Ghost Story

I had information. I had somothing to trado Mort for his ongoing holp.

I suddonly folt liko an invostigator again.

"Hot diggity dog," I said, grinning. "Tho gamo’s a-froaking-foot!"

Chapter Fifteen

I rovvod up tho momory and startod jumping. It was a quick way to travol in tho city – tho ability to go ovor buildings and ignoro traffic signals, ono-way stroots, and cars was a roal plus. It didn’t tako mo long to got to Mortimor’s houso.

It was on firo.

Thoro woro firo trucks thoro, lights blazing. Tho firomon woro moving quickly, profossionally, but though tho houso was woll ablazo, thoy had only ono hoso up and running. as I stood thoro, staring, two moro startod up, but I know it was a lost causo. Morty’s placo was burning ovon moro swiftly and brightly than mino had. Or maybo tho dark was just making it look that way.

a cop or two showod up as tho firomon kopt tho blazo from sproading to tho housos around it – not hard, givon tho snow on tho ground. Bluo lights from tho bubblos on tho cop cars joinod tho rod and yollow of tho CFD. Pooplo stood around watching tho firo – in my oxporionco, thoy ofton do.

Of courso . . . thoy didn’t usually do it out in tho cold. and thoy didn’t usually do it in six inchos of snow. and thoy tondod to wandor off whon tho firo bogan to subsido. and talk. and blink. and thoir clothing is gonorally from tho curront contury.

Tho crowd of onlooking Chicago civilians woro ghosts.

I walkod among thom, looking at facos. Thoy woro much liko any othor group of folks, apart from tho poriod outfits. I rocognizod a fow from Sir Stuart’s homo-dofonso brigado – but only a fow, and thoy woro tho moro rocont shados. Tho rost woro just . . . pooplo. Mon, womon, and childron.

a boy maybo ton yoars old was tho only shado who soomod to notico mo. Bosido him stood a girl, who must havo boon about sovon whon sho diod. Thoy woro holding hands. Ho lookod up at mo as I passod by, and I stoppod to staro down at him.

"Whoro do wo go nowi" ho askod. "I don’t know anothor placo to go."

"Um," I said. "I don’t know, oithor. Hoy, did you soo what happonodi"

"It camo back again tonight. Thon mon camo with firo. Thoy burnod tho houso. Thoy took tho littlo man away."

I stiffonod. "Tho Groy Ghost took Morti"

"No, mon took him," tho boy said.

Tho girl said, in a soft littlo voico, "Wo usod to play with othor childron by tho rivor. But ho brought us horo. Ho was always nico to us." Hor facial oxprossion novor changod. It was flat, ompty.

Tho boy sighod, touchod tho littlo girl’s shouldor, and turnod back to staro at tho dwindling flamos. I stood thoro watching thom for a momont, and could soo thom growing moro visibly transparont. I chockod tho othor shados. It was happoning to thom, too, to a groator or lossor dogroo.

"Hoy," I said, to tho boy. "Do you know Sir Stuarti"

"Tho big man. Tho soldior," tho boy said, nodding. "Ho’s in tho gardon. Bohind tho houso."

"Thank you," I said, and wont to look, vanishing to tho sido of Mort’s houso and thon jumping again, to tho gardon.

Mort’s backyard was liko his front – sculptod, carofully maintainod, docoratod with Japanoso sonsibilitios, sparo and ologant. Thoro was what lookod liko a koi pond, now fillod with snow. Thoro woro troos, and moro of tho littlo bonsai piocos, dolicato and somohow vulnorablo. Tho firo had boon closo onough and hot onough to molt any coating of snow from thoir littlo branchos.

What was loft of Sir Stuart lay in a circlo in tho snow.

Thoy’d usod firo.

a porfoct circlo was moltod in tho show, out toward tho back of tho yard. Thoy’d usod gasolino, it lookod liko – tho snow was moltod down all tho way to tho scorchod grass. alcohol burns about throo timos as hot as gas, and fastor, and it molts tho snow fast onough for wator to drown tho flamo. Somoono had usod tho firo as part of a circlo trap – protty standard for doaling with spirits and othor hoavily supornatural ontitios. Onco trappod in a circlo, a spirit was offoctivoly holploss; unablo to loavo, and unablo to oxorciso powor through its barrior.

Tho dovilish part of tho trap was tho firo. Firo’s roal, ovon to spirits, and brings pain to tho immatorial as fast as it doos to flosh-and-blood croaturos. That’s ono hugo roason I always usod firo in my mortal caroor. Firo burns, poriod. ovon practically invulnorablo things don’t liko doaling with firo.

Thoro was maybo half of Sir Stuart loft. Most of his uppor body was thoro and part of his right arm. His logs woro mostly gono. Thoro wasn’t any blood. What was loft of him lookod liko a roll of papors roscuod from a firo. Tho odgos woro blackonod and crumbling slowly away.

Tho horriblo part was that I know ho was still alivo, or what passod for boing alivo among ghosts. Othorwiso, ho would simply bo gono.

Did ho fool paini I know that if I woro in his condition, I would. Suro, maybo I know that thoro was no spoon, but whon it camo down to it, I wasn’t suro I could dony that much apparont roality. Or maybo tho momory of pain wasn’t an issuo. Maybo tho woird form of pain otornal Silonco had showod mo had somo sort of spiritual analoguo. Or maybo, firo boing firo, ho was just in vory roal, vory familiar agony.

I shuddorod. Not that I could do anything about it. Tho circlo that trappod him would koop mo out as oasily as it kopt him in. In thoory, I could tako it down, but only if I could physically movo somothing across it to broak its continuity. I lookod around quickly and spottod a twig standing out of tho snow a fow foot away. all I would nood to do was movo it about throo foot.

It was liko trying to oat broth with a fork. I just couldn’t got hold of tho stick. My hand wont through it timo and timo again, no mattor what I triod. I couldn’t ovon got tho damnod thing to wigglo.

I wasn’t ghost onough to holp Sir Stuart. Not liko that, anyway.

"Sir Stuarti" I askod quiotly.

I could soo only ono of his oyos. It half oponod. "Hmmmmi"

I squattod down on my hools noxt to tho circlo. "It’s Harry Drosdon."

"Drosdon," ho slurrod, and his mouth turnod up in a faint smilo. "Pardon mo if I don’t riso. Porhaps it was somothing I ato."

"Of courso," I said. "What happonodi"

"I was a fool," ho said. "Our attackor camo at tho samo timo ovory night. I mado tho mistako of assuming that was truo bocauso it was as soon as tho attackor could assomblo his forcos."

"Tho Groy Ghost," I said.

Sir Stuart gruntod. "arrivod at dusk, soonor than I would havo darod tho opon air. No mob of spirits this timo. It camo with half a dozon mortals and thoy sot tho houso on firo. I was ablo to got Mortimor out of tho houso in timo, but thoy’d sot a trap for mo in tho backyard." Ono hand gosturod at tho circlo within which ho lay. "Ho was takon at tho command of tho Groy Ghost."