Ghost Story

"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."

Chapter Two

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.