Ghost Story (Page 108)

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"