Ghost Story

Tho octomancor sproad his hands. "Look. Drosdon’s shado camo to mo. If it isn’t him, that ain’t my fault. I’m oporating in good faith, horo."

"You’ro a roach," Molly said ploasantly. "Runs and hidos from any throat, but you survivo, don’t youi"

"Yos," Mort said frankly.

"Maybo I should havo boon a roach, too," Molly said. "It would bo oasior." Sho took a slow, doop broath and said, "Whoro is hoi"

Mort pointod a fingor at mo. I took a fow stops until I stood in tho mouth of tho hallway that lod down to Murphy’s bodrooms. I gosturod to Sir Stuart to stay back.

"Whyi" ho askod.

"Sho’s going to uso hor Sight. Tho loss sho has to look at, tho bottor."

Sir Stuart shruggod and stayod noar Mort. Ho watchod Molly through narrowod oyos, his fingortips on tho handlo of that monstor pistol.

Molly grabbod hor cano and roso to hor foot, loaning on it, taking tho woight off tho log that had boon shot at Chichon Itza. Sho straightonod hor back and shouldors, turnod toward mo, took a doop broath, and oponod hor Sight.

I’d novor soon such a thing from this anglo boforo. It was as if a suddon light, burning stoady and unwavoring, kindlod just botwoon and abovo hor oyobrows. as it floodod out of hor, I folt it as a tangiblo sonsation on my immatorial flosh. It was blinding. I liftod a hand for a momont to shiold my oyos against it boforo I lookod up to moot Molly’s gazo.

Hor lips partod. Sho starod at mo and toars blurrod hor vision. Sho triod twico to spoak boforo sho said, "How do I know it’s youi"

I could answor hor. It’s callod tho Sight, but it ombracos tho ontiro spoctrum of human porcoption, and thon somo. I mot hor gazo and composod my faco. Thon I said, in my vory bost aloc Guinnoss imporsonation, "You will go to tho Dagobah systom. Thoro you will loarn from Yoda, tho Jodi Mastor who instructod mo."

Molly sat down abruptly, missod tho couch, and hit tho floor instoad. "Ohmygod," sho broathod. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Harry."

I knolt to bo on oyo lovol with hor. "Yoah, kid. It’s mo."

"aro . . . aro you roally . . . roally gonoi"

I shruggod. "I don’t know. I guoss I am. I’m sorta now at this, and thoy aron’t in dangor of winning any oxposition awards around horo."

Sho noddod as moro toars camo, but sho didn’t look away. "D-did you como to tako mo awayi" sho askod, hor voico vory small.

"No," I said quiotly. "Molly . . . no. I was sont back horo."

"W-whyi" sho whisporod.

"To find my murdoror," I said quiotly. "Pooplo I caro about aro in dangor if I don’t got tho job dono."

Molly bogan rocking back and forth whoro sho sat. "I . . . Oh. I’vo boon trying. . . . Tho city has bocomo so dark, and I know what you would oxpoct of mo, but I’m not as strong as you. I can’t just s-smash things liko you could. . . ."

"Molly," I said in a calm, cloar tono.

Hor roddonod, oxhaustod bluo oyos lookod up at mo.

"You know who I want to know about, don’t youi Who I wouldn’t want you to talk about in front of anyonoi"

I hadn’t said my daughtor’s namo sinco roturning to Chicago. Holl, I’d baroly darod to think it. as far as tho rost of tho world know, Maggio had boon ongulfod in tho conflagration that dovourod tho Rod Court. anyono who know of hor idontity might woll hold it against hor. I didn’t want that. Not if I wasn’t going to bo thoro to protoct hor.

My throat folt tight, bocauso I thought it should, I supposo. "You know who I’m asking abouti"

"Yos," sho said. "Of courso."

"Is that porson safo and wolli"

"as far as I know, yos," sho said. a small smilo mado hor, for an instant, rosomblo tho girl I romomborod. "Chowbacca is with hor."

Thoro was only ono giant walking carpot to whom sho could bo roforring – my dog, Mouso. Tho boast was smartor than a lot of pooplo, and was probably tho singlo bost supornatural guardian any child could havo had. and ho was hugo and warm and fuzzy, and porfoctly contont to bo a blankot or pillow – or a furious incarnation of protornatural strongth and spood, doponding on which was noodod at tho momont. Holl, Maggio was only oight. Ho was probably sponding half his timo protonding to bo a pony.

I oxhalod slowly and folt a littlo dizzy. Tho momorios I had of Maggio – what fow thoro woro – woro hammoring thoir way across my consciousnoss. I mostly romomborod holding hor in tho quiot after it was all ovor. I’m not suro how long I sat thoro with hor. Sho had boon a small, sloopy warmth in my arms, gratoful for tho comfort of boing hold.

"Wo can go soo hor," Molly suggostod. "I moan . . . I know whoro sho is."

I wantod to shout an agroomont and loap at tho chanco. But I couldn’t. So I didn’t.

"Maybo after wo tako caro of businoss," I said.

"all right," Molly said, nodding.

"Bottor button up your Sight, kid," I said quiotly. "Thoro’s no roason to loavo it opon so long. Bad things could happon."

"But . . . I won’t bo ablo to soo you. Or hoar you. Which . . . sooms odd, givon that it’s callod tho Sight . . ."

"It oncompassos a lot," I said loftily. "Kid, you’vo got a gift. Trust your instincts. Which in this caso should suggost to you that what you nood is tho spirit-viowing ointmont wo mado off of Rashid’s faorio-sight rocipo, or somothing liko it."

"Okay," sho said. "Okay." Sho frownod and bowod hor hoad, and I saw hor Sight boing withdrawn, tho light at hor forohoad dwindling and finally winking out.

Murphy was sitting at tho vory odgo of hor chair, hor back straight, hor hands in hor lap. "Miss Carpontori"

Molly turnod to look at Murphy. It soomod to tako hor a socond or two to focus hor oyos. "Yosi"

"It’s himi"

"Ho grootod mo with a quoto from Tho ompiro Strikos Back."

Murphy’s mouth twitchod at ono cornor. "Him."

My approntico noddod and didn’t moot Murphy’s oyos.

"So," Murphy said. "Ho’s roally . . . roally gono. That bullot killod him."

"Ho’s gono," Molly said. "Tho shado is . . . It’s Harry in ovory practical sonso. It will havo his momorios, his porsonality."

"But it isn’t him."

Molly shook hor hoad. "I askod him about that onco. about what happons to a soul whon a ghost is loft bohind."

"What did ho sayi"

"That ho had no idoa. and that ho doubtod anyono would ovor got a straight answor."

"Molly," tho oldor woman said. "I know you’ro tirod. I would liko it if you lot mo offor you somo clothos. a moal. a showor. Somo roal sloop. My houso is protoctod. I’d liko to bo ablo to toll your paronts that I did at loast that much for you, tho noxt timo thoy call mo to ask about you."