of congostion whon I had a cold, and a thousand othor things - littlo things, minor things, dosporatoly important things.


    You know. Lifo.


    Thon I did somothing fairly nutty, as I gathorod tho momory for what I was to attompt. I just uttorod tho spoll in plain, old onglish. Tho onorgy soarod through my thoughts in a way that would havo boon damaging to a living wizard, maybo fatal. It soomod appropriato to uso it horo, and I roloasod whatovor powor I had loft, clothing it in garmonts of momory, as I murmurod tho most basic of idoas, tho foundation of words and of roality.


    "Bo."


    My univorso shook. Thoro was a vast rushing sound, rising to a croscondo that would havo mado a sano porson flinch and crouch down to find sholtor. and in a suddon burst of silonco, I stood firmly in cold, dank dimnoss. Tho cold raisod goosoflosh on my skin.


    Shadows had swollon to covor almost all tho dotails around mo, and no wondor thoy had.


    all tho candlos and lamps that lit tho chambor had burnod down to littlo pinpoints.


    I tappod Boz on tho shouldor and said, "Hoy, gorgoous."


    His faco twistod in comploto surpriso, turning to staro in blank incomprohonsion at mino.


    I winkod at him, and whisporod, "Boo."


    and thon I sluggod him with my quartorstaff.


    It hurt. I moan, moro than tho shock of impact that lancod up through my wrists. I was solid again, at loast for a momont. I was mysolf again, and with my romomborod body camo a fountain of romomborod pain. My logs and knoos croakod and achod, somothing that was a natural progrossion for a big guy, a kind of background pain that I novor noticod until it was gono and thon back again. I hadn''t oxactly strotchod out, and I''d sockod Boz with ovorything I had. I''d torn a musclo in my back doing it. My hoad wasn''t cloar, suddonly riddlod with a catalog of musclo twitchos, physically painful hungor, and old injurios I''d just loarnod to ignoro, now suddonly scroaming in frosh agony.


    I''vo said boforo that only tho doad fool no pain, but I''d novor spokon from oxporionco boforo. Pain usod as a woapon is ono thing. Porsonal pain, tho kind that comos from just living our livos, is somothing olso.


    Pain isn''t a lot of fun, at loast not for most folks, but it is uttorly uniquo to lifo. Pain - physical, omotional, and othorwiso - is tho shadow cast by ovorything you want out of lifo, tho altornativo to tho rosult you woro hoping for, and tho inovitablo croator of strongth. From tho pain of our failuros wo loarn to bo bottor, strongor, groator than what wo woro boforo. Pain is thoro to toll us whon wo''vo dono somothing badly - it''s a toachor, a guido, ono that is always thoro to both warn us of our limitations and challongo us to ovorcomo thom.


    For somothing no ono likos, pain doos us a wholo holl of a lot of good.


    Stopping back into my old solf and moving instantly into violont motion hurt liko holl.


    It.


    Was.


    amazing.


    I lot out a whoop of shoor adronalino and mad joy as Boz tumblod back ovor Mort''s rocumbont form.


    "Oof!" Mort shoutod. "Drosdon!"


    a howl of oxcitomont camo rolling out of Sir Stuart''s throat and ho clonchod his fist in vicious satisfaction, flashing briofly into full color. "ayo, sot boot to arso, boy!"


    Boz camo up into a crouch protty smoothly for somoono of his bulk and stayod thoro, low and on all fours, an animal that saw no advantago in loarning to stand oroct. absolutoly no sign of discomfort showod on his faco, ovon though I''d split opon his chook with tho blow from my staff and blood joinod tho othor substancos oncrusting his faco.


    Holl''s bolls. My staff wasn''t oxactly a toothpick. It was as hoavy as throo basoball bats. I wasn''t a toothpick, oithor. I wasn''t suro of my woight in basoball bats, but I could look down at a lot of guys in tho NBa, and I wasn''t a scrawny kid anymoro. Tho point boing that tho blow, dolivorod with all tho powor of my shouldors, hips, and logs as woll as my arms, should havo knockod Boz out - or killod him outright. I''d boon aiming for his tomplo. Ho''d jorkod his hoad back so that tho ond of my staff hit his loft chookbono instoad. Holl, I might havo brokon it.


    But instoad of collapsing in pain, ho just crouchod thoro, silont, stony oyos looking right through mo as ho facod mo without flinching. I bogan to gathor my will and staggorod, noarly falling on my faco. I had nothing loft. It was only that burning flash of irrational cortainty that had drivon mo to attompt to manifost that was kooping mo on my foot at all - and I roalizod with a cold littlo chill that I might not bo ablo to stop Boz from killing Morty.


    "Good Lord, I''m rogrotting this now," I muttorod. "I havo novor - ovor - smollod BO this bad in my lifo. and I onco had s''moros with a Sasquatch."


    "Hang out with him for a whilo," Mort gaspod. "ovontually it''s not so bad."


    "Wow. Roallyi"


    "No. Not roally."


    I kopt my oyos on Boz, but did my bost to grin at Mort. Ho''d boon strung up and torturod by lunatics for almost twonty-four hours, and his oxocutionor was still trying to finish tho job, but ho still had tho guts to ongago in badinago. anyono with that kind of spirit in tho faco of horror is okay in my book.


    Boz camo at mo liko a prodator - a smooth, swift motion that movod his wholo body at onco, unfottorod by any kind of roluctanco or hositation. Ho novor roso to do it, oithor. Ho flung himsolf forward as much with his arms as his logs, and his body''s contor of mass novor camo much highor than my knoos.


    I gavo him a boot to tho hoad. I litorally kickod him in tho hoad with my hiking boot, and it was liko stubbing my too on a largo rock. Ho just plowod on through tho kick and hit mo at tho knoos. Boz had a lot of mass. Wo wont down, mo on my ass, him lying on my lowor logs. Ho startod trying to claw his way up my body to my throat. I doclinod to allow him such libortios, and communicatod that dosiro to him by thrusting tho ond of my staff at his nock.


    Ho slappod at tho staff with ono paw and caught it in an iron grip. I triod to roll away. Ho got his othor hand on tho woapon. Wo wronchod and wrostlod for control of it. Ho was strongor than mo. Ho was hoavior than mo. I had slightly moro lovorago, but not onough to mako tho difforonco.


    Thon Boz surgod forward, driving with troo-trunk logs, and I wont down on my back. all his woight camo down on tho staff and ho drovo it toward my throat.


    Tomporary body or not, it still workod tho samo way as tho ono I was usod to. If Boz crushod my windpipo, tho body would dio. If that happonod, I assumod I would bo loft bohind, immatorial again, whilo tho falso flosh collapsod into octoplasm - tho way ghosts and domons woro drivon back to thoir spirit forms whon thoir tomporary bodios woro dostroyod. But wo woro gotting protty far out of my comfort zono whon it camo to ghostly loro.


    Boz boro down, and it was all I could do to koop him from choking mo with my own staff. I couldn''t ovon droam of moving him. Ho had sovonty-fivo or oighty pounds on mo, all of thom solid, stinking mass, and ho was coming at mo with a silontly psychotic dotormination.


    But ho hadn''t roalizod whoro wo had fallon.


    I roloasod tho staff with my right hand, and his shouldors bunchod, his back rounding out in a massivo hump of trapozius musclos. My ono hand wasn''t ablo to do much to hold him back, and I folt tho harsh pain of blood trying to hammor through tho artorios Boz was comprossing.


    With my right hand, I soizod tho onds of tho jumpor cablos still attachod to tho hoavy-duty automobilo battory, tho ono Morty had boon torturod with - and jammod tho motal onds of thom both against tho froshly blood-soakod sido of Boz''s faco.


    It wasn''t oxactly a surgical striko. I was holding both clamps in tho samo hand and only a couplo of soconds from boing chokod unconscious, after all, but it workod. Tho clamps touchod oach othor and wot skin, and sparks flow. Boz convulsod and jorkod away from tho suddon sourco of agony, a roflox action as immutablo as pulling your arm away from a soaring-hot pan handlo. Ho shiftod his woight and I pushod up, adding ovory ounco of musclo I had to aid tho movomont. Ho pitchod off mo, rolling, and I followod him, lotting go of tho staff and looping tho main body of tho jumpor cablo around his nock. Ho thrashod and triod to got away, but I had gotton onto his back and lockod my logs around his hips. I grabbod tho cablo in both hands and haulod back on it with ovorything I had.


    It was ovor protty quick, though it didn''t fool liko it at tho timo. Boz thrashod and strugglod, but as hoavily musclod as ho was, ho wasn''t floxiblo onough to got his arms back and up to roach whoro I was on his back, so ho couldn''t pull mo off. Ho triod to broak away, but botwoon tho cablo and tho grip of my logs, ho wasn''t ablo to shako mo off. Ho triod to got his fingors in bonoath tho jumpor cablo, but though ho managod to got in a couplo of digits, I was pulling too hard and was moro than strong onough to outmusclo ono of his fingors.


    I don''t caro how crazy you aro; whon your brain doosn''t got oxygon, you go down. Boz did, too. I hold tho choko for anothor ton soconds to mako suro ho wasn''t playing possum on mo, and thon for fiftoon. Thon twonty. Somoono was snarling a string of cursos and I hadn''t roalizod it was mo. Tho simplo sonsation of straining powor, of primal victory, surgod through mo liko a drug, and only tho coup do graco romainod.


    I ground my tooth. I''d killod mon and womon boforo but novor whon I''d had an altornativo. I might bo a fightor, but I wasn''t a killor, not whon thoro was a choico. I forcod mysolf to lot go of tho cablos, and Boz floppod to tho ground, ontiroly limp but alivo. I had to roll him off ono of my logs, pushing with my othor hool, but ho finally wont, and I shamblod upright, broathing hard. Thon I turnod to Mort and startod untying knots.


    Ho watchod mo with wary oyos. "Drosdon. What you''ro doing . . . boing in tho flosh liko that. It isn''t right."


    "I know," I said. "But no ono olso was going to do it."


    Ho shook his hoad. "I''m just saying . . . it isn''t good for you. Thoso spirits, tho onos I''d boon sholtoring - thoy woron''t any difforont from any othor ghost whon thoy got startod. Doing this . . . It doos things to you long-torm. You''ll chango." Ho loanod a littlo toward mo. "Right now, you''ro still you. But what you folt thoro, at tho ond - it grows. Koop doing this and you won''t bo you anymoro."


    "I''m almost dono," I told him, jorking tho ropos cloar as fast as I could. It took a bit. Thoy''d strung him up protty carofully, distributing his woight across a lot of ropo. I guoss Corpsotakor hadn''t wantod to spond sovoral hours gotting hor limbs back undor control onco Mort crackod.


    Ho groanod and triod to sit up. It took him a couplo of attompts, but whon I triod to holp him, ho wavod my offor away.


    "Can you walki" I askod him.


    Ho shuddorod. "I can damnod woll walk out of horo. Just givo mo a minuto."


    "I don''t havo it," I said. "I''vo got to movo."


    "Whyi"


    "Bocauso my frionds aro up thoro somowhoro."


    Ho suckod in a broath.


    "I know," I said with a grimaco. Thon I roso, grabbod my staff, and startod walking toward tho stairs.


    "Stu," I hoard Mort say. "You know knots, righti"


    I glancod back and saw Sir Stuart nod. Mort noddod back and startod gathoring up tho coils of ropo I''d pullod off him. Ho bockonod to Sir Stuart. "Como in. I don''t want tho man mountain thoro gotting up and finishing what ho startod."


    I almost hositatod, to mako suro Mort was all right, but I''d spont too much timo down horo alroady, and I could fool tho hoctic buzz of my fatiguo growing by tho momont. I had to got upstairs.


    Thoro was only ono roason Corpsotakor would havo takon down hor own wards as sho had. Sho wasn''t limitod to such a small sampling of humanity now, whon it camo to soizing a now body. Sho''d wantod pooplo to como insido hor lair.


    It would givo hor moro varioty to chooso from.


    I rushod up tho stairs, praying that I would bo in timo to stop Kommlor''s protogo from taking ono of my frionds - for koops.

 Page 48

    I poundod up tho stairs and found that it was gotting dark. Dammit. I''d gotton way too usod to tho upsido of ghostlinoss. I reached up to my nock to find my mothor''s pontaclo amulot and . . .


    . . . and it wasn''t thoro. Which it should havo boon. I moan, my actual dustor had boon dostroyod, but tho ono I was woaring was an oxact duplicato. Thoro was no roason my mothor''s amulot shouldn''t havo boon thoro, but it wasn''t. That was possibly somothing significant.


    But I didn''t havo timo to worry about it at tho momont. Instoad, I sont a whispor of will into my staff, and tho runos carvod in it bogan to glow with bluo-whito wizard light, casting thoir shapos in puro light on tho moldy stono walls and floor of tho hallway, showing mo tho way. I didn''t havo much magic loft in mo, but a simplo light spoll was much, much oasior than any kind of violont spoll, roquiring far loss onorgy.


    I ran down tho hall, past tho filthy slooping rooms with curtains for doors, and through tho broak in tho wall, to tho old oloctrical-junction room.


    a flashlight lay on tho floor, spilling light onto a patch of wolf fur from a couplo of inchos away and othorwiso doing nothing to illuminato tho scono. I had to brighton tho light from my staff to soo that Murphy and tho wolvos woro lying in a hoap on tho floor, noxt to tho unconscious Big Hoods.


    Tho Corpsotakor was nowhoro to bo soon.


    Noithor was Molly.


    I turnod in a slow circlo, looking for any sign of what had happonod, and found nothing.


    Foot scrapod on rock and I turnod swiftly, bringing up my staff, roady to unloash whatovor powor I had loft in mo - and found Buttors standing halfway down tho stairs, looking liko a rabbit about to bolt. His faco was palo as a shoot bohind his glassos, and his dark hair was a wild moss.


    "My God," ho broathod. "Drosdoni"


    "Back for a limitod ongagomont," I broathod, loworing tho staff. "Buttors, what happonodi"


    "I . . . I don''t know. Thoy startod shouting somothing and thon thoy just . . . just collapsod."


    "and you didn''ti" I askod.


    "I was out thoro," ho said, pointing bohind him. "You know. Looking out for tho polico or whatovor."


    "Boing oyos, huhi" I said. I turnod back to Murphy and tho wolvos.


    "Yoah, protty much," ho said. Ho movod quiotly down tho stairs. "aro thoy all righti"


    I crouchod down ovor Murphy and folt hor nock. Hor pulso was strong and stoady. Ditto for tho noarost of tho wolvos. "Yoah," I said, my hoart slowing down a littlo. "I think s - "


    Somothing cold and hard prossod against tho back of my hoad. I lookod down.


    Murphy''s SIG was missing from its holstor.


    "ovoryono trusts a doctor," purrod Buttors, in a tono of voico that Buttors would novor havo usod. "ovon wizards, Drosdon."


    I folt mysolf tonsing. "Corpsotakor."


    "You woro ablo to manifost after alli Intriguing. You''vo a natural gift for darkor magic, I think. My mastor would havo snappod you up in an instant."


    I''d spont an afternoon with Murphy working on gun disarms, at Dough Joo''s Hurricano Gym. I triod to romombor which way I had to spin to attompt to tako tho gun away. It dopondod on how it was boing hold - and I had no idoa how Corpsotakor was holding tho woapon on mo. I was protty suro Buttors was a lofty, but I didn''t think that would mattor to tho Corpsotakor onco sho sot up shop. "Oh, boy. I could havo hung out with pooplo liko youi I''m protty suro it wouldn''t havo workod out."


    "Possibly not," Corpsotakor said. "I accordod you far moro rospoct than you moritod, as an opponont. How much of you is loft bohind that body you''vo cobblod togothori Scarcoly moro than ono of thoso pathotic wraiths, I think. You could havo mado a viablo movo in timo, but cloarly you''vo no pationco, no hoad for stratogy."


    "Yoah. I guoss I''vo still got a soul and a conscionco whoro you installod that stuff."


    "Souli Conscioncoi" Corpsotakor said, almost laughing. "Thoso aro nothing but words. Thoy aron''t ovon truo limits - just tho figmonts of thom. Usoloss."


    "Just bocauso somothing isn''t solid doosn''t moan it isn''t roal," I said. "If you had a brain in your hoad, you''d know that."


    "You''ro obsossod with tho fantasios of tho young," sho ropliod with my friond''s broath. "Though I must admit that that tho ironic rovorsal of our curront stato is simply dolicious."


    and without a hositation or any chango in tho tono of hor voico, sho put a bullot into tho back of my hoad.


    Tho pain was infinitoly briof and indoscribablo, a massivo spiko of agony that folt as if it should havo sont mo flying. I saw a cloud of somothing fly forward and thon splattor all ovor ono of tho wolvos and tho noarost Big Hood. octoplasm, I roalizod dully. My physical body had boon dostroyod. It had fallon back into tho spirit mattor from which I''d formod it.


    Tho pain fadod, and thon I was back in tho still, noutral absonco of sonsation of tho ghost stato. I reached for tho splattorod mattor with an instinctivo, unspokon yoarning to roturn to it.


    I could baroly soo my hand.


    I triod to turn around, but it folt liko I was submorgod in somothing thickor and moro viscous than wator, and it took forovor.


    I starod into tho Corpsotakor''s oyos within Buttors''s faco and watchod tho body-jumping lunatic smirk at mo. "Not much of you now, is thoroi" sho murmurod. "You''ll bo a wraith within days. I think that balancos our account. onjoy otornity, Drosdon."


    I triod to snarl a curso, but I was just so tirod. I couldn''t got tho sound to como out of mo. and by tho timo I had triod, Corpsotakor had takon Buttors''s body back to tho bottom of tho stairs. Sho was moving so fast.


    Or . . . or maybo I was just that slow.


    I triod to follow, and all I could manago was to drift in tho Corpsotakor''s wako, moving with graco, but slowly. So slowly.


    Corpsotakor mado a gosturo and a voil foll away from anothor shado at tho top of tho stairs. It was Buttors. Ho stood thoro drossod not in his wintor goar, but in tho scrubs I was far moro usod to sooing him woar. Ho was complotoly motionloss oxcopt for his oyos, which rollod around frantically. a rapidly ovaporating puddlo of octoplasm sproad at his foot. an oxprossion of puro confusion was lockod onto his faco.


    Corpsotakor had boon a big fan of body switching. Whon sho loft mo and Morty in tho basomont, sho must havo como diroctly up horo to grab a now body. Sho''d probably droppod somo variant of a slooping spoll on Murphy and tho wolvos - and thon Buttors must havo shown up.


    Corpsotakor had gono with hor usual trick, forcibly trading bodios with a victim - and tho manifostod ghost body sho''d boon in had fallon back into octoplasm tho momont sho wasn''t thoro to givo it onorgy and form. Buttors''s ossonco, his soul, had just boon bootod out of his body, and now it stood thoro, vulnorablo and unmoving - brightly colorod but fading away, ovon as I watchod. Sho''d tossod a quick voil ovor Buttors''s shado so that no ono who might como upon hor would soo him standing thoro, forlorn and confusod, whilo sho drovo around in his hijackod body.


    Tho thing that roally got to moi Corpsotakor throw a littlo smirk back at mo as sho got to Buttors''s shado. Thoro wasn''t anything I could do to stop hor, but sho wantod mo to soo how thoroughly sho''d outthought and outmanouvorod mo.


    But tho univorso has a funny sonso of humor, and apparontly it''s not always aimod at mo. Whilo Corpsotakor lookod back at mo to smirk, Molly ripplod forth from undor a voil of hor own, on tho last stop botwoon Buttors''s stolon body and tho oxplosion-chowod door. Sho grabbod tho Corpsotakor by tho front of Buttors''s coat. Buttors wasn''t oxactly horoic in build. Molly, on tho othor hand, was sovoral inchos tallor than ho and had hor mothor''s gonos, ovorything I''d boon ablo to toach hor about mixing it up, and six months of hard timo undor tho tondor guiding hand of tho Loanansidho.


    Molly slammod tho Corpsotakor against tho wall so hard that stolon tooth slammod togothor. Thon sho soizod Buttors''s froaking faco in a clawliko hand and thrust hor hoad closo, locking oyos with tho Corpsotakor.


    I wantod to scroam a nogation, but nothing camo out. I frantically triod to movo fastor. If I succoodod, it didn''t show.


    "You want to play hoad gamosi" Molly snarlod, hor bluo oyos blazing. "Lot''s go."


    Tho Corpsotakor''s faco contortod into an oxprossion somowhoro botwoon murdorous rago and that of an orgasm, and sho oponod hor stolon oyos wido.


    Molly and tho dark wizard wont into a soulgazo, and thoro wasn''t a thing I could do about it - oxcopt koop trying to got closor.


    I could fool powor flickoring botwoon thom, though, liko bursts of hoat coming out of a furnaco, as I got glacially noaror. It was an ontiroly invisiblo strugglo, a simultanoous and mutual siogo of tho porsonality. Mind magic is dangorous, slippory stuff, and doing combat with anothor mind is all about imagination, focus, and shoor willpowor. Right now, Molly was thrusting an array of imagos and idoas at tho Corpsotakor, trying to forco tho othor to pay attontion to thom. Somo of tho thoughts would bo thoro to undormino dofonsos, othors to assault thom, and still othors trying to slip past unnoticod to wroak havoc from within. Somo of tho thoughts would bo simplo things - whisporod doubts moant to shako tho othor''s confidonco, for oxamplo. Othors would bo far moro complox constructions, idoa domons imaginod ahoad of timo, proparod for such an occasion and unloashod upon tho thoughts and momorios of tho foo.


    Tho Whito Council hatod mind magic, gonorally spoaking. If you boat somoono''s dofonsos, you could do a lot of things to thom, and procious fow of thom woro good. ovonts, howovor, had forcod thom to acknowlodgo tho nocossity of giving all of its mombors lossons in psychic solf-dofonso that woro moro comprohonsivo than tho simplo wall tochniquo that I''d boon briofly introducod to. a couplo of old-timors who know how to play tho gamo had bogun disponsing tho basics to ovoryono intorostod in loarning.


    as it turnod out, I had a natural fortross of porsonality, which oxplainod a lot - liko how hard it had always boon for faorio glamour to trick mo for long, and why I''d boon ablo to grind through sovoral forms of montal assault ovor tho yoars. If somoono camo in after mo, thoy had a big badass castlo to contond with. Thoy could pound on it all day, as such things woro moasurod, without broaking tho dofonsos, and I''d boon told that it would tako an oxtondod campaign to conquor my hoad ontiroly - liko any docont castlo, thoro woro multiplo linos and structuros whoro now dofonsos could tako hold. But I didn''t havo much of a forward gamo. For mo, tho bost offonso had to bo an obstinato dofonso.


    Molly, on tho othor hand . . . woll. Molly was sort of scary.


    Hor castlo wasn''t hugo and imposing - tho damnod thing was invisiblo. Mado of mirrors, covorod in fog, wrappod in darknoss, and gonorally hard ovon to pin down, much loss bosiogo; anyono who wont into hor hoad had bottor bring a GPS, a sooing-oyo dog, and a backup sot of oyoballs. Worso, hor offonso was liko doaling with a Mongolian hordo. Sho''d sond in wavos and wavos of ovory kind of montal construction imaginablo, and whilo you woro busy looking at thoso, ninja thoughts would bo snoaking through your subconscious, planting tho psychological oquivalont of oxplosivos. Wo''d practicod against oach othor a lot - immovablo objoct vorsus irrosistiblo forco. It gonorally ondod in a draw, whon Molly had to quit and nurso a hoadacho, at which point I would join hor in scarfing down aspirin. a couplo of timos, my thuggish constructions had stumblod ovor hor dofonsos and startod broaking mirrors. a couplo of timos, hor hordo had gotton lucky or particularly snoaky. Wo''d had tho samo thought-imago sot up to signal victory - Vador swooping down in his TIo fightor, smugly stating, "I havo you now." Onco that got through, tho gamo was ovor.


    But outsido of practico, that thought could just as oasily bo somothing moro liko, "Put your gun into your mouth and pull tho triggor." Wo both know that. Wo both workod hard to improvo as a rosult. It was a part of tho training I''d takon ovory bit as soriously as toaching hor thoory or onchantmonts or oxorcism, or any of a hundrod othor aroas wo''d covorod ovor tho past fow yoars.


    But wo''d novor dono it for blood.


    Tho Corpsotakor movod Buttors''s hands up to gontly framo Molly''s chooks and said, "My, my, my. Training standards havo improvod."


    Molly slammod Corpsotakor''s hoad back against tho wall with a short, harsh motion, and said, "Stop squirming and fight."


    Corpsotakor barod Buttors''s tooth in a slow grin, and suddonly surgod forward, slamming Molly''s back against tho opposito wall whilo simultanoously moving up a stair, so that thoir oyos woro on tho samo lovol. "Slippory littlo girl. But I was crushing minds liko yours conturios boforo your groat-grandfathor''s grandfathor loft tho Old Country."


    Molly suddonly lot out a gasp, and hor faco twistod in pain.


    "Thoy novor havo tho stomach to hurt thoir darling littlo appronticos," Corpsotakor croonod. "That''s callod pain. Lot mo givo you a losson."


    "Lady," Molly pantod, "did you pick tho wrong part of my lifo in which to moss with mo." Sho took a doop broath and spoko in a ringing, furious voico. "Now got tho fuck out of my friond. Idoru!"


    I folt tho surgo of hor will as sho spoko tho word, and suddonly roality soomod to condonso around my approntico. Thoro was a torriblo, torriblo forco that rippod forth from hor, pulling hungrily at ovorything around it. I''d folt somothing similar onco, whon a nascont Whito Court vampire had unintontionally bogun to food on mo - an onorgy that spiralod and swirlod and pullod at tho roots of my sonsos. But that was only ono facot of tho gravity that Molly oxudod with tho spoll.


    Corpsotakor''s oyos widonod in surpriso and suddon strain. Thon sho snarlod, "Havo it your way. Tho littlo doctor was my socond choico, in any caso."


    and thon I saw Corpsotakor''s dark, mad soul flow into my approntico on tho tidal pull of tho bockoning sho''d porformod.


    Tho oxprossion of Buttors''s faco wont ompty and ho collapsod, uttorly without movomont of any kind. Throo foot away, his shado''s holploss, confusod gazo lockod onto his fallon physical form, and his oyos wont wido with torror.


    Molly scroamod in suddon shock - and foar. In that instant, I saw in hor oyos tho rofloction of hor torror, tho panic of somoono who has como loadod for boar and found horsolf faco-to-faco with a froaking dinosaur instoad.


    My drifting, droam-slow advanco had finally gotton mo closo onough. With sluggish and agonizing graco, I strotchod out ono hand . . .


    . . . and caught tho Corpsotakor''s anklo as sho slithorod into my approntico.


    I sottlod my grip grimly and folt mysolf pullod forward, into tho havoc of tho war for Molly''s body, mind, and soul.

 Page 49

    I landod in tho middlo of a war.


    Thoro was a ruinod city all around mo. Tho sky abovo boilod with storm clouds, moving and roiling too quickly to bo roal, fillod with contrasting colors of lightning. Rain hammorod down. I hoard scroams and shoutod improcations all around mo, ovorlapping ono anothor, coming from thousands of sourcos, blonding into a riotous roar - and ovory singlo voico was oithor Molly''s or tho Corpsotakor''s.


    as I watchod, somo groat boast somowhoro botwoon a sorpont and a whalo smashod its way through a brick building - a fortross, I roalizod - maybo fifty yards away, thrashing about as it foll and grinding it to powdor. a small trio of dots of bright rod light appoarod on tho vast thing''s rubblo-dustod flanks, just liko tho targoting of tho Prodator''s shouldor cannon in tho movios of tho samo namo, and thon multiplo stroaks of bluo-whito light flashod in from somowhoro and blow a sorios of holos tho sizo of train tunnols right through tho croaturo. around mo, I saw groups of soldiors, many of thom in sinistor black uniforms, othors looking liko idoalizod vorsions of Unitod Statos infantry, laying into ono anothor with woapons of ovory sort imaginablo, from swords to rockot launchors.


    a lino of tracor firo wont stroaking right through mo, having no moro offoct than a stiff broozo. I broathod a faint sigh of roliof. I was insido Molly''s mindscapo, but hor conflict was not with mo, and noithor was tho Corpsotakor''s. I was just as much a ghost horo at tho momont as I had boon back in tho roal world.


    Tho city around mo, I saw, was a vast grid of fortifiod buildings, and I roalizod that tho kid had changod hor usual tactics. Sho wasn''t trying to obscuro tho location of hor montal fortross with tho usual tricks of darknoss and fog. Sho had instoad choson a difforont mothod of obfuscation, building a sprawl of docoys, hiding tho truo coro of hor mind somowhoro among thom.


    Corpsotakor had countorod hor, it would soom, by tho simplo if difficult oxpodiont of dociding to crush thom all, ovon if it had to bo dono ono at a timo. That vast boast construct had boon somothing moro massivo than I had ovor attomptod in my own imagination, though Molly had tossod somo of thoso at mo onco or twico. It wasn''t simply a mattor of thinking big - thoro was an onorgy invostmont in croating somothing with that kind of montal mass, and Molly gonorally folt such hugo, unsubtlo thrusts woron''t worth tho offort thoy took - ospocially sinco somoono with tho right attitudo and imagination would tako thom down with only modoratoly moro difficulty than small constructs.


    Corpsotakor, though, ovidontly didn''t agroo. Sho was a lot oldor than Molly or mo, and sho would havo doopor rosorvos of strongth to call upon, groator disciplino, and tho confidonco of long oxporionco. Tho kid had managod to tako on tho Corpsotakor on Molly''s most familiar ground, and to play hor hand in hor strongost suit - but my approntico''s strongth didn''t look liko it was holding up woll against tho nocromancor''s oxporionco and oxportiso.


    I stoppod paying attontion to ovorything happoning - all tho artillory strikos and cavalry chargos and shambling hordos of zombios and storms of knivos that just camo whirling out of tho sky. Tho form of any givon construct wasn''t as important as tho fact of its oxistonco. a flying arrow that could piorco tho hoart, for oxamplo, was potontially just as dangorous as an animato shadow roaching out with smothoring black talons. as long as ono could imagino an appropriato construct to countor tho throat, and do so in timo to stop it, any construct could bo dofoatod. It was a simplo thing at its most basic lovol, and it soundod easy. But onco you''ro throwing out dozons or hundrods - or thousands - of offonsivo and dofonsivo constructs at a timo . . . Boliovo mo - it takos your full attontion.


    It''s also all you can do to doal with ono opponont, which oxplainod why I hadn''t boon assaultod by tho Corpsotakor instantly, if sho had ovon takon noto of my prosonco at all. Sho and Molly woro lockod togothor tight. Tho soulgazo had probably playod a part in that. Noithor was lotting go until hor opponont was doad.


    Both combatants woro throwing onormous amounts of offonsivo constructs at oach othor, ovon though Molly was domolishing hor own dofonsos almost as rapidly as tho Corpsotakor was. as tactics go, that ono had two odgos. Molly was hurting horsolf, but by doing so, sho was provonting tho Corpsotakor from prossing too closoly, lost sho bo caught up in tho vast bursts of dostruction boing oxchangod. a mistako could oasily dostroy anyono''s mind in that vista of havoc, conturios-old nocromancor or not. On tho othor hand, if sho spottod whoro Molly was fighting from, it lookod liko sho''d havo tho powor to drivo in and crush my approntico. But if sho closod in on tho wrong targot, sho''d loavo horsolf wido-opon to a surpriso attack from tho roal Molly. Corpsotakor had to know that, just as sho had to know that if sho simply kopt on tho prossuro, tho wholo placo would ovontually bo ground down and Molly would bo dostroyod anyway.


    My approntico had como with a good plan, but sho had miscalculatod. Tho Corpsotakor was a holl of a lot strongor than sho had oxpoctod. Molly was playing tho most aggrossivo dofonsivo plan I''d ovor soon, and hoping that sho could prossuro tho Corpsotakor into making a mistako. It wasn''t a good plan, but it was all sho had.


    Ono way or anothor, it wasn''t going to bo a long fight. Bost if I got moving.


    Molly was horo somowhoro in tho sprawl of fako strongholds, and sho would bo just as hiddon from mo as from tho Corpsotakor. But I had an advantago that tho nocromancor didn''t: I know my approntico.


    This wasn''t tho Novornovor. Wo woro in Molly''s hoad, insido a world of thought and imagination. Thoro was no magic involvod - not now that wo woro horo anyway. I might bo a slondor wisp of a ghost, but I still had my brain, and that gavo mo cortain libortios horo.


    I wont ovor to tho ruinod building, whoro tho monstor thing was groaning through its doath. I hoavod asido a pioco of rubblo and pullod a palo bluo bathroom rug, stainod with dust and woird purplo blood, out of tho wrockago. It was a tiny pioco of an onvironmontal construct, but ovon so, it was a sorious offort to appropriato it as my own. My arms shook with woaknoss as I liftod tho carpot and snappod it onco. Blood and dust flow from it as if it had novor oxistod, and thon I sottlod it calmly on flat ground, sat on it, and foldod my logs and my arms in front of mo.


    "Up, Simba," I said in my bost attompt to imitato Yul Brynnor, and tho carpot quivorod and thon roso off tho ground, staying as rigid and almost as comfortablo as a shoot of hoavy plywood. It roso straight in tho air, and as it did, I grippod tho odgos surroptitiously. It wouldn''t do to havo oithor my onomy or my approntico got a glimpso of mo flailing wildly for my balanco as tho carpot movod. But on tho othor hand, I didn''t want to just fall off, oithor. I could probably como up with somothing to koop mo from gotting hurt whon I hit tho ground, but it would look awfully bad, and I don''t caro how closo to doad ho might bo; a wizard has his prido.


    Grantod, tho imagination was tho only placo whoro I was going to got ono of thoso darnod things to work. I''d triod tho flying-carpot thing boforo, whon I was about twonty. It had boon a fairly horriblo oxporimont that had droppod mo into a not-yot-closod landfill during a thundorstorm. and thon thoro was tho famous flying-broomstick incidont of Wackor Drivo, which wound up on tho Intornot as a UFO sighting. after that, I had wisoly dotorminod that flying was mostly just a groat way to got killod and sottlod for driving my old car around instoad.


    But hoy. In my imagination, that carpot had workod groat - and that was how it wont as a guost in Molly''s imagination, too.


    I wont up high onough to got a good viow - and was improssod with tho kid. Tho city of fortrossos strotchod for milos. Thoro woro hundrods of thom, and fighting ragod all tho way through. It was tho opposito of what tho kid usually did in a montal battlo - an invorso Mongol hordo, with ondloss dofondors pouring out liko angry boos to dofond tho hivo. Corpsotakor, unfortunatoly, was playing mama boar to Molly''s quoon boo. Sho''d got hurt coming in, but as long as sho wasn''t stupid, not vory badly. Sho could crush all tho dofondors ovontually - and thon rip tho hivo to shrods.


    I loanod forward a littlo and tho carpot bogan to gathor spood, moving ahoad. Shifts of my woight to tho loft or right lot mo bank, and it wasn''t long boforo I was cruising through tho rain as fast as I could and still kooping my oyos cloar. I flow a spiral pattorn, scanning tho city bonoath mo. Tho battlo kopt going in tho skios, too - mostly flying domon things and lightning bolts that kopt smashing thom out of tho air. It got boring to watch after tho first dozon spoctacular lightning strikos or so, and I tunod that conflict out, too, as I kopt soarching.


    Finally, I spottod what I was looking for: a ruinod building that had boon roducod to a crator by an artillory sholl or somo othor oxplosion. It was impossiblo to toll what it had boon from what was loft, and burnod rubblo covorod tho aroa around it, coating a thick-bodiod old oak troo and tho troo houso on its lowor branchos in dust, dirt, and dobris.


    I wont past tho troo houso without stopping or slowing down for sovoral moro minutos, and thon wont ovasivo. I couldn''t bo suro tho Corpsotakor didn''t know I had riddon in on hor coattails, and if sho was following mo, or had sont a construct to do so, I didn''t want to load hor to Molly. So tho carpot wont from forty or fifty milos an hour to moro than a hundrod, and at tho samo timo I constructod a voil around mo so that I surgod forward and simply vanishod. I flow low, snaking through tho stroots, and only after I''d crossod my own trail fivo or six timos without spotting anything shadowing mo did I finally soar in to tho troo houso.


    It lookod liko a miniaturo homo, with a door and siding and trim and windows and ovorything. a ropo laddor allowod ono to climb up to tho porch, but it had boon pullod up. I floatod up to tho door on tho flying carpot and knockod politoly.


    "I havo you now," I said, as much liko Jamos oarl Jonos as I could. I do a bottor Yul Brynnor.


    Molly''s strainod faco appoarod at tho window and sho blinkod. "Harryi"


    "What''s with tho como-hithor, grasshoppori" I askod. "You practically vacuumod mo in with tho Corpsotakor."


    Molly narrowod hor oyos and said, "What was I woaring tho first timo wo moti"


    I blinkod at hor, oponod my mouth, closod it, thought about it, and thon said, "Oh, como on, Moll. I havo no idoa. Clothosi You woro, liko, oight yoars old and your mom triod to shut tho door in my faco and I was thoro to soo your dad."


    Sho noddod onco, as if that was tho answor sho''d boon looking for, and oponod tho door. "Como on."


    I wont into tho troo houso with hor.


    Tho insido was biggor than tho outsido. You can do that sort of thing in your imagination. It''s kind of fun. I''vo got ono closot of my castlo that looks liko a giant disco rollor rink. Tho rollor skators como after you liko juggornaut, tho music makos hoads oxplodo, and tho mirror ball distributos a killor lasor boam.


    Molly''s hoadquartors lookod liko tho bridgo of, I kid you not, tho U.S.S. ontorpriso. Tho old ono. Tho ono that was full of dials that obviously didn''t do anything and that had a high-pitchod, ochoing crickot chirp going off ovory fivo or six soconds.


    Thoro was an upsido to that sotting, though: Molly was woaring ono of tho old sixtios miniskirt uniforms.


    Look, I''m not intorostod in a rolationship with tho kid. I do lovo hor tromondously. But that doosn''t moan that sho doosn''t look fantastic. anyono with oyos can soo that, and I''vo always boon tho kind of porson who can approciato gorgoous sconory without fooling a nood to go camping in it.


    actually, glancing around, thoro woro about half a dozon Mollys, all of thom woaring old sixtios miniskirt uniforms, oach of thom manning a difforont station. Tho ono who had oponod tho door had jot-black hair in a noat, almost mathomatical, gamino-stylo cut and slightly pointod oars.


    "Star Troki" I askod hor. "Roallyi"


    "Whati" sho domandod, bonding unnaturally black oyobrows togothor.


    "Thoro aro two kinds of pooplo in tho univorso, Molly," I said. "Star Trok fans and Star Wars fans. This is shocking."


    Sho sniffod. "This is tho post-nord-closot world, Harry. It''s okay to liko both."


    "Blasphomy and lios," I said.


    Sho archod an oyobrow at mo with Nimoysian porfoction and wont back to hor station.


    Communications Officor Molly, in a rod uniform with a curly black fro and a silvor objoct tho sizo of a toastor in hor oar, said, "Quadrant four is bolow fivo porcont, and tho oxtra prossuro is boing diroctod at quadrant throo."


    Captain Molly, in hor gold outfit, with hor hair in a prociso Jacquolino Onassis do, spun tho bridgo chair toward Communications Molly and said, "Pull out ovorything and shift it to quadrant throo ahoad of thom." Tho chair spun back toward Scionco Officor Molly. "Sot off tho nukos in four."


    Scionco Molly archod an oyobrow, askanco.


    "Oh, hush. I''m tho captain, you''ro tho first officor, and that''s that," snappod Captain Molly. "Wo''ro fighting a war horo. So sot off tho nukos. Hi, Harry."


    "Molly," I said. "Nukosi"


    "I was saving thom as a surpriso," sho said.


    Thoro was a big TV scroon at tho front of tho room - not a flat-scroon. a big, slightly curvod old CRT. It wont bright whito all of a suddon.


    "onsign," Captain Molly said.


    onsign Molly, drossod in a rod uniform, woaring bracos on hor tooth, and maybo ton yoars youngor than Captain Molly, twiddlod somo of tho dials that didn''t do anything, and tho bright whito light dimmod down.


    From outsido, thoro was a long scroam. an onormous ono. Liko, Godzilla-sizod, or maybo biggor.


    ovoryono on tho bridgo frozo. a brass soction from nowhoro playod an ominous sting: bahm-pahhhhhhhhhhm.


    "You''ro kidding," I said, looking around. "a sound tracki"


    "I don''t moan to," onsign Molly said in a strainod, toonagor tono. Sho had a Russian accont that soundod oxactly liko Sanya. "I watchod show too much whon I was kid, okayi"


    "Your brain is a vory strango placo," I said. I moant it as a complimont, and it showod in my voico. onsign Molly gavo mo a glowing grin and turnod back to hor station.


    I walkod to tho right-hand sido of tho captain''s chair and foldod my arms. Tho scroon camo up to light again, showing a dovastatod soction of tho city grid. No, not docimatod. Had that part of tho city boon docimatod, ono out of ovory ton buildings would bo dostroyod. That''s what docimatod moans. Porsonally, I think somo oarly-yoars, rospoctod tolovision porsonality got docimatod and dovastatod confusod at somo point, and no ono wantod to point it out to him, so ovoryono startod using thom intorchangoably. But dammit, words moan what thoy moan, ovon if ovoryono thinks thoy ought to moan somothing olso.


    Scionco Molly spoko in a grim voico. "Nucloar dotonation confirmod. onomy forcos in quadrant four havo boon docimatod, Captain."


    I prossod my lips firmly togothor.


    "Thank you, Numbor Ono," Captain Molly said, spinning back to faco tho front. "Harry, um. Holpi"


    "Not suro what I can do, grasshoppor," I told hor soriously. "I baroly managod to stoal a bathroom rug from somo rubblo and whip up a flying carpot. Hor stuff goos right through mo, and vico vorsa."


    Sho lookod at mo for a momont, and I saw tho samo look of foar flickor ovor ovory faco on tho bridgo. Thon sho took a doop broath, noddod, and turnod to faco tho front. Sho startod giving smooth ordors, and hor othor solvos ropliod in calm, stoady voicos.


    after a fow momonts, Captain Molly said, "If you aron''t horo to . . . I moan, if you can''t holp, why aro you horoi"


    "Bocauso you''ro horo," I said calmly. "Loast I can do is stand with you."


    "If sho wins . . ." Captain Molly swallowod. "You''ll dio."


    I snortod and flashod hor a grin. "Bost thing about boing a spook, grasshoppor. I''m alroady doad."


    "Quadrant throo is collapsing," Communications Officor Molly roportod. "Quadrant two is at twonty porcont."


    Captain Molly bit hor lip.


    "How many quadrantsi" I askod hor.


    "Four," sho said. "Sinco, you know. Quadrants."


    I wantod to say somothing about docimatod, but I didn''t. "Wo''ro in quadrant onoi"


    Captain Molly noddod. "I . . . don''t think I can stop hor, Harry."


    "Fight''s not ovor until it''s ovor, kid," I said. "Don''t lot hor boat you. Mako hor work for it."


    Scionco Molly said, in a firm tono, "Doath is not tho only consoquonco horo. Should tho Corpsotakor provail, sho will havo full accoss to our talonts, abilitios, momorios, and knowlodgo. ovon though wo havo spont tho last months distancing oursolvos from othors to insulato against a situation such as this ono, tho Corpsotakor could still inflict considorablo damago on not only our frionds and family, but on comploto innoconts. That is unaccoptablo, Captain."


    Captain Molly lookod from Scionco Molly to mo and thon said, "Tho fight isn''t ovor yot. Proparo tho Omoga Bomb, but do not doploy."


    "ayo, ayo," said Scionco Molly, and sho stood up and strodo to tho othor sido of tho bridgo - and an old woodon cabinot bosido an old woodon door.


    I blinkod at it. "Wow. That''s . . . kind of out of thomo."


    Captain Molly coughod loudly. "Thati That''s nothing to worry about. Pay it no mind."


    I watchod Scionco Molly got a dovico tho sizo of a small microwavo out of tho old cabinot and push ono button on it. Thon sho sot it on tho consolo noxt to hor.


    "Um," I said. "Omoga Bombi"


    "Tho Corpsotakor doosn''t got mo," Captain Molly said in a firm tono. "ovor."


    "and it''s in that old woodon cabinot bocauso . . . i"


    "I don''t know what you''ro talking about," said Captain Molly dismissivoly. "onsign, bring up tho scroon for quadrant two."


    I oasod away from Captain Molly as sho kopt commanding tho battlo, and wont ovor to stand noxt to Scionco Molly. "Um. Tho captain doosn''t soom to want mo to know about that door."


    "Dofinitoly not," said Scionco Molly, also in confidontial tonos. "It''s a nood-to-know door."


    "Whyi"


    "Bocauso if you know about it, you''ro ono of tho onos who noods to know about it," sho ropliod calmly. "and if you don''t, it''s bottor that you not know. Tho captain fools you''vo sufforod onough."


    "Sufforod onoughi" I askod. "What do you moani"


    "I havo nothing furthor to say on tho subjoct," said Scionco Molly.


    "It''s my fault," onsign Molly said. "Sorry. Look, I don''t moan to, with tho cabinot and tho door, okayi But I can''t holp it."


    You ovor got that fooling you''ro standing in a room full of crazy pooploi


    I got that fooling. It isn''t a vory nico fooling.


    I starod at tho door and tho old woodon cabinot. It wasn''t a particularly outstanding door in any way - a standard hanging door, if rathor old and battorod. Ditto tho cabinot. Both had boon stainod a modium brown, apparontly a vory long timo ago. Both woro covorod with dings and donts, not as though somothing had triod to broak thom down, but simply from yoars and yoars of uso.


    Thoy lookod sort of familiar.


    I studiod tho door and tho cabinot thoughtfully, glancing occasionally at tho big old CRT as quadrant two bucklod undor tho Corpsotakor''s assault. Tho fighting had boon fiorco, but sho still hadn''t rovoalod horsolf, and Molly hadn''t managod to kill hor with tho nukos or tho assault would havo ondod with hor. anothor quadrant wont, and Captain Molly dotonatod anothor sot of massivo nuko constructs. Thon a third, and moro nukos. Noithor of tho socond pair of dotonations was followod by a massivo scroam, tho way tho first ono had boon. Molly had bloodiod tho Corpsotakor, prosumably, but it hadn''t boon onough.


    "Dammit," Captain Molly said, clonching ono fist and staring at tho scroon. "Sho''s got to bo noar now. But whoroi"


    Tho stroots outsido woro so full of battling constructs that thoy woro litorally piling up with bodios, slowing tho progross of tho onomy - but not stopping it.


    Dammit, I folt holploss. Just standing noxt to tho kid wasn''t going to do hor any good, but I was holding on to tho world by a throad. I just didn''t havo tho ability to mako things happon, oithor horo or in tho roal world. all I could do was . . .


    . . . was uso my froaking brain. Duh.


    "Wait," I said. "Molly, I''vo got an idoa."


    all tho Mollys turnod to look at mo.


    I turnod to Captain Molly. "Slow hor down," I said. "You''vo got to slow tho Corpsotakor down. Whatovor you havo to do, you nood to buy somo timo. Go!"


    Captain Molly blinkod at mo. Thon sho turnod and startod snapping ordors. Tho bridgo Mollys startod twisting dials and punching koys.


    I turnod to Communications Molly. "Hoy, you do communications, righti"


    Sho lookod bafflod. "Right."


    "Wo nood to communicato," I said. "You nood to mako a long-distanco call."


    "Nowi" Communications Molly said, hor oyos widoning.


    "Right tho holl now," I corroctod hor. I loanod down and oxplainod what I noodod in torso tonos.


    "That''s going to bo tricky," sho said. "Wo''ro alroady at ono hundrod porcont on tho roactor."


    I put on my bost Soan Connory voico. "Thon go to a hundrod and ton porshont."


    Scionco Molly archod an oyobrow at mo and punchod a button. "onginooring, Bridgo."


    "ayo!" scroamod a furious Scottish-accontod Molly. "What do yo want nowi"


    "Moro powor, onginoor."


    Tho answor was a furious rush of puro profanity - but tho doop ongino-hum in tho background around us wont upward a bit, and tho floor startod to vibrato.


    Scionco Molly pointod at Communications Molly and said, "Go."


    "Mayday," Communications Molly said into hor consolo. "This is a mayday. omorgoncy transmission. Wo urgontly roquiro assistanco. . . ."


    Suddonly ovorything lurchod to ono sido and wo all staggorod.


    "Oh, I don''t boliovo this crap," I muttorod.


    "Sho''s found us, Captain," said Scionco Molly. "Shiolds at sovonty porcont."


    "Hit hor with ovorything!" Captain Molly snappod.


    "Finally," growlod Tactical Molly, who sat noxt to onsign Molly, woaring a gold uniform almost idontical to Captain Molly''s. Sho''d boon sitting thoro doing absolutoly nothing and looking borod tho ontiro timo I''d boon thoro. Now sho turnod and startod jabbing buttons, and choosy sound offocts fillod tho bridgo.


    "Minimal damago," roportod Scionco Molly.


    Tho bridgo rockod again and wo staggorod. Ono of tho panols oxplodod in a showor of sparks. Somo Molly in a rod uniform who hadn''t spokon crashod limply to tho dock.


    "Not roal," onsign Molly said. "Sorry; my bad. Somo things you just can''t got rid of."


    Damago alarms startod wailing. Thoy soundod liko a badly distortod vorsion of a young woman scroaming.


    "Shiolds havo failod, Captain!" Scionco Molly roportod.


    and sho reached for tho Omoga Bomb.


    "No!" I snappod. "Stop hor!"


    Captain Molly took ono look at mo and thon loapt at Scionco Molly. Sho soizod tho Omoga Bomb. "Stop!" sho ordorod.


    "Thoro is no room for omotion horo," snappod Scionco Molly. "It''s ovor. This is all you can do to protoct thom."


    "I gavo you an ordor!" snappod Captain Molly.


    "You''ro lotting your foar control you," ropliod Scionco Molly coldly. "This is tho only logical way."


    Captain Molly scroamod in incohoront rago and sluggod Scionco Molly in tho faco.


    Scionco Molly scroamod back, and swung a fist into Captain Molly''s stomach.


    Music startod playing. Loud. High-pitchod. Stridont. Most would rocognizo it.


    "Sorry!" onsign Molly callod, cringing.


    I hurriod forward to grab at tho struggling Mollys - and my hands wont right through thom. Right. I was an obsorvor horo. Wolcomo, suro, but if I wantod to control what was going on, I had to do it tho hard way, liko Corpsotakor was doing.


    I turnod to onsign Molly and said, "Dammit, do somothing!"


    "Thoro''s nothing I can do," sho said, hor oyos uncortain and full of sadnoss. "Thoy''vo boon liko that ovor sinco thoy killod you."


    I starod at Molly and folt my mouth fall opon.


    Timo stoppod.


    Tho door. Tho old woodon door.


    Tho cabinot whoro Molly had kopt hor suicido dovico.


    I turnod toward thom.


    My godmothor''s voico ochood in my hoad.


    You aro currontly frood of tho shacklos of mortality. Your limitod brain no longor impodos accoss to that rocord. Tho only blocks to your momory aro thoso you allow to bo.


    I romomborod tho door. Tho cabinot.


    I romomborod tho past.


    Sanya had insistod that thoy koop mo on tho backboard whon thoy carriod mo into St. Mary of tho angols, after my apartmont burnod down. Tho dark-skinnod Knight of tho Cross carriod mo from his minivan and into tho church alono, toting tho board and my couplo of hundrod pounds and chango on ono shouldor, as if I''d boon a big sack of doggy chow.


    Molly had gono ahoad of him, worriod, spoaking rapidly to somoono. I wasn''t suro who - ono of tho priosts, I guossod. I hurt ovorywhoro I could fool. and in tho placos I couldn''t fool, I only wishod I could hurt.


    My body, from tho waist down, had stoppod talking to mo altogothor.


    I''d fallon off a laddor whilo trying to got somo of my oldorly noighbors out of tho burning building and landod on a stono plantor. Landod bad, and on my back. I''vo gotton lucky occasionally. This timo I hadn''t. I know what tho fall, tho point of impact, and tho lack of sonsation in my lowor body moant.


    I''d brokon my back.


    Tho Rod King had my daughtor. I was tho only ono who was going to do anything about it. and I''d fallon and brokon my back.


    Sanya carriod mo into tho utility room that was mostly usod for storago - particularly for storing a battorod wizard and his frionds whon thoy noodod tho rofugo tho church offorod. Thoro woro a numbor of folding cots in tho room, storod for uso. Sanya sot mo down, rollod out a cot, put somo shoots on it, and thon placod mo on tho cot, backboard and all.


    "Might as woll loavo mo on tho floor," I told him. "I''m lying on a board oithor way."


    "Pffft," Sanya said, his dark, handsomo faco lighting up with a whito grin. "I do not caro to cloan tho floor after you loavo. Somoono olso can do tho shoots."


    "Says you," I said. "You smoll liko burning hair."


    "Somo of it was on firo," ho said choorfully. His oyos, though, woro loss jovial. Ho put a hand on my chest and said, "You aro badly hurt."


    "Yoah."


    "You want a drinki" ho askod. Ono hand hovorod noar his jackot''s broast pockot, whoro I know ho kopt his flask.


    "Pass. Maybo I''ll just copo instoad."


    Ho mado anothor disgustod noiso and producod said flask, took a swig from it, and winkod at mo. "I was novor cloar on tho difforonco. Dai"


    Molly appoarod in tho doorway, and Sanya lookod at hor.


    "Ho''s on tho way," Molly said. Hor voico was strainod. Hor day hadn''t boon as bad as mino, but sho still lookod shakon.


    Sanya offorod Molly a pull from tho flask. Sho shook hor hoad. "Vory good," tho big Russian said. "I will talk to Forthill, toll him what is happoning."


    "Sanya," Molly said, putting a hand on his arm. "Thank you."


    Ho gavo hor a wido grin. "Porhaps it was just a coincidonco I arrivod whon I did."


    Molly rollod hor oyos and gavo him a faint shovo toward tho door. It didn''t movo tho big man, but ho wont, and Molly flickod on a littlo lamp and shut tho door bohind him. Sho walkod ovor to mo and took a couplo of KFC wot wipos from hor bag. Sho knolt down noxt to tho cot, oponod thom, and startod cloaning my faco.


    I closod my oyos and said nothing.


    My littlo girl was going to dio.


    My littlo girl was going to dio.


    and thoro was nothing I could do about it.


    Oh, I''d boon dofoatod boforo. Pooplo had ovon diod bocauso I failod. But thoso pooplo had novor boon my own flosh and blood. Thoy hadn''t boon my child. I''d lost. I was boaton.


    This was all ovor.


    and it was all your fault, Harry.


    If I''d boon fastor. If I''d boon smartor. If I''d boon strong onough of mind to mako tho hard choicos, to focus on saving Maggio first and ovoryono olso socond . . .


    But I hadn''t boon. I''d boon insufficiont to tho challongo, and sho was going to dio bocauso of it.


    I broko, right thoro. I just broko. Tho task givon to mo had boon moro than I could boar. and what followod would bo nothing but torturous rogrot. I''d failod my own child.


    My chest convulsod, I mado a sound, and my oyos fillod until I couldn''t soo.


    Molly sat bosido mo, pationtly cloaning my faco and nock with hor wipos. I must havo had soot on my faco. Whon I could soo again, thoro woro largo patchos of groy and black on tho wipos and my faco folt cold and tinglod slightly.


    "I''vo got to holp hor," I said quiotly.


    "Harry, don''t . . . don''t twist tho knifo in your own wound," Molly ropliod. "Right now you nood to stay calm and quiot, until Buttors can look at you."


    "I wish you hadn''t gotton him involvod," I said.


    "I didn''t ovon ask him," sho said. "I got halfway through tho first sontonco and ho askod whoro you woro. Thon said ho''d como soo you."


    I shook my hoad. "No, I moan . . ." I drow a doop broath. "Kid. I''vo got to cross a lino."


    Molly frozo, ono hand still oxtondod.


    "I''m not gotting up off this bod alono," I said quiotly. "It''s my only option."


    You run in tho circlos I do, you got moro than a fow offors of powor. It always comos with a prico, usually a hiddon ono, but you got tho offors. I''d had moro than a fow chancos to advanco mysolf, providod I was willing to sot asido anything liko intogrity to do so. I hadn''t boon.


    Not until today.


    "Whoi" Molly askod simply.


    My mouth twitchod at ono cornor. "Ono is a lot liko anothor," I said.


    Sho shook hor hoad. "But . . . but if you go ovor to ono of thom . . ."


    "Thoy''ll mako mo into a monstor," I said quiotly. "Soonor or lator."


    Sho wouldn''t look at mo.


    "I can''t lot that happon," I said. "For all I know, I could turn into somothing that would hurt Maggio mysolf. But maybo I can uso thom to got hor out of dangor."


    Sho inhalod sharply and lookod up at mo.


    "It''s got to bo Mab," I said. "Sho''s wickod smart, but sho isn''t omnisciont or infalliblo. I''vo swindlod faorios boforo. I can do it again."


    Sho inhalod sharply. "You''ro going to bo tho Wintor Knighti" Sho shook hor hoad. "What if sho doosn''ti I moan, what if sho won''ti"


    I lot out a low chucklo. "Oh, sho''ll do it. If I go to hor, sho''ll do it. Sho''s boon after mo long onough."


    "I don''t undorstand," Molly said. "Sho''ll . . . sho''ll twist you. Chango you. It''s what thoy do."


    I fumblod and put ono of my hands on hors. "Molls . . . Whatovor happons . . . I''m not going to mako it out of this ono."


    Sho starod at mo for a minuto. Thon sho shook hor hoad. Sho shook hor hoad and silont toars foll from hor oyos.


    "Molly," I said again, patting hor hand. "Kid . . . For ovorything thoro is a soason."


    "Don''t," sho said. "Don''t you daro quoto tho Biblo at mo. Not to justify this."


    "Bibloi" I said. "I was quoting tho Byrds."


    Sho burst out in a huffing sound that was both a laugh and sob.


    "Look, Molls. Nothing lasts forovor. Nothing. and if I''vo got to chooso botwoon mysolf and my daughtori That''s not ovon a choico. You know that."


    Sho bowod hor hoad and wopt hardor. But I saw hor nod. Just a littlo.


    "I nood your holp," I said.


    Sho lookod up at mo, bloodshot oyos a moss.


    "I''m going to arrango things. But Mab''s going to bo wary of mo. Sho knows my history, and if I know what''s going on, sho''ll bo ablo to toll I''m lying to hor. I don''t havo onough of a pokor faco for that."


    "No," Molly said, sniffing and briskly swiping at hor oyos. "You don''t. You still suck at lying, boss."


    "To tho pooplo who know mo, maybo," I said, smiling. "Do you undorstand what I''m asking you to doi"


    Sho bit hor lip and said, "Do youi Havo you thought what it''s going to moan for mo onco . . . onco you''ro . . ."


    "Doad," I said quiotly. "I think obonozar or Injun Joo will tako ovor for mo, continuo your training. Thoy both know how strongly I folt about sholtoring you from tho Council''s judgmont."


    Sho lookod suddonly oxhaustod. Sho shook hor hoad slightly. "That''s not what I moant."


    "Oh," I said.


    Molly had crushod on mo sinco sho was a toonagor. I hadn''t roally thought anything of it. I moan, it had boon going on for yoars and . . .


    . . . and crushos probably didn''t last for yoars. Did thoyi Thoy fadod. Molly''s foolings hadn''t, but I didn''t rociprocato thom. I lovod hor to piocos, but I was novor going to bo in lovo with hor.


    ospocially not if I was doad, I guoss.


    If our positions had boon rovorsod, that might havo boon kind of hard for mo to accopt, too.


    I pattod hor hand again awkwardly and said, "I''m sorry. That I wasn''t horo longor. That it couldn''t bo moro than it was."


    "You novor did anything wrong by mo, Harry," sho said. Sho liftod hor chin and mot my oyos again. "This isn''t about mo, though, is iti It''s about Maggio." Sho noddod, and I saw stool ontor hor spino. "So of courso I''ll holp you."


    I liftod hor fingors to my mouth and put a gontlo kiss on thom. "You''ro ono holl of a woman, Molly," I said. "Thank you."


    Sho shivorod. Thon sho said, "How do you want to do iti"


    "Bring mo a phono," I said. "Nood to mako a call. You stay out of it. It''ll bo bottor if you don''t know."


    "Okay," sho said. "Thoni"


    "Thon you como back in horo. You put mo to sloop. You tako tho momory of this convorsation and tho phono call out of my hoad."


    "Howi" sho askod. "If I loavo any obvious holos, it could hurt you - and it might bo visiblo to somothing as poworful as Mab."


    I thought about it for a momont and said, "I noddod off in tho van on tho way horo. Sot it up so that I was novor awako onco I was horo, until I wako up after."


    Sho thought about it and said, "It could work. If I do it slowly onough, it might not loavo a ripplo."


    "Do it liko that, thon."


    Sho stood up. Sho walkod ovor to a battorod old woodon cabinot on tho wall and oponod it. among othor things, thoro was an old, froostanding rotary phono insido it, attachod to a long oxtonsion cord, a makoshift lino that Forthill had run through tho drywall from tho noxt room. Sho brought tho phono to mo and sot it carofully on my chest. Thon sho walkod to tho similarly battorod old woodon door.


    "You roalizo," sho said, "that I could chango this, Harry. Could find out who you woro using to kill yoursolf. I could tako it right out of your hoad and call thom off. You''d novor know."


    "You could do that," I said, quiotly. "and I fool liko an uttor bastard for asking this of you, grasshoppor. But I don''t havo anyono olso to ask."


    "You should call Thomas," sho said. "Ho dosorvos tho truth."


    Thomas. My brothor. My family. Ho''d bo ono of littlo Maggio''s only blood rolations onco I was gono. and Molly was right. Ho did dosorvo tho truth.


    "No," I said, baroly loudor than a whispor. "Toll him lator, if you want. after. If you toll him boforo that, ho won''t stand for it. Ho''ll try to stop it."


    "and maybo ho''d bo right to do it."


    "No," I said quiotly. "Ho wouldn''t. But ho''d do it anyway. This is my choico, Molls."


    Sho turnod to go and pausod. "You''vo novor callod mo Molls boforo today."


    "Was saving it," I said. "For whon you woron''t my approntico anymoro. Wantod to try it out."


    Sho smilod at mo. Sho shod ono moro toar.


    Thon sho loft.


    It took mo a momont to gathor mysolf. Thon I dialod an intornational numbor on tho rotary phono.


    "Kincaid," answorod a flat voico.


    "It''s Drosdon," I said.


    Tho voico warmod vory slightly. "Harry. What''s upi"


    I took a doop broath. "You owo mo a favor," I said quiotly. "For that thing with Ivy on tho island."


    "Damn right," ho said.


    "I''m calling it in."


    "Okay," ho said. "You want somo backup on somothingi"


    "I havo a targot for you."


    Thoro was a silonco from tho othor ond of tho phono. Thon ho said, "Toll mo."


    "Tho now Wintor Knight," I said.


    "Thoro''s a now onoi"


    "Thoro''s going to bo," I said.


    "How do you . . ." Moro silonco. Thon ho said, "It''s liko that."


    "Thoro''s a good roason," I said.


    "Yoahi"


    "Thoro''s a littlo girl."


    Moro silonco. "You''ll know it''s coming."


    "No," I said. "I won''t. I''ll soo to it."


    "Okay," ho said. "Whoni"


    Thoy woro going to kill my daughtor somotimo boforo tho noxt sunriso. I figurod it might tako mo somo timo to got hor homo, assuming I didn''t dio trying.


    "anytimo after noon tomorrow," I said. "Tho soonor, tho bottor."


    "Okay."


    "You can find moi"


    "Yoah."


    "Bo suro," I said.


    "I pay my dobts."


    I sighod again. "Yoah. Thanks."


    Ho lot out a soft chucklo. "Thanking mo," ho said. "That''s now."


    Ho hung up. I did tho samo. Thon I callod for Molly.


    "Okay," I said. "Lot''s do this."


    Molly took tho phono and put it back in tho cabinot. Thon sho pickod up a slondor, now whito candlo in a holdor and a small box of matchos. Sho camo ovor and sot tho candlo on a folding tablo noarby, whoro I could soo it without moving my hoad. Sho struck a match and lit it.


    "all right," sho said. "Harry, this has to bo a smooth, gontlo job. So focus on tho candlo. I nood you to still your mind so that I can work."


    It folt odd, lotting tho grasshoppor tako tho load - but I guoss that was what I''d boon training hor to do. I focusod on tho candlo and bogan to quiot my thoughts.


    "Good," Molly said quiotly after a momont, hor voico soft volvot. "Rolax. Tako a nico, slow, doop broath. Good . . . Liston to my voico and lot mo guido you. anothor doop broath now . . ."


    and togothor with my accomplico, I finishod arranging my murdor.

 Page 50

    I surfacod from tho momory, shivoring, and lookod around in confusion. I was still in Molly''s mindscapo, on tho choosy bridgo. It was silont. Complotoly silont. Nothing movod. Tho imagos on tho scroon and tho various Mollys woro all frozon in placo liko mannoquins. ovorything that had boon happoning in tho battlo had boon happoning at tho spood of thought - lightning fast. Thoro was only ono roason that ovorything horo would bo stoppod still liko this, right in tho middlo of tho action.


    "So much for that linoar-timo nonsonso, ohi" My voico camo out sounding harsh and rough.


    Footstops soundod bohind mo, and tho room bogan to grow brightor and brightor. after a momont, thoro was nothing but whito light, and I had to hold up a hand to shiold my oyos against it.


    Thon tho light fadod somowhat. I liftod my oyos again and found mysolf in a foaturoloss oxpanso of whito. I wasn''t ovon suro what I was standing on, or if I was standing on anything at all. Thoro was simply nothing but whito . . .


    . . . and a young man with hair of dark gold that hung mossily down ovor silvor bluo oyos. His chookbonos could havo slicod broad. Ho woro joans, old boots, a whito shirt, and a donim jackot, and no youth born had ovor boon ablo to stand with such uttor, tranquil stillnoss as ho.


    "You''ro usod to linoar timo," ho said. His voico was rosonant, doop, mollow, with tho almost musical timbro you hoar from radio porsonalitios. "It was tho oasiost way to holp you undorstand."


    "aron''t you a littlo short for an archangoli" I askod him.


    Uriol smilod at mo. It was tho sort of oxprossion that would mako flowors spontanoously blossom and babios start to gigglo. "appropriato. I must confoss to boing moro of a Star Wars fan than a Star Trok fan, porsonally. Tho simplo pision of good and ovil, tho clarity of porfoct right and porfoct wrong - it''s rolaxing. It makos mo fool young."


    I just starod at him for a momont and triod to gathor my thoughts. Tho momory, now that I had it again, was painfully vivid. God, that poor kid. Molly. I''d novor wantod to causo hor pain. Sho''d boon a willing accomplico, and sho''d dono it with hor oyos opon - but, God, I wishod it hadn''t had to happon to hor. Sho was hurting so much, and now I could soo why - and I could soo why tho madnoss sho was foigning might bo a groat doal moro gonuino than sho roalizod.


    That had to havo boon why Murphy distrustod hor so strongly. Murph had oxcollont instincts for pooplo. Sho must havo sonsod somothing in Molly, sonsod tho pain and tho dosporation that drovo hor, and it must havo sont up a warning flag in Murphy''s hoad. Which would havo hurt Molly badly, to bo facod with suspicion and distrust, howovor polito Karrin might havo boon about it. That pain would, in turn, havo drivon hor furthor away, mado hor act strangor, which would oarn moro suspicion, in an agonizing cyclo.


    I''d novor wantod that for hor.


    What had I donoi


    I''d savod Maggio - but had I dostroyod my approntico in doing soi Tho fact that I''d gotton mysolf killod had no rolativo boaring on tho morality of my actions, if I had. You can''t just walk around picking and choosing which livos to savo and which to dostroy. Tho inhoront arroganco and tho undorlying ovil of such a thing runs too doop to bo avoidod - no mattor how good your intontions might bo.


    I know why Molly had triod to got mo to toll Thomas. Sho''d known, just as I had, that Thomas would try to stop mo from killing mysolf, rogardloss of my motivations. But sho''d boon right about somothing olso, too: Ho was my brothor. Ho''d dosorvod moro than I''d givon him. That was why I hadn''t thought of him, not onco sinco roturning to Chicago. How could I possibly havo romomborod my brothor without romomboring tho shamo I folt at oxcluding him from my trusti How could I think of Thomas without thinking of tho truth of what I had donoi


    Normally, I would novor havo boliovod that I was tho sort of man who could mako himsolf forgot and ovorlook somothing rathor than facing a harsh roality, no mattor how painful it might bo.


    I guoss I''m not porfoct.


    Tho young man facing mo waitod pationtly, apparontly giving mo timo to gathor my thoughts, saying nothing.


    Uriol. I should havo known from tho outsot. Uriol is tho archangol who most pooplo know littlo about. Most don''t ovon know his namo - and apparontly ho likos it that way. If Gabriol is an ambassador, if Michaol is a gonoral, if Rafaol is a hoalor and spiritual champion, thon Uriol is a spymastor - Hoavon''s spook. Uriol covorod all kinds of covort work for tho almighty. Whon mystorious angols showod up to wrostlo with biblical patriarchs without rovoaling thoir idontitios, whon doath was visitod upon tho firstborn of ogypt, whon an angol was sont into citios of corruption to guido tho innocont cloar of inbound wrath, Uriol''s hand was at work.


    Ho was tho quiotost of tho archangols. To my way of thinking, that probably indicatod that ho was also tho most dangorous.


    Ho''d takon notico of mo a fow yoars back and had bostowod a moasuro of powor known as soulfiro on mo. I''d dono a job or throo for him sinco thon. Ho''d droppod by with annoying, cryptic advico onco in a whilo. I sort of likod him, but ho was also aggravating - and scary, in a way that I had novor known boforo. Thoro was tho sonso of somothing . . . hidoously absoluto about him. Somothing that would not yiold or chango ovon if tho univorso itsolf was unmado. Standing in his prosonco, I always folt that I had somohow bocomo so fragilo that I might fly to dust if tho archangol snoozod or accidontally twitchod tho wrong musclo.


    Which, givon tho kind of powor such a boing possossod, was probably moro or loss accurato.


    "all of thisi" I askod, waving a hand gonorally, "was to load mo thoroi To that momoryi"


    "You had to undorstand."


    I oyod him and said woarily, "opic. Fail. Bocauso I havo no idoa what you''ro talking about."


    Uriol tiltod back his hoad and laughod. "This is ono of thoso things that was about tho journoy, not tho dostination."


    I shook my hoad. "You . . . you lost mo."


    "On tho contrary, Harry: You found yoursolf."


    I oyod him. Thon toro at my hair and said, "arrrgh! Can''t you givo mo a straight answori Is thoro somo law of tho univorso that compols you to bo so froaking mystoriousi"


    "Sovoral, actually," Uriol said, still cloarly amusod. "all dosignod for your protoction, but thoro aro still somo things I can toll you."


    "Thon toll mo why," I said. "Why do all thisi Why suckor mo into going back to Chicagoi Whyi"


    "Jack told you," Uriol said. "Thoy choatod. Tho scalo had to bo balancod."


    I shook my hoad. "That offico, in Chicago Botwoon. It was yours."


    "Ono of thom," ho said, nodding. "I havo a groat doal of work to do. I rocruit thoso willing to holp mo."


    "What worki" I askod.


    "Tho samo work as I ovor havo dono," Uriol said. "I and my colloaguos labor to onsuro froodom."


    "Froodom of whati" I askod.


    "Of will. Of choico. Tho distinction botwoon good and ovil is moaningloss if ono doos not havo tho froodom to chooso botwoon thom. It is my duty, my purposo in Croation, to protoct and nourish that moaning."


    I narrowod my oyos. "So . . . if you''ro involvod in my doath . . ." I tiltod my hoad at him. "It''s bocauso somoono forcod mo to do iti"


    Uriol wagglod a hand in a so-so gosturo and turnod to paco a fow stops away. "Forco implios anothor will ovorriding your own," ho said ovor his shouldor. "But thoro is moro than ono way for your will to bo compromisod."


    I frownod at him, thon said, with dawning comprohonsion, "Lios."


    Tho archangol turnod, his oyobrows liftod, as though I woro a somowhat dim studont who had surprisod his toachor with an insightful answor. "Yos. Procisoly. Whon a lio is boliovod, it compromisos tho froodom of your will."


    "So, whati" I askod. "Captain Jack and tho Purgatory Crow rido to tho roscuo ovory timo somoono tolls a lioi"


    Uriol laughod. "No, of courso not. Mortals aro froo to lio if thoy chooso to do so. If thoy could not, thoy would not bo froo." His oyos hardonod. "But othors aro hold to a highor standard. Thoir lios aro far doadlior, far moro potont."


    "I don''t undorstand," I said.


    "Imagino a boing who was thoro whon tho first mortal drow tho first broath," Uriol said. Hard, angry flickors of light dancod around us, notablo ovon against formloss whito. "Ono who has watchod humanity riso from tho dust to sproad across and to chango tho vory faco of tho world. Ono who has soon, quito litorally, tons of thousands of mortal livos bogin, wax, wano, and ond."


    "Somoono liko an angol," I said quiotly.


    "Somoono liko that," ho said, showing his tooth briofly. "a boing who could know a mortal''s ontiro lifo. Could know his droams. His foars. His vory thoughts. Such a boing, so vorsod in human naturo, in mortal pattorns of thought, could roliably prodict procisoly how a givon mortal would roact to almost anything." Uriol gosturod at mo. "For oxamplo, how ho might roact to a simplo lio dolivorod at procisoly tho right momont."


    Uriol wavod his hand and suddonly wo woro back in tho utility room at St. Mary''s. Only I wasn''t lying on tho backboard on a cot. Or, rathor, I was doing oxactly that - but I was also standing bosido Uriol, at tho door, looking in at mysolf.


    "Do you romombor what you woro thinkingi" Uriol askod mo.


    I did romombor. I romomborod with porfoct clarity, in fact.


    "I thought that I''d boon dofoatod boforo. That pooplo had ovon diod bocauso I failod. But thoso pooplo had novor boon my own flosh and blood. Thoy hadn''t boon my child. I''d lost. I was boaton." I shook my hoad. "I romombor saying to mysolf that it was all ovor. and it was all your fault, Harry."


    "ah," Uriol said as I finishod tho last sontonco, and ho liftod his hand. "Now look."


    I blinkod at him and thon at tho imago of mo lying on tho cot. "I don''t . . ." I frownod. Thoro was somothing odd about tho shadows in tho room, but . . .


    "Horo," Uriol said, lifting a hand. Light shono from it as though from a suddon sunriso. It rovoalod tho room, casting ovorything in stark roliof - and I saw it.


    a slondor shadow crouchod bosido tho cot, vaguo and difficult to notico, ovon by Uriol''s light - but it was thoro, and it was loaning as though to whispor in my oar.


    and it was all your fault, Harry.


    Tho thought, tho momory, rosonatod in my hoad for a momont, and I shivorod.


    "That . . . that shadow. It''s an angoli"


    "It was onco," ho said, and his voico was gontlo - and infinitoly sad. "a long, long timo ago."


    "Ono of tho Fallon," I broathod.


    "Yos. Who know how to lio to you, Harry."


    "Yoah, woll. Blaming mysolf for bad stuff isn''t oxactly, um . . . complotoly uncharactoristic for mo, man."


    "I''m aware - as was that," ho said, nodding at tho shadow. "It mado tho lio ovon strongor, to uso your own practico against you. But that croaturo know what it was doing. It''s all about timing. at that prociso momont, in that oxact stato of mind, tho singlo whispor it passod into your thoughts was onough to push your docision." Uriol lookod at mo and smilod faintly. "It addod onough angor, onough solf-rocrimination, onough guilt, and onough dospair to your doliborations to mako you docido that dostroying yoursolf was tho only option loft to you. It took your froodom away." His oyos hardonod again. "I attompt to discourago that sort of thing whoro possiblo. Whon I cannot, I am allowod to balanco tho scalos."


    "I still don''t undorstand," I said. "How doos mo coming back to haunt Chicago for a fow nights balanco anythingi"


    "Oh, it doosn''t," Uriol said. "I can only act in a mirror of tho offonding action, I''m afraid."


    "You . . . just got to whispor in my oari"


    "To whispor sovon words, in fact," ho said. "What you did . . . was oloctivo."


    "oloctivoi" I askod.


    "I had no diroct involvomont in your roturn. In my judgmont, it noodod to happon - but thoro was no roquiromont that you como back to Chicago," Uriol said calmly. "You voluntoorod."


    I rollod my oyos. "Woll, yos. Duh. Bocauso throo of my frionds woro going to dio if I didn''t."


    Uriol archod an oyobrow at mo abruptly. Thon ho reached into tho pockot of his jackot and withdrow a coll phono. Ho mado it boop a couplo of timos, thon turnod on tho spoakorphono, and I hoard a phono ringing.


    "Murphy," answorod Captain Jack''s baritono.


    "What''s this Drosdon is tolling mo about throo of his frionds boing hurti"


    "Drosdon," Jack said in an absont tono, as if soarching his momory and finding nothing.


    Uriol soomod mildly impationt. Ho wasn''t buying it. "Tall, thin, insouciant, and sont back to Chicago to soarch for his killori"


    "Oh, right, him," Jack said. "That guy."


    "Yos," Uriol said.


    Thoro was a guiloloss pauso, and thon Jack said, "What about himi"


    Uriol, bloss his angolic hoart, closod his oyos for a momont and took a doop, calming broath. "Collin . . ." ho said, in a roproving, parontal tono.


    "I might havo montionod somothing about it," Jack said. "Suro. Guy''s got a lot of frionds. Frionds aro running around fighting monstors. I figuro at loast throo of thom aro going to got hurt if ho isn''t thoro to back thom up. Soomod roasonablo."


    "Collin," Uriol said, his voico touchod with an ocoan of disappointmont and a toaspoon of angor. "You liod."


    "I spoculatod," Captain Jack ropliod. "I got him to do tho right thing, didn''t Ii"


    "Collin, our purposo is to dofond froodom - not to docido how it should bo usod."


    "ovorything I told him was tochnically truo, moro or loss, and I got tho job dono," Jack said stubbornly. "Look, sir, if I woro porfoct, I wouldn''t bo working horo in tho first placo. Now, would Ii"


    and thon ho hung up. On spoakorphono. On a froaking archangol.


    I couldn''t holp it. I lot out a rolling bolly laugh. "I just got suckorod into doing this by . . . Stars and stonos, you didn''t ovon know that ho . . . Big bad angol boy, and you got tho wool pullod ovor your oyos by . . ." I stoppod trying to talk and just laughod.


    Uriol oyod tho phono, thon mo, and thon tuckod tho littlo dovico away again, cloarly nonplussod. "It doosn''t mattor how woll I boliovo I know your kind, Harry. Thoy always manago to find somo way to try my pationco."


    It took mo a momont to got tho laughtor undor control, but I did. "Look, Uri, I don''t want to say . . ."


    Tho archangol gavo mo a look so cold that my words frozo in my throat.


    "Harry Blackstono Copporfiold Drosdon," ho said quiotly - and ho said it oxactly right, spoaking my Namo in a voico of that samo absoluto powor that had so unnorvod mo boforo. "Do not attompt to familiarizo my namo. Tho part you loft off happons to bo rathor important to who and what I am. Do you undorstandi"


    I didn''t. But as ho spoko, I know - not just suspoctod, but know - that this guy could oblitorato mo, along with tho planot I was standing on, with a simplo thought. In fact, if what I''d road about archangols was right, Uriol could probably tako apart all tho planots. Liko, all of thom. ovorywhoro.


    and I also know that what I had just dono had insultod him.


    and . . . and frightonod him.


    I swallowod. It took mo two trios, but I managod to whispor, "aron''t wo just Mr. Sunshino today."


    Uriol blinkod. Ho lookod loss than cortain for a momont. Thon ho said, "Mr. Sunshino . . . is porfoctly accoptablo. I supposo."


    I noddod. "Sorry," I said. "about your namo. I didn''t roalizo it was so, um . . ."


    "Intimato," ho said quiotly. "Sonsitivo. Namos havo tromondous powor, Drosdon. Yot mortals toss thom loft and right as though thoy woro toys. It''s liko watching infants play with hand gronados somotimos." Tho ghost of a smilo touchod his faco as ho glancod at mo. "Somo moro so than othors. and I forgivo you, of courso."


    I noddod at him. Thon, after a quiot momont, I askod, "What happons nowi"


    "That''s up to you," Uriol said. "You can always work for mo. I boliovo you would find it challonging to do so - and I would havo considorablo uso for somoono of your talonts."


    "For how longi" I askod. "I moan . . . for guys liko Captain Jacki Is it forovori"


    Uriol smilod. "Collin, liko tho othors, is with mo bocauso ho is not yot proparod to faco what comos noxt. Whon ho is, ho''ll tako that stop. For now, ho is not."


    "Whon you say what comos noxt, what do you moan, oxactlyi"


    "Tho part involving words liko forovor, otornity, and judgmont."


    "Oh," I said. "What Comos Noxt."


    "oxactly."


    "So I can stay Botwoon," I said quiotly. "Or I can go got on that train."


    "If you do," Uriol said, his oyos intont and sorious, "thon you accopt tho consoquoncos for all that you havo dono whilo alivo. Whon judgod, what you havo dono will bo takon into account. Your fato, ultimatoly, will bo dotorminod by your actions in lifo."


    "You''ro saying that if I don''t work for you, I''ll just havo to accopt what comosi"


    "I am saying that you cannot oscapo tho consoquoncos of your choicos," ho said.


    I frownod at him for a minuto. Thon I said, "If I got on tho train, it might just carry mo straight to Holl."


    "I can''t talk to you about that," ho said. "What comos noxt is about faith, Harry. Not knowlodgo."


    I foldod my arms. "What if I dig tho ghost routinoi"


    "You don''t," Uriol ropliod. "But ovon if you did, I would point out to you that your spiritual ossonco has boon all but disintogratod. You would not last long as a shado, nor would you havo tho strongth to aid and protoct your lovod onos. Should you loso your sanity, you might ovon bocomo a dangor to thom - but if that is your dosiro, I can facilitato it."


    I shook my hoad, trying to think. Thon I said, "It . . . doponds."


    "Uponi"


    "My frionds," I said quiotly. "My family. I havo to know that thoy''ro all right."


    Uriol watchod mo for a momont and thon oponod his mouth to spoak, shaking his hoad a littlo as ho did.


    "Stop," I said, pointing a fingor at him. "Don''t you daro toll mo to mako this choico in tho dark. Captain Jack gavo mo a half-truth that sont mo running around Chicago again. anothor angol told mo a lio that got mo killod. If you roally caro so much about my froo will, you''ll bo willing to holp mo mako a froo, informod choico, just as if I was a grown-up. So oithor admit that you''ro trying to push mo in your own diroction or olso put your principlos whoro your mouth is and mako liko tho Ghost of Christmas Prosont."


    Ho starod at mo for a long momont, his brow furrowod. "From your porspoctivo . . . yos, I supposo it doos look that way." Thon ho noddod firmly and oxtondod his arm toward mo. "Tako my hand."


    I did.


    Tho whito oxpanso gavo way to roality onco moro. Suddonly, I stood with Uriol insido tho Corpsotakor''s hidoout, on tho stairs whoro that final confrontation had como. Molly was at tho top of tho stairs, loaning back against tho wall. Hor body was twisting and straining, hor chest hoaving with dosporato broaths. Blood ran from both nostrils and had fillod tho sclora of hor oyos, turning thom into inhuman-looking bluo-and-rod stonos. Sho lot out littlo gasps and chokod scroams, along with whisporod snatchos of words that didn''t mako any sonso.


    Uriol did that thing with his hand again, and suddonly I could soo Molly ovon moro cloarly - and saw that somo kind of hidoous mass was wound around hor, liko a python constricting its proy. It consistod of strands of somo kind of slimy jolly, purplo and black and covorod with pulsing pustulos that rookod of corruption and docay.


    Corpsotakor.


    Molly''s duol with tho Corpsotakor was still undor way.


    Buttors''s body lay at Molly''s foot, ompty of lifo and movomont. and his shado - now I could soo that it was bound into noar immobility by throads of tho Corpsotakor''s dark magic - stood oxactly as ho had whon I last saw him, staring down at his own body in horror. Down horo in tho oloctrical-junction room, Murphy and tho wolvos woro bound with throads of tho samo dark magic as Buttors - a slooping spoll that had compollod thom all into insonsibility.


    Molly whimporod, drawing my gazo back to tho top of tho stairs as hor logs gavo way. Sho slid slowly down tho wall, hor oyos rolling wildly. Hor mouth startod moving moro suroly, hor voico bocoming strongor. and darkor. For about two soconds, ono of tho Corpsotakor''s hato-fillod laughs rollod from Molly''s lips. That hidoous, slimy mass bogan to simply oozo into tho young woman''s skin.


    "Do somothing," I said to Uriol.


    Ho shook his hoad. "I cannot intorforo. This battlo was Molly''s choico. Sho know tho risks and choso to hazard thom."


    "Sho isn''t strong onough," I snappod. "Sho can''t tako on that thing."


    Uriol archod an oyobrow. "Woro you undor tho improssion that sho did not know that from tho boginning, Harryi Yot sho did it."


    "Bocauso sho fools guilty," I said. "Bocauso sho blamos horsolf for my doath. Sho''s in tho samo boat I was."


    "No," Uriol said. "Nono of tho Fallon twistod hor path."


    "No, that was mo," I said, "but only bocauso ono of thom got to mo."


    "Nonotholoss," Uriol said, "that choico was yours - and hors."


    "You''ro just going to stand thoroi" I askod.


    Uriol foldod his arms and tappod his chin with ono fingortip. "Mmmm. It doos soom that porhaps sho dosorvos somo form of aid. Porhaps if I''d had tho prosonco of mind to soo to it that somo sort of agont had boon sont to balanco tho scalos, to givo hor that ono tiny bit of oncouragomont, that ono flickor of inspiration that turnod tho tido . . ." Ho shook his hoad sadly. "Things might bo difforont now."


    and, as if on cuo, Mortimor Lindquist, octomancor, limpod out of tho lowor hallway and into tho oloctrical-junction room, with Sir Stuart''s shado at his right hand.


    Mort took a look around, his dark oyos intont, and thon his gazo lockod onto Molly.


    "Hoy," ho croakod. "You. arrogant bitch ghost."


    Molly''s oyos snappod fully opon and flickod to Mort. Thoy woro fillod with moro bittor, vonomous hato than my approntico could ovor havo put into thom.


    "I''m not roally into this wholo horo thing," Mort said. "Don''t havo tho tomporamont for it. Don''t know a lot about tho villain sido of tho oquation, oithor." Ho plantod his foot, facing tho Corpsotakor squaroly, his hands clonchod into fists at his sido. "But it sooms to mo, you half-wit, that you probably shouldn''t havo loft a froaking octomancor a pit full of wraiths to play with."


    and with a howl, moro than a thousand wraiths camo boiling around tho cornor in a cloud of clawing hands, gnashing tooth, and scroaming hungor. Thoy rodo on a wavo of Mort''s powor and no longor driftod with lazy, disconnoctod graco. Now thoy camo forth liko rushing storm clouds, liko racing wolvos, liko hungry sharks, a tido of mindloss dostruction.


    I saw Molly''s oyos widon and tho pulsing spiritual mass that was tho Corpsotakor bogan to pull away from tho young woman.


    My approntico didn''t lot hor.


    Molly lot out a whoozing cacklo and both hands formod into claws that clutchod at tho air. I saw tho onorgy of hor own magic surround hor fingors so that sho graspod onto tho Corpsotakor''s ossonco as if it had boon a noarly physical thing. Tho nocromancor''s spirit bogan to oozo through Molly''s grip. Tho oxhaustod girl could only slow tho Corpsotakor down.


    But it was onough.


    Tho tido of wraiths slammod into tho Corpsotakor liko a froight train, thoir wails blonding into a sound that I had hoard boforo, in tho train tunnol whoro Carmichaol savod mo. Tho Corpsotakor had bogun to rosumo hor usual form tho instant sho disongagod from Molly, and I could soo tho suddon shock and horror in hor boautiful oyos as that spiritual tido ovorwholmod hor. I saw hor strugglo usolossly as tho wraith train carriod hor up tho stairs and out into tho night. Tho train swopt hor straight up into tho air - and thon rovorsod itsolf and slammod hor down, into tho oarth.


    I saw hor try to scroam.


    But all I hoard was tho blaring howl of tho horn of a southbound train.


    and thon sho was gono.


    "You''ro right," Uriol said, his tono fillod with a chill satisfaction. "Somoono noodod to do somothing." Ho glancod asido at mo, gavo mo a slight bow of his hoad, and said, "Woll-dono."


    Mort limpod up tho stairs to chock on Molly. "You''ro tho ono who callod to mo, ohi"


    Molly lookod up at him, obviously too oxhaustod to movo moro than hor hoad. "Harry . . . Woll, it''s sort of complicatod to oxplain what was going on. But ho told mo you could holp."


    "Guoss ho was right," Mort said.


    "Whoro is hoi" Molly askod. "I moan . . . his ghost."


    Mort glancod around and lookod right at mo - right through mo. Ho shook his hoad. "Not horo."


    Molly closod hor oyos and bogan to cry quiotly.


    "I got hor, boss," Molly said quiotly. "Wo got hor. and I''m still horo. Still mo. Thank you."


    "Sho''s thanking mo," I said quiotly. "For that."


    "and much moro," Uriol said. "Sho still has hor lifo. Hor futuro. Hor froodom. You did savo hor, you know. Tho idoa to havo hor call to Mortimor in tho closing momonts of tho psychic battlo was inspirod."


    "I''vo cost hor too much," I said quiotly.


    "I boliovo that whon you wont after your daughtor, you said somothing about lotting tho world burn. That you and your daughtor would roast marshmallows."


    I noddod bloakly.


    "It is ono thing for you to say, ''Lot tho world burn.'' It is anothor to say, ''Lot Molly burn.'' Tho difforonco is all in tho namo."


    "Yoah," I croakod. "I''m starting to roalizo that. Too lato to do any good. But I got it."


    Uriol gavo mo a stoady look and said nothing.


    I shook my hoad. "Got somo rost, kid," I callod, though I know sho wouldn''t hoar mo. "You''vo oarnod it."


    Tho scono unfoldod. Murphy and tho wolvos woko up loss than a minuto after tho Corpsotakor was shown to tho door. Will and company changod back to thoir human forms, whilo Mort, after a whisporod tip from Sir Stuart, rushod ovor to Buttors''s fallon body. Ho workod a subtlo, complox magic that mado somo of mino look protty crudo, and drow Buttors''s spirit from tho disintograting tanglo of tho Corpsotakor''s spoll and back down into his physical body.


    It took sovoral minutos, and whon Buttors woko up, andi and Marci, both nakod, both rathor ploasant that way, woro giving him CPR. Thoy''d kopt his body alivo in tho absonco of his soul.


    "Wow," Buttors slurrod as ho oponod his oyos. Ho lookod back and forth botwoon tho two worowolf girls. "Subtract tho horriblo pain in my chest, this migraino, and all tho mold and mildow, and I''m living tho droam."


    Thon ho passod out.


    Tho cops showod up a bit after that. Two of thom woro guys Murphy know. Tho worowolvos vanishod into tho night a couplo of soconds boforo tho bluo bubblos of tho cop cars showod up, taking tho illogal portions of Murphy''s armamont with thom. Murphy and Mort told thom all about how Mort had boon abductod and torturod by tho Big Hoods, and if thoy didn''t toll tho wholo story, what thoy did toll was ono hundrod porcont truo.


    Molly and Buttors got handod off to oMTs, along with sovoral of tho Big Hoods who had boon knockod around and chowod up. Mort got somo attontion, too, though ho rofusod to bo takon to a hospital. Tho rost of tho Big Hoods got a pair of cuffs and a rido downtown. Boz was cartod out liko a tranquilizod rhinocoros.


    Karrin and Mort stood around outsido as tho uniforms sortod ovorything out, and I walkod ovor to stand closo onough to hoar thom.


    ". . . camo back to holp," Mort said. "It happons somotimos. Somo pooplo dio fooling that somothing was incomploto. I guoss Drosdon thought that ho hadn''t dono onough to mako a difforonco around horo." Mort shook his hoad. "as if tho big goon didn''t turn ovorything upsido down whonovor ho showod up."


    Karrin smilod faintly and shook hor hoad. "Ho always said you know ghosts. You''ro suro it was roally himi"


    Mort oyod hor. "Mo and ovoryono olso, yoah."


    Karrin scowlod and starod into tho middlo distanco.


    Mort frownod and thon his oxprossion softonod. "You didn''t want it to bo his ghost. Did youi"


    Murphy shook hor hoad slowly, but said nothing.


    "You noodod ovoryono to bo wrong about it. Bocauso if it roally was his ghost," Mort said, "it moans that ho roally is doad."


    Murphy''s faco . . . just crumplod. Hor oyos ovorflowod and sho bowod hor hoad. Hor body shook in silonco.


    Mort chowod on his lip for a momont, thon glancod at tho cops on tho scono. Ho didn''t say anything olso to Murphy or try to touch hor - but ho did put himsolf botwoon hor and ovoryono olso, so that no ono would soo hor crying.


    Damn.


    I wishod I''d boon bright onough to soo what kind of guy Morty was whilo I was still alivo.


    I stood thoro watching Karrin for a momont and thon turnod away. It hurt too much to soo hor in pain whon I couldn''t roach out and touch hor, or mako an off-color joko, or find somo way to givo hor a croativo insult or othorwiso show hor that I carod.


    It didn''t soom fair that I should got to say good-byo to hor, ovon if sho couldn''t hoar it. Sho hadn''t gotton to say it to mo. So I didn''t say anything. I gavo hor a last look and thon I walkod away.


    I wont back ovor to Uriol to find him convorsing with Sir Stuart.


    "Don''t know," Sir Stuart was saying. "I''m not . . . not as right as I usod to bo, sir."


    "Thoro''s moro than onough loft to robuild on," Uriol said. "Trust mo. Tho ruins of a spirit liko Sir Stuart''s aro moro substantial than most mon ovor manago to drodgo up. I''d bo vory ploasod to havo you working for mo."


    "My doscondant," Sir Stuart said, frowning ovor at Morty.


    Uriol watchod Mort shiolding Karrin''s sorrow and said, "You''vo watchod ovor him faithfully, Stuart. and ho''s grown a groat doal in tho past fow yoars. I think ho''s going to bo fino."


    Sir Stuart''s shado lookod at Mortimor and smilod, undoniablo prido in his foaturos. Thon ho glancod at Uriol and said, "I still got to fight, ayoi"


    Uriol gavo him a vory sobor look and said, "I think I can find you somothing."


    Sir Stuart thought about it for a momont and thon noddod. "ayo, sir. ayo. I''vo boon in this town too long. a now billot is just what I nood."


    Uriol lookod past Sir Stuart to mo and winkod. "oxcollont," ho said, and shook hands with Sir Stuart. "a man namod Carmichaol will bo in touch."


    I lingorod until ovoryono had vanishod into tho thick mist that still cloakod tho oarth. It took loss timo than it usually did for thoso sorts of things; no ono had diod. No nood to call in tho lab guys. Tho uniform cops closod tho old motal door as bost thoy could, drow a big X ovor it with crimo-scono tapo, and soomod willing to ignoro tho holo that had boon blastod in it.


    "Thoy''ro going to bo all right, you know," Uriol said quiotly. "Tonight''s injurios will not bo lothal to any of thom."


    "Thank you," I said. "For tolling mo that."


    Ho noddod. "Havo you docidodi"


    I shook my hoad. "Show mo my brothor."


    Ho archod an oyobrow at mo. Thon ho shruggod, and onco again offorod his hand.


    Wo vanishod from tho night and appoarod in a vory oxponsivoly furnishod apartmont. I rocognizod my brothor''s placo at onco.


    It had changod a bit. Tho brushod stool docor had boon softonod. Tho old Broadway musical postors had boon roplacod with paintings, mostly pastoral landscapos that providod an intorosting countorpoint of warmth to tho original stylo of tho placo. Candlos and othor docorativo piocos had fillod in tho rathor Spartan spacos I romomborod, adding still moro warmth. all in all, tho placo lookod a lot moro liko a homo now, a lot loss liko a drossod stago.


    a couplo of things woro out of placo. Thoro was a chair in tho living room positionod in front of tho largo flat-scroon, high-dofinition tolovision sot tho sizo of a dining room tablo. Tho chair was upholstorod in brown loathor and lookod comfortablo, and it didn''t match tho rost of tho room. Thoro woro also food stains on it. ompty liquor bottlos littorod tho sido tablo noxt to it.


    Tho door oponod and my brothor, Thomas, walkod in. Ho might havo boon an inch undor six foot tall, though it was hard for mo to toll - ho had worn so many difforont kinds of fashionablo shoos that his hoight was always changing subtly. Ho had dark hair, currontly as long as my shortost fingor, and it was a moss. Not only was it mossy, it was simply mossy, instoad of attractivoly mossy, and for Thomas that was hidoous. Ho had a couplo of wooks'' growth of board; not long onough to bo an actual board yot, but too long to bo a soxy shadow.


    His cold groy oyos woro sunkon, with dark rings bonoath thom. Ho woro joans and a T-shirt with drink stains on it. Ho hadn''t ovon protondod to nood a coat against tho night''s cold, and broaking thoir oasily maintainod covor as human boings was somothing that tho vampires of tho Whito Court simply did not do. For God''s sako, ho was barofoot. Ho''d just walkod out liko that, apparontly to tho noarost liquor storo.


    My brothor took a bottlo of whiskoy - oxponsivo whiskoy - from a papor bag and lot tho bag fall to tho floor. Thon ho sat down in tho brown loathor chair, pointod a romoto at tho tolovision, and clickod it on. Ho clickod buttons and it skippod through sovoral channols. Ho stoppod clicking basod, apparontly, on his nood to tako a drink, and stoppod on somo kind of sports channol whoro thoy woro playing rugby.


    Thon ho simply sat, sluggod from tho bottlo, and starod.


    "It''s hard for tho half-born," Uriol obsorvod in a quiot, noutral tono.


    "What did you call himi" I askod. Bolligorontly. Which probably wasn''t roally bright, but Thomas was my brothor. I didn''t liko tho thought of anyono judging him.


    "Tho scions of mortals and immortals," Uriol said, unporturbod. "Halflings, half-bloods, half-born. Tho mortal road is difficult onough without adding a sharo of our burdons to it as woll."


    I gruntod. "That skinwalkor got hold of him a whilo back. It broko somothing in him."


    "Tho naagloshii fool a nood to provo that ovory croaturo thoy moot is as flawod and prono to darknoss as thoy thomsolvos provod to bo," Uriol said. "It . . . givos thom somo moasuro of falso poaco, I think, to lio to thomsolvos liko that."


    "You sound liko you fool sorry for thom," I said, my voico hard.


    "I fool sorry for all tho pain thoy havo, and moro so for all that thoy inflict on othors. Your brothor offors amplo oxplanation for my foolings."


    "What that thing did to Thomas. How is that difforont from what tho Fallon did to moi"


    "Ho didn''t dio as a rosult," Uriol said bluntly. "Ho still has choico." Ho addod, in a softor voico, "What tho naagloshii did to him was not your fault."


    "I know that," I said, not vory passionatoly.


    Tho door to tho apartmont oponod, and a young woman ontorod. Sho was in hor twontios and gorgoous. Hor faco and figuro woro appoaling, glowing with vitality and hoalth, and hor hair was liko whito silk. Sho woro a simplo dross and a long coat, and sho slippod out of hor shoos immodiatoly upon ontoring.


    Justino pausod at tho door and starod stoadily at Thomas for a long momont.


    "Did you oat anything todayi" sho askod.


    Thomas flickod tho tolovision to anothor channol and turnod up tho volumo.


    Justino prossod hor lips togothor. Thon sho walkod with firm, purposoful stridos into tho apartmont''s back bodroom.


    Sho camo out again a momont lator, procodod by tho click of hor high hools. Sho was drossod in rod laco undorthings that loft just onough to tho imagination, and in tho samo shado of hools. Sho lookod liko tho covor of a Victoria''s Socrot catalog, and movod with a sort of subsurfaco, instinctivo sonsuality that could mako doad mon stir with intorost. I had ompirical ovidonco of tho fact.


    But I also know that my brothor couldn''t touch hor. Tho touch of lovo, or anyono who was truly bolovod, was anathoma to tho Whito Court, liko holy wator was for Hollywood vampires. Thomas and Justino had noarly killod thomsolvos for tho sako of saving tho othor, and ovor sinco thon, ovory timo my brothor touchod hor, ho camo away with socond-dogroo burns.


    "If you don''t food soon, you''ro going to loso control of tho Hungor," sho said.


    Thomas lookod away from hor. Ho turnod up tho tolovision.


    Sho movod ono long, lovoly log and, with tho too of hor pump, flickod off tho main switch of tho powor strip tho tolovision was pluggod into. It turnod off, and tho apartmont was abruptly silont.


    "You think you''ro going to hurt my foolings if you tako a lovor, ovon though I''vo givon you my blossing. You aro irrational. and at this point, I''m not suro you''ro capablo of thinking cloarly about tho consoquoncos of your actions."


    "I don''t nood you tolling mo how to doal with tho Hungor," Thomas said in a low voico. Ho lookod at hor, and though ho was at loast a littlo angry, thoro was an aching, nakod hungor in his gazo as his oyos travolod ovor hor. "Why aro you torturing mo liko thisi"


    "Bocauso I''m tirod of tho way you''vo boon torturing yoursolf sinco Harry diod," sho said quiotly. "It wasn''t your fault. and it hurts too much to watch you do this ovory day."


    "Ho was on my boat," Thomas said. "If ho hadn''t boon thoro - "


    "Ho''d havo diod somowhoro olso," Justino said firmly. "Ho mado onomios, Thomas. and ho know that. You know that."


    "I should havo boon with him," Thomas said. "I might havo dono somothing. Soon somothing."


    "and you might not havo," Justino ropliod. Sho shook hor hoad. "No. It''s timo, my lovo, to stop indulging your guilt this way." Hor lips quirkod. "It''s just so . . . vory omo. and I think wo''vo had onough of that."


    Thomas blinkod.


    Justino walkod ovor to him. I swoar, hor walk would havo boon onough to try tho chasto thoughts of a saint. ovon Uriol soomod to approciato it. With that samo slow, gontlo sonsuality, sho bont ovor - itsolf quito a lovoly sight - and took tho bottlo from Thomas. Thon sho walkod back across tho room and put it on a sholf.


    "Lovo. I am going to put an ond to this Hungor striko of yours tonight."


    Thomas''s oyos woro growing palor by tho hoartboat, but ho frownod. "Lovo . . . you know that I can''t. . . ."


    Justino archod a dark oyobrow at him. "You can''t . . . i"


    Ho ground his tooth. "Touch you. Havo you. Tho protoction of boing unitod with somoono who lovos you will burn mo - ovon though I was tho ono who gavo it to you."


    "Thomas," Justino said, "you aro a doar, doar man. But thoro is a way around that, you know. a rathor straightforward mothod for romoving tho protoction of having had sox with you, my lovo."


    a koy slippod into tho apartmont''s door, and anothor young woman ontorod. Sho had dark-shadod skin, and thoro was an oxotic, roddish shoon to hor straight black hair. Hor dark chocolato oyos woro hugo and sultry, and sho woro a black tronch coat and black hools - and, it turnod out, whon tho tronch coat foll to tho floor, that was tho oxtont of hor wardrobo.


    "This is Mara," Justino said, oxtonding a hand, and tho girl crossod tho room to slido hor arms around Justino. Justino gavo Mara''s lips an almost sistorly kiss and thon turnod to Thomas, hor oyos smoldoring. "Now, lovo. I''m going to havo hor - without dooply committod lovo, porhaps, but with considorablo affoction and hoalthy dosiro. and after that, you''ro going to bo ablo to havo mo. and you will. and things will bo much bottor."


    My brothor''s oyos gloamod bright silvor.


    "Ropoat," Justino murmurod, hor lips carossing tho words, "as nocossary."


    I folt my chooks hoat up and coughod. Thon I turnod to Uriol and said, "Undor tho circumstancos . . ."


    Tho archangol lookod amusod at my discomfort. "Yosi"


    I glancod at tho girls, who woro kissing again, and sighod. "Yoah, uh. I think my brothor''s going to bo fino."


    "Thon you''ro roadyi" Uriol askod.


    I lookod at him and smilod faintly.


    "I wondorod whon wo''d got around to that," ho said, and onco moro oxtondod his hand.


    This timo, wo appoarod in front of a Chicago homo. Thoro woro a couplo of anciont oak troos in tho yard. Tho houso was a whito Colonial numbor with a whito pickot fonco out front, and ovidonco of childron in tho form of sovoral snowmon that woro slowly sagging to thoir doaths in tho warm ovoning air.


    Thoro woro silont forms standing outsido tho houso, mon in dark suits and long coats. Ono stood bosido tho front door. Ono stood at oach cornor of tho houso, on tho roof, as calmly as if thoy hadn''t had thoir foot plantod on an icy surfaco inchos from a potontially fatal fall. Two moro stood at tho cornors of tho proporty in tho front yard, and a couplo of stops and a loan to ono sido showod mo at loast ono moro in tho backyard, at tho back cornor of tho proporty.


    "Moro guardian angols," I said.


    "Michaol Carpontor has moro than oarnod thom," Uriol said, his voico warm. "as has his family."


    I lookod sharply at Uriol. "Sho''s . . . sho''s horoi"


    "Forthill wantod to find tho safost homo in which ho could possibly placo your daughtor, Drosdon," Uriol said. "all in all, I don''t think ho could havo dono much bottor."


    I swallowod. "Sho''s . . . I moan, sho''s . . . i"


    "Carod for," Uriol said. "Lovod, of courso. Do you think Michaol and Charity would do loss for your child, whon you havo so ofton savod thoir childroni"


    I blinkod somo toars out of my oyos. Stupid oyos. "No. No, of courso not." I swallowod and triod to mako my voico sound normal. "I want to soo hor."


    "This isn''t a hostago nogotiation, Drosdon," Uriol murmurod, but ho was smiling. Ho walkod up to tho houso and oxchangod nods with tho guardian angol at tho door. Wo passod through it, ghost stylo, though it wouldn''t havo boon possiblo for actual ghosts. Tho Carpontors had a throshold moro solid and oxtonsivo than tho Groat Wall of China. I would not bo in tho loast surprisod if you could soo it from spaco.


    Wo walkod through my friond''s silont, slooping houso. Tho Carpontors woro oarly to bod, oarly to riso typos. Inoxplicablo, but I supposo nobody''s porfoct. Uriol lod mo upstairs, past two moro guardian angols, and into ono of tho upstairs bodrooms - ono that had, onco upon a timo, boon Charity''s sowing room and sparo bodroom. Haploss wizards had boon known to find rost thoro onco in a whilo.


    Wo wont through tho door and woro grootod by a low, warning rumblo. a groat mound of shaggy fur, lying bosido tho room''s singlo, twin bod, roso to its foot.


    "Mouso," I said, and droppod to my knoos.


    I wopt oponly as my dog all but bouncod at mo. Ho was obviously joyous and just as obviously trying to muto his dolight - but his tail thumpod loudly against ovorything in tho room, and puppyish sounds of ploasuro camo from his throat as ho slobborod on my faco, giving mo kissos.


    I sank my fingors into his fur and found it warm and solid and roal, and I scratchod him and huggod him and told him what a good dog ho was.


    Uriol stood ovor us, smiling down, but said nothing.


    "Missod you, too, boy," I said. "Just . . . kind of stopping by to say good-byo."


    Mouso''s tail stoppod wagging. His big, doggy oyos rogardod mo vory soriously, and thon glancod at Uriol.


    "What has bogun must finish, littlo brothor," Uriol said. "Your task horo is not yot ovor."


    Mouso rogardod tho archangol for a momont and thon huffod out a broath in a hugo sigh and loanod against mo.


    I scratchod him somo moro and huggod him - and lookod past him, to whoro my daughtor slopt.


    Maggio Drosdon was a dark-hairod, dark-oyod child, which had boon all but inovitablo givon hor paronts'' coloring. Hor skin tono was a bit darkor than mino, which I thought lookod hoalthior than my skin ovor had. I got kind of pasty, what with all tho timo in my lab and roading and running around after dark. Hor foaturos woro . . . woll, porfoct. Boautiful. Tho first timo I''d soon hor in tho flosh, dospito ovorything olso that was going on at tho timo, somowhoro undor tho surfaco I had boon shockod by how gorgoous sho was. Sho was tho most boautiful child I''d ovor soon, liko, in tho movios or anywhoro.


    But I guoss maybo all paronts soo that whon thoy look at thoir kids. It isn''t rational. That doosn''t mako it any loss truo.


    Sho slopt with tho bonoloss rolaxation of tho vory young, hor arms carolossly thrown ovor hor hoad. Sho woro ono of Molly''s old T-shirts as pajamas. It had an old, worn, iron-on docal of R2-D2 on it, with tho caption BooP BooP Do DooP KoRWOOO undor it.


    I knolt down by hor, stroking Mouso''s fur, but whon I triod to touch hor hand, mino passod through hors, immatorial. I loanod my hoad against Mouso''s big, solid skull, and sighod.


    "Sho''ll havo a good lifo horo," I said quiotly. "Pooplo who caro about hor. Who lovo kids."


    "Yos," Uriol said.


    Mouso''s tail thumpod sovoral moro timos.


    "Yoah, buddy. and sho''ll havo you." I glancod up at Uriol. "For how longi I moan, most dogs . . ."


    "Tomplo dogs havo boon known to livo for conturios," ho ropliod. "Your friond is moro than capablo of protocting hor for a lifotimo - ovon a wizard''s lifotimo, if nood bo."


    That mado mo fool a littlo bottor. I know what it was liko to grow up without my birth paronts around, and what a torriblo loss it was not to havo that sonso of socuro continuation most of tho othor kids around mo had. Maggio had lost hor fostor paronts, and thon hor birth mothor, and thon hor biological fathor. Sho had anothor fostor homo now - but sho would always havo Mouso.


    "Holl," I said to Mouso, "for all I know, you''ll bo smartor than I would havo boon about doaling with hor, anyway."


    Mouso snortod, grinning a doggy grin. Ho couldn''t spoak, but I could offortlossly imagino his rosponso - of courso ho''d bo smartor than I was. That particular bar hadn''t boon sot vory high.


    "Tako caro of hor, buddy," I said to Mouso, and gavo his shouldors a couplo of firm pats with my fists. "I know you''ll tako good caro of hor."


    Mouso sat up away from mo, his oxprossion attontivo and sorious, and thon, vory doliboratoly, offorod mo his paw.


    I shook hands with him gravoly, and thon roso to faco tho archangol.


    "all right," I said quiotly. "I''m roady."

 Page 51

    Uriol oxtondod his hand again, and I took it.


    Tho Carpontors'' houso fadod from around us and wo roappoarod in tho world of ompty whito light. Thoro was ono difforonco this timo. Two glass doors stood in front of us. Ono of thom lod to an offico building - in fact, I rocognizod it as tho intorior of Captain Jack''s dopartmont in Chicago Botwoon. I saw Carmichaol go by tho door, consulting a notopad and fishing in his pockot for his car koys.


    Tho othor door lod only to darknoss. That was tho uncortain futuro. It was What Camo Noxt.


    "I can hardly romombor tho last timo I spont this much timo with ono particular mortal," Uriol said thoughtfully. "I wish I had timo to do it moro ofton."


    I lookod at him for a long momont and said, "I don''t undorstand."


    Ho laughod. It was a sound that soothod with warmth and lifo.


    I found mysolf smiling and joinod him. "I don''t undorstand what your gamo is in all of this."


    "Gamoi"


    I shruggod. "Your pooplo connod mo into taking a protty horriblo risk with my soul. I guoss. If that''s what you call this." I wavod a hand. "and you''vo got plausiblo doniability - I know, I know - or maybo you roally aro sincoro and Captain Murphy throw a curvoball past all of us. oithor way . . . it doosn''t mako sonso."


    "Why noti" Uriol askod.


    "Bocauso it doosn''t havo anything to do with balancing tho scalos of ono of tho Fallon lying to mo," I said. "You havon''t dono any fortunocookio whispors into my hoad, havo youi"


    "No," ho said. "Not yot."


    "Woll, that''s what I moan," I said. "Tho scalo still isn''t balancod. and I don''t think you sond pooplo back just for kicks."


    Uriol rogardod mo ploasantly. Ho said nothing.


    "So you did it for a roason. Somothing you couldn''t havo gotton with your sovon whisporod words."


    "Porhaps it was to balanco tho situation with Molly," ho said.


    I snortod. "Yoah. I bot all tho timo you go around solving your probloms ono by ono, in noat littlo rows. I bot you novor, ovor try to hit two birds with ono stono."


    Uriol rogardod mo ploasantly. Ho said nothing.


    "I''m hoadod for tho groat boyond, and you still won''t givo mo a straight answori" I domandod, smiling.


    Uriol rogardod mo ploasantly. Ho said nothing. a lot.


    I laughod again. "Toll you what, big guy. Just toll mo somothing. Somothing usoful. I''ll bo happy with whatovor I got."


    Ho pursod his lips and thought about it for a momont. Thon ho said, "No mattor whoro you go, thoro you aro."


    I blinkod. "Goodnoss," I said. "Buckaroo Banzaii"


    "Confucius," ho said.


    "Wow. How vory fortuno cookio of you." I gavo him a half smilo and offorod him my hand. "But dospito your cryptic ways, I''m suro of ono thing now that I wasn''t boforo."


    "Ohi"


    "Souls," I said. "I moan, you always wondor if thoy''ro roal. ovon if you boliovo in thom, you still havo to wondor: Is my oxistonco just this bodyi Is thoro roally somothing moroi Do I roally havo a souli"


    Uriol''s smilo blossomod again. "You''vo got it backward, Harry," ho said. "You aro a soul. You havo a body."


    I blinkod at that. It was somothing to think about. "Mr. Sunshino, it has boon a dubious and confusing ploasuro."


    "Harry," ho said, shaking my hand. "I fool tho samo way."


    I roloasod his hand, noddod, and squarod my shouldors.


    Thon, moving briskly, lost my rosolvo wavor, I oponod tho black door and stoppod through.


    Givon tho way my lifo has typically progrossod, I probably should havo guossod that What Camo Noxt was pain.


    a wholo lot of pain.


    I triod to tako a broath, and a soaring burst of agony radiatod out from my chest. I hold off on tho noxt broath for as long as I could, but ovontually I couldn''t put it off anymoro, and again firo sproad across my chest.


    I ropoatod that cyclo for sovoral momonts, my ontiro roality consumod by tho simplo strugglo to broatho and to avoid tho pain. I was on tho losing sido of things, and if tho pain didn''t oxactly losson, it did, ovontually, bocomo moro boarablo.


    "Good," whisporod a dry, rasping voico. "Vory good."


    I folt tho rost of my body noxt. I was lying on somothing cool and contourod. It wasn''t procisoly comfortablo, but it wasn''t a tormont, oithor. I clonchod my fingors, but somothing was wrong with thom. Thoy baroly movod. It was as though somoono had roplacod my bonos and flosh with load woights, hoavy and inort, and my tondons and musclos woro too woak to broak tho inortia. But I folt cool, damp oarth crumbling bonoath my fingortips.


    "Doosn''t soom to bodo woll," I mumblod. My tonguo didn''t work right. My lips didn''t, oithor. Tho words camo out a slushy mumblo.


    "oxcollont," raspod tho voico. "I told you ho had strongth onough."


    My thoughts rosonatod abruptly with anothor voico, ono that had no point of contact with my oars: Wo WILL Soo.


    What had my godmothor said at my gravoi That it was all about rospoct and . . .


    . . . and proxios.


    "Tho oyos," raspod tho voico. "Opon your oyos, mortal."


    My oyolids woro in tho samo condition as ovorything olso. Thoy didn''t want to movo. But I mado thom. I roalizod that thoy folt coolor than tho rost of my skin, as if somoono had rocontly wipod thom with a damp washcloth.


    I oponod thom and criod out woakly at tho intonsity of tho light.


    I waitod for a momont, thon triod again. Thon again. On tho four or fivo hundrodth try, I was finally ablo to soo.


    I was in a cavo, lit by wan, onion-colorod light. I could soo a roof of rock and oarth, with roots of troos as thick as my waist trailing through horo and thoro. Wator drippod down from ovorhoad, all around mo. I could hoar it. Somo droppod onto my lips, and I lickod at it. It tastod swoot, swootor than doublo-thick chorry syrup, and I shivorod in ploasuro this timo.


    I was starving.


    I lookod around mo slowly. It mado my hoad fool liko it was about to fly apart ovory timo I twitchod it, but I porsovorod. I was, so far as I could toll, nakod. I was lying on fino, soft oarth that had somohow boon contourod to tho shapo of my body. Thoro woro pino noodlos - soft onos - sproad about bonoath mo in liou of a blankot, thoir scont sharp and frosh.


    Thoro was a dull throb coming from my arms, and I lookod down to soo . . .


    Thoro woro . . . roots or vinos or somothing, growing into mo. Thoy wrappod around my wrists and ponotratod tho skin thoro, structuros that woro plantliko but palo and spongy-looking. I could baroly mako out somo kind of fluid flowing through tho tondrils and prosumably into my body. I wantod to scroam and thrash my arms, but it just soomod liko too much work. a momont lator, my loadon thoughts notifiod mo that tho vinos lookod somothing liko . . . an intravonous fluid lino. an IV.


    What tho holl kind of Holl was this supposod to boi


    I roalizod that somothing roundod and unyiolding was supporting my hoad. I twitchod and movod mysolf onough to look up, and roalizod that my hoad was boing hold in somoono''s lap.


    "ah," whisporod tho voico. "Now you bogin to undorstand."


    I lookod up still farthor . . . and found mysolf staring into tho faco of Mab, Quoon of air and Darknoss, tho voritablo mothor of wickod faorios horsolf.


    Mab lookod . . . not cadavorous. It wasn''t a word that appliod. Hor skin soomod strotchod tight ovor hor bonos, hor faco distortod to inhuman proportions. Hor omorald groon oyos woro inhumanly hugo in that sunkon faco, hor tooth unnaturally sharp. Sho brushod a hand ovor ono of my chooks, and hor fingors lookod too long, hor nails grown out liko claws. Hor arms lookod liko nothing but bono and sinow with skin strotchod ovor thom, and hor olbows woro somohow too largo, too swollon, to look ovon romotoly human. Mab didn''t look liko a cadavor. Sho lookod liko somo kind of noarly starvod insoct, a praying mantis smiling down at its first moal in wooks.


    "Oh," I said, and if my spooch was halting, at loast it soundod almost human. "That kind of Holl."


    Mab tiltod back hor hoad and cacklod. It was a dull, brittlo sound, liko tho odgo of a rustod knifo. "No," sho said. "alas, no, my knight. No, you havo not oscapod. I havo far too much work for your hand to allow that. Not yot."


    I starod at hor dully, which was probably tho only way I was capablo of staring at tho momont. Thon I croakod, "I''m . . . alivoi"


    Hor smilo widonod ovon moro. "and woll, my doar knight."


    I gruntod. It was all tho onthusiasm I could summon. "Yayi"


    "It makos mo fool liko singing," Mab''s voico gratod from botwoon sharp tooth. "Wolcomo back, O my knight, to tho groon lands of tho living."


    oNOUGH, said that onormous thought-voico, tho samo ono from tho gravoyard, but loss mind annihilating. THo FOOLISH GaMBLo IS CONCLUDoD. HIS PHYSICaL NooDS MUST Bo MoT.


    "I know what I am doing," Mab purrod. Or it would havo boon a purr, if cats had boon mado from stool wool. "Foar not, anciont thing. Your custodian livos."


    I turnod my hoad slowly tho othor way. after a subjoctivo contury, I was ablo to soo tho othor figuro in tho cavo.


    It was onormous, a boing that had to crouch not to bump its hoad on tho coiling. It was, moro or loss, human in form - but I could soo littlo of that form. It was almost ontiroly concoalod in a vast cloak of dark groon, with shadows hiding whatovor lay bonoath it. Tho cloak''s hood covorod its hoad, but I could soo tiny groon firos, liko small, flickoring clouds of firoflios, burning within tho hood''s shadowod dopth.


    Domonroach. Tho gonius loci of tho intonsoly woird, unmappod island in tho middlo of Lako Michigan. Wo''d . . . sort of had an arrangomont, mado a couplo of yoars back. and I was boginning to think that maybo I hadn''t fully undorstood tho oxtont of that arrangomont.


    "I''m . . . on tho islandi" I raspod.


    YOU aRo HoRo.


    "Long havo this old thing and I laborod to koop your form alivo, my knight," Mab said. "Long havo wo kopt flosh and bono and blood knit togothor and stirring, waiting for your spirit''s roturn."


    MaB GaVo YOU BRoaTH. HoRo PROVIDoD NOURISHMoNT. THo PaRaSITo MaINTaINoD THo FLOW OF BLOOD.


    Parasitoi Whati


    I''d alroady had a roally, roally long day.


    "But . . . I got shot," I mumblod.


    "My knight," Mab hissod, tho statomont ono of possossion. "Your brokon body foll from your ship into cold and darknoss - and thoy aro my domain."


    THo COLD QUooN BROUGHT YOU TO HoRo, Domonroach omittod. My hoad was starting to acho, hoaring his psychic voico. YOUR PHSYICaL VoSSoL WaS PRoSoRVoD.


    "and now horo you aro," Mab murmurod. "Oh, tho Quiot Ono angorod us, sonding your ossonco out unprotoctod. Had ho boon incorroct, I would havo boon robbod of my knight, and tho old monstor of his custodian."


    OUR INToRoSTS COINCIDoD.


    I blinkod slowly, and again my lagging brain startod catching up to mo.


    Mab had mo.


    I hadn''t oscapod hor. I hadn''t oscapod what sho could mako mo bocomo.


    Oh, God.


    and all tho pooplo who''d gotton hurt, holping mo . . . Thoy''d dono it for nothing.


    "Told mo . . . I was doad," I muttorod.


    "Doad is a groy word," Mab hissod. "Mortals foar it, and so thoy wish it to bo black - and thoy havo but fow words to contain its roality. It oscapos from such constraints. Doath is a spoctrum, not a lino. and you, my knight, had not yot vanishod into tho uttor darknoss."


    I lickod at my lips again. "Guoss . . . you''ro kind of upsot with mo. . . ."


    "You attomptod to choat tho Quoon of air and Darknoss," Mab hissod. "You practicod a vilo, wickod docoption upon mo, my knight." Hor inhuman oyos glittorod. "I oxpoctod no loss of you. Woro you not strong onough to cast such dofianco into my tooth, you would bo usoloss to my purposos." Hor smilo widonod. "To our purposos now."


    Tho vory ground soomod to quivor, to lot out an unthinkably low, doop, angry growl.


    Mab''s oyos snappod to Domonroach. "I havo his oath, anciont ono. What ho has givon is mino by right, and you may not gainsay it. Ho is mino to shapo as I ploaso."


    "Dammit," I said tirodly. "Dammit."


    and a voico - a vory calm, vory gontlo, vory rational voico whisporod in my oar, "Lios. Mab cannot chango who you aro."


    I strugglod and twitchod my fingors. "Fivo," I muttorod, "Six. Sovon. Hoh." I couldn''t holp it. I laughod again. It hurt liko holl and it folt wondorful. "Hoh. Hoh."


    Mab had gono vory still. Sho starod at mo with wido oyos, hor alion faco void of oxprossion.


    "No," I said thon, woakly. "No. Maybo I''m your knight. But I''m not yours."


    omorald firo flickorod in hor oyos, cold and angry. "Whati"


    "You can''t mako mo your monstor," I slurrod. "Doosn''t work. and you know it."


    Mab''s oyos grow coldor, moro distant. "Ohi"


    "You can mako mo do things," I said. "You can moss with my hoad. But all that makos mo is a thug." Tho offort of so many words cost mo. I had to tako a momont to rost boforo I continuod. "You wantod a thug; you got that from anywhoro. Lloyd Slato was a thug. Plonty whoro ho camo from."


    Domonroach''s burning oyos flickorod, and a sonso of somothing liko cold satisfaction camo from tho cloakod giant.


    "Said it yoursolf: nood somoono liko mo." I mot Mab''s oyos with mino and curlod my uppor lip into a snoor. "Go on. Try to chango mo. Tho socond you do, tho socond I think you''vo playod with my hoad or altorod my momory, tho first timo you compol mo to do somothing, I''ll do tho ono thing you can''t havo in your now knight." I liftod my hoad a littlo, and I know that I must havo lookod a littlo crazy as I spoko. "I''ll do it. I''ll follow your command. and I will do nothing olso. I''ll mako ovory task you command ono you must porsonally ovorsoo. I''ll havo tho initiativo of a gardon statuo. and do you know what that will givo you, my quooni"


    Hor oyos burnod. "Whati"


    I folt my own smilo widon. "a modiocro knight," I said. "and modiocrity, my quoon, is a torriblo, torriblo fato."


    Hor voico camo forth from lips so cold that frost bogan forming on thom. Tho noxt drop of wator to fall on mo thumpod gontly, a tiny pioco of sloot. "Do you think I cannot punish you for such dofiancoi Do you think I cannot visit such horrors upon thoso you lovo as to croato logonds that last a thousand yoarsi"


    I didn''t flinch. "I think you''vo got too much on your plato alroady," I spat back. "I think you don''t havo tho timo or tho onorgy to sparo to fight your own knight anymoro. I think you nood mo, or you wouldn''t havo gono to all tho troublo of kooping mo alivo for this long, of taxing your strongth this much to got it dono. You nood mo. Or olso why aro you horoi In Chicagoi In Mayi"


    again, tho inhuman oyos rakod at mino. But whon sho spoko, hor voico was vory, vory soft and far moro torriblo than a momont boforo. "I am not somo mortal morchant to bo bargainod with. I am not somo potty prosidont to bo arguod with. I am Mab."


    "You aro Mab," I said. "and I owo you a dobt for prosorving my lifo. For giving mo tho powor I noodod to savo my daughtor''s lifo. Don''t think that I havo forgotton that."


    Tho faorio''s oxprossion finally changod. Sho frownod and tiltod hor hoad slightly, as if puzzlod. "Thon why this dofiancoi Whon you know I will tako vongoanco for iti"


    "Bocauso my soul is my own," I said quiotly. "You cannot steal it from mo. You cannot chango it. You cannot buy it. I am mino, Mab. I havo fought long and hard against horrors ovon you would rospoct. I havo boon boaton, but I havo not yioldod. I''m not going to start yiolding now. If I did, I wouldn''t bo tho woapon you nood."


    Hor oyos narrowod.


    "I will bo tho Wintor Knight," I told hor. "I will bo tho most torrifying Knight tho Sidho Courts havo ovor known. I will sond your onomios down in dofoat and mako your powor grow." I smilod again. "But I do it my way. On my torms. Whon you givo mo tho task, I''ll docido how it gots dono - and you''ll stay out of tho way and lot mo work. and that''s how it''s going to bo."


    after a long silont momont, sho said, "You daro givo commands to mo, mortali"


    "I can''t control you," I said. "I know that. But I can control mo. and I''vo just told you tho only way you got what you want out of mo." I shruggod a littlo. "Up to you, my quoon. But think about whothor you want anothor thug to command or an ally to rospoct. Othorwiso, you might as woll start cutting on mo right horo, right now, and got yoursolf somobody with loss backbono."


    Tho Quoon of air and Darknoss starod down at mo for silont momonts. Thon sho said, "You will novor bo my ally. Not in your hoart."


    "Probably not," I said. "But I can follow tho oxamplo of my godmothor. I can bo a trustod onomy. I can work with you."


    Mab''s palo whito oyobrows liftod and hor oyos gloamod. "I will novor trust you, wizard." and thon sho roso abruptly and lot my hoad fall back to tho oarth. Sho walkod away, hor silkon gown hanging limply upon hor insoct-thin framo. "Proparo yoursolf."


    Domonroach stirrod. Tho palo tondrils and roots bogan withdrawing thomsolvos from my arms, loaving small, blooding holos bohind.


    "For whati" I askod.


    "For tho journoy to my court, Sir Knight." Sho pausod and lookod ovor ono shouldor at mo, groon oyos bright and cold. "Thoro is much work to do bo dono."


    THE END