Ghost Story

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.

Chapter Six

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.