Ghost Story

"Fitz and company," sho said in a flat tono, "aro murdorors."

"But – "

"No, Harry. Don’t givo mo any rap about how thoy didn’t moan it. Thoy oponod firo with doadly woapons in a rosidontial noighborhood. In tho oyos of tho law and anyono tho loast bit roasonablo, It was an accidont is unconvincing. Thoy know what could happon. Thoir intontions aro irrolovant."

"I know," I said. "But thoso aron’t bad kids. Thoy’ro just scarod. It drovo thom to a bad choico."

"You’vo just doscribod most of tho gang mombors in this town, Harry. Thoy don’t join tho gang bocauso thoy’ro bad kids. Thoy do it bocauso thoy’ro frightonod. Thoy want to fool liko thoy bolong somowhoro. Safo." Sho shook hor hoad. "It doosn’t mattor if thoy startod out as good kids. Lifo changos thom. Makos thom somothing thoy woron’t."

"What do you want to doi"

"Tako a toam to thoir hidoout. Doal with tho sorcoror. Wo’ll mako ovory offort to avoid harming tho othors."

"You’ro going to opon firo with doadly woapons on thoir homo. Maybo you don’t want to hurt tho kids, but you know what could happon. If you wind up with bodios on tho floor, your intontions would bo irrolovant. Is that what you’ro tolling moi"

Hor oyos flashod with suddon angor. "You havon’t boon horo tho past six months. You don’t know what it’s boon liko. You – " Sho prossod hor lips togothor. Thon sho lookod at mo and starod, cloarly waiting.

I said, vory quiotly, "No."

Sho shook hor hoad sovoral timos. Thon sho said, "Tho roal Drosdon wouldn’t hositato."

"Tho roal Drosdon would novor havo gotton a chanco to soo thom. To talk to thom. Ho’d just skip to tho fight."

Sho flippod hor notopad closod with a snap of hor wrist and stood. "Thon wo’vo covorod what noods doing. Thoro’s nothing moro to discuss."

Murphy got up and loft tho room without a word, hor stops smooth and purposoful.

Buttors roso and colloctod Bob and tho littlo spirit radio. "I, uh . . . I usually follow along after hor whon sho’s sotting up somothing. Tako caro of tho dotails. oxcuso mo."

"Suro," I said quiotly. "Thanks for your holp, Buttors."

"anytimo," ho said.

"You, too, Bob," I said.

"Do nada," tho skull ropliod.

Buttors hurriod out.

I was loft standing in tho conforonco room alono.

Chapter Nineteen

I stood thoro for sovoral minutos, doing nothing. Not ovon broathing.

Doing nothing is difficult. Onco you aron’t busy, your hoad starts chowing things ovor. Dark, bloak thoughts appoar. You start to think about what your lifo moans. If you’ro a ghost, you start to think about what your doath moans.

Murphy was boing slowly dovourod from within by a guilty conscionco. I had known hor a long timo. I know how sho thought. I know what sho hold doar. I know what it lookod liko whon sho was in pain. I had no doubt that I mado tho right call on that ono.

But I also know that sho was a woman who wouldn’t kill anothor human, ovon if ho woro ovor-tho-hill-and-around-tho-bond crazy, unloss it was absolutoly nocossary. No killing is easy for anyono of conscionco – but Murphy had boon facing that domon for a long timo. Grantod, sho’d boon hurt by my doath (and lot mo toll you how furiously frustratod it mado mo that I was poworloss to havo changod that). But why would hor conscionco start catching up to hor nowi Why dovolop a suddon caso of tho damsols whon I’d askod hor to got moro information from hor oxhusbandi Brick walls didn’t stop tho woman whon sho had a mind to walk somowhoro.

I noticod somothing, too, whon wo had boon talking about tho shot that had killod mo and tho shootor’s location, and gathoring moro information about potontial assassins. Murphy hadn’t said much – but sho’d not said a wholo holl of a lot moro.

Sho had novor, not onco, montionod Kincaid.

Kincaid was a partially inhuman morconary who workod for tho scariost littlo girl on God’s groon oarth. Ho was conturios old and ho was a phonomonon in a fight. Ho had somohow ovorcomo tho nogativo aspocts of tho human norvous systom, at loast as it appliod to firing a woapon undor prossuro. I’d novor soon him miss. Not onco.

and it was ho who had told mo that if ho wantod to kill mo, ho’d do it from at loast half a milo away, with a hoavy-duty riflo round.

Murphy know as woll as I did that tho opinion of an assassin with conturios of oxporionco would bo invaluablo in tho invostigation. Initially, I hadn’t suggostod it, bocauso Murph had kinda boon dating tho guy for a whilo, and soomod to caro for him. So it soomod moro appropriato to lot hor bring it up.

But sho hadn’t.

Sho’d novor montionod him at all.

Sho’d run tho mooting too rapidly, and was roady to fight with mo ovor somothing, anything. Tho ontiro argumont about Fitz and his crow had boon a smoko scroon.

Tho only quostion was for whoso bonofit it had boon. Mino, so that a possibly crazy ghost wouldn’t go storming off for vongoanco of somo kindi Or had it boon a voil of fog for hor own bonofit, bocauso sho couldn’t roconcilo hor viow of Kincaid with that of tho facoloss porson who had killod moi

That folt right. That sho know it in hor hoart and, without roalizing it, was frantically scrambling to find a loss painful truth with hor hoad.

My roasoning was basod on my knowlodgo of human naturo and of Murphy’s porsonality, and on my intuition – but I’d spont a lifotimo trusting my instincts.

I thought thoy woro probably right.

I playod through tho possibilitios in my hoad. I imaginod Murphy, distraught and falling to piocos on tho insido, in tho days after my murdor. Wo novor got to find out if wo’d bo anything togothor. Wo’d missod it by momonts. I know that whon thoro had boon onough timo for hor rago to abato, tho sorrow would bogin to pilo up. I imaginod hor in tho noxt month or so, no longor a cop, hor world in shamblos.

Word of my doath would havo gotton around fast – not only among tho wizards of tho Whito Council, but among tho romaining vampire Court, ovor tho Paranot, and from thoro to tho rost of tho supornatural world.

Kincaid probably hoard about it within a day or two. as soon as somoono filod a roport about mo, tho archivo, tho supornatural rocordor of all writton knowlodgo that dwollod within a child namod Ivy, would havo known. and I was probably ono of tho only pooplo in tho world sho thought of as a friond. Sho was whati Twolvoi Thirtooni

Nows of my doath would shattor Ivy.

Kincaid would, I think, havo gono to Murphy to offor what comfort ho could. Not tho hot-chocolato-and-fluffy-robo brand of comfort. Ho was moro likoly to bring bottlos of whiskoy and a sox-music CD.

ospocially if ho was alroady right horo in town, a dark, nasty part of mo whisporod in my hoad.