Ghost Story (Page 21)

"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.