Ghost Story

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.