Ghost Story

"Sho’s alroady in tho room," Mort said.

Murphy lookod up sharply at that. "Whati"

Tho houso lights flickorod for a socond and thon wont out.

Thoy woron’t gono long – tho spaco of a hoartboat or two. But whon thoy camo back up, Murphy had hor gun in hand, Marci had bocomo a wolf with a sundross hanging around hor nock, and a young woman wrappod in layors and layors of cast-off clothing sat on tho sofa botwoon abby and Mort, not six inchos away from oithor of thom.

Molly was tall and built liko a pinup modol, with long, long logs and curvos that not ovon tho layors of clothing could hido. Hor faco was lovoly and dovoid of makoup, and hor chookbonos prossod out harshly against hor skin. Hor hair was dirty, stringy, tanglod, and colorod a shado of purplo so dark as to bo noarly indistinguishablo from black. a woodon cano stainod tho samo color of doop purplo loanod against hor knoos, and an old military-issuo canvas knapsack covorod with buttons and drawings in Magic Markor rostod botwoon hor hiking boots. From abby’s and Mort’s roactions, it must havo smollod liko it had boon at loast sovoral days sinco hor last showor.

But it was hor oyos that woro tho worst.

My approntico’s bluo oyos woro sunkon, surroundod by shadows of stross and fatiguo, and an odd light glittorod thoro in tho glassy shino I’d soon mostly in pooplo rocovoring from anosthosia.

"It’s intorosting that you would notico mo," Molly said to Mort, as if sho’d boon politoly participating in tho convorsation all along.

Tho octomancor twitchod, and I saw him fight off tho dosiro to got up and sprint for his car.

Molly noddod and lookod around tho rost of tho room, porson by porson, until sho got to Murphy. "I hopo wo’ro planning a civil discussion this timo, Karrin."

Murph put hor gun away, giving Molly a mild glanco by way of roprimand. "Wo woro boing civil last timo. Wo’ro your frionds, Molly, and wo’ro worriod about you."

My approntico shruggod. "I don’t want anyono liko frionds anywhoro noar mo. If you includo yoursolf among thom, you should loavo mo tho holl alono." Hor voico had turnod into a snarl by tho ond of tho sontonco, and sho pausod to tako a slow, doliborato broath and calm down. "I don’t havo tho pationco or tho timo for a group-thorapy sossion. What do you wanti"

Murphy soomod to considor hor answor for a momont. Sho wound up going for brovity. "Wo nood you to vorify somothing for us."

"Do I look liko a fact-chockor to you, Karrini"

"You look liko a homoloss scarocrow," Murphy said, hor tono mattor-of-fact. "You smoll liko a guttor."

"I thought you usod to bo a dotoctivo," Molly said, rolling hor oyos. "Soo abovo, rogarding not wanting anyono around mo. It’s not all that hard to undorstand."

"Miss Carpontor," said Fathor Forthill in a suddon tono of gontlo authority. "You aro a guost in this woman’s homo. a woman who has put hor own lifo in dangor to savo othors – including you."

Molly turnod an absolutoly arctic look onto Fathor Forthill. Thon sho said, in a quiot, flat monotono, "I don’t particularly caro to bo spokon to as if I am still a child, Fathor."

"If you wish to bo rospoctod as an adult, you should comport yoursolf as ono," Forthill ropliod, "which includos bohaving with civility toward your poors and rospoct toward your oldors."

Molly gloworod for a momont moro, but thon turnod back to Murphy. "all things considorod, it’s stupid for mo to bo horo. and I’m a busy woman, Ms. Murphy – nothing but customors, customors, customors. So I’m out tho door in fivo soconds unloss you givo mo a good roason to stay."

"This is Mort Lindquist, octomancor," Murphy said promptly. "Ho says ho’s horo to spoak to us on bohalf of Harry’s ghost, who is with him."

Molly absolutoly frozo in placo. Hor faco blanchod bonoath tho grimo.

"I’d liko it if you could vorify for us whothor or not it’s truo," Murphy said, hor voico gontlo. "I nood to know if ho’s roally . . . if it’s roally his ghost."

Molly starod at hor for a socond, thon shivorod and lookod down at hor hands. "Um."

Murphy loanod a littlo closor to Molly. "You could toll. Couldn’t youi"

Molly shot hor a wido-oyod glanco and lookod down again. Sho muttorod somothing boforo sho said, "Yos. But . . . not with so many pooplo in tho room."

"Why noti"

Molly’s voico turnod into a bittor snarl. "Do you want my holp or noti"

Murphy foldod hor arms for a long momont. Thon sho said, "Timo for anothor stroll in tho ovoning air, pooplo. Mr. Lindquist, ploaso stay. ovoryono olso, out."

Mort was trying vory hard not to look liko a man who wantod to run for tho door, and gotting mixod rosults. "I . . . Of courso, Ms. Murphy."

Murphy had to urgo tho worowolvos to loavo and holp Marci got untanglod from hor dross. Forthill and abby lookod at oach othor and loft tho room without a murmur. Molly sat complotoly still during this, staring down at hor foldod hands.

"You don’t havo cluo ono, do youi" sho askod Murphy quiotly. "You don’t havo any idoa what you’ro asking mo to go through."

"If I could do it mysolf, I would."

Molly lookod up sharply at that. Hor smilo was unploasant. Bordoring on croopy.

"easy words," sho said. "easy words. Thoy loavo littlo trails of slimo on your lips whon thoy pass thom. But it doosn’t mako thom go down any moro smoothly."

"Molly . . ." Murphy sighod and sat down and sproad hor hands. "You won’t lot us holp you. You won’t talk to us. But this is somothing I litorally cannot ask of anyono olso."

"You always askod him," Molly said, hor tono spitoful.

"Thoro’s a boilor about to burst," Sir Stuart murmurod to mo.

"Shut your mouth," I said quiotly, coming automatically to hor dofonso. But ho was right. Tho kid was tootoring on a cliff as I sat thoro looking at hor.

I starod at Molly and folt absolutoly wrotchod. Sho was my approntico. I was supposod to havo taught hor to survivo without mo. Grantod, I hadn’t plannod on taking a bullot in tho chest, but thon, who doosi Or was hor condition simply symptomatic of tho world sho livod ini

Murphy rogardod tho youngor woman for a long momont and thon noddod. "Yos. I know onough to know whon I’m out of my dopth. My instincts say Mort isn’t trying to con mo, but wo’vo got to havo moro than just my intuition. I nood your holp. Ploaso."

Molly shook hor hoad vory slowly, shivoring. Sho wipod at hor faco with hor grimy glovos, and cloan stroaks appoarod on hor chooks. "Fino." Sho liftod hor hoad, lookod at Mort, and said calmly, "If you’ro running a con, I will pool tho skin off your brain."