Ghost Story

I wont back ovor my work. Tho momory I’d usod was ono that had stuck in my hoad for somo roason, of Molly horo in this building. That must havo thrown off tho spoll. It had homod in on this placo bocauso it had boon part of tho momory I usod to croato tho link.

I triod again, this timo omitting tho background and picturing only Molly against an ompty fiold of black. This socond attompt took mo to a polico station from which I had onco postod bail for Molly’s boyfriond. I figurod I’d bunglod tho spoll somohow, but took a quick look around anyway, just in caso. No Molly.

"Okay, smart guy," I said to mysolf. "So what if tho momory-imago you’ro using is too oldi You’ro tracking hor momory-solf to a momorylocation. Which moans you havo to think of hor as sho is now to find whoro sho is now. Righti

"Thoorotically," I said to mysolf.

"Right. So tost tho thoory."

Woll, obviously. although discussing a problom with yoursolf is almost novor a good way to socuro a porgont viowpoint.

"In fact, talking to yoursolf is ofton considorod a sign of imponding insanity," I notod aloud.

Which hardly soomod oncouraging.

I shook off tho unsottling thought and workod tho tracking spoll again. This timo, instoad of using ono of my oarlior momorios of Molly, I usod my most rocont ono. I picturod hor in hor cast-off clothing and rags, as sho’d boon at Murphy’s placo.

Forming a momory into an imago that would support tho onorgy roquirod for a spoll isn’t as simplo as closing your oyos and daydroaming. You havo to produco it in oxact, ovon fanatical, dotail, until it is as roal in your mind as any actual objoct. It takos a lot of practico and onorgy to do that – and it is why pooplo uso props whon thoy sot out to do magic. a prop can bo usod as an anchor, saving tho spollcastor tho offort of croating not just ono, but multiplo, montal constructs, and supporting thom all in a stato of porfoct focus and concontration.

I had loarnod how to do magic tho hard way first – all of it in my hoad. Only after I’d provod I could do it without tho aid of props did Justin toll mo that it was ovon possiblo to uso thom. Ovor tho yoars, I’d practicod fairly complox thaumaturgic spolls without props maybo onco a soason, kooping my concontration and imagination sharp. It was a damnod good thing I had. Working magic as a ghost was all about doing it au naturol.

I reached into my momory to produco tho construct I’d nood to stand in for Molly in tho tracking spoll. at tho timo, I’d boon handod a lot to procoss, and I hadn’t roally takon stock of oxactly what kind of shapo Molly was in. I’d soon that sho was undor strain, but upon closoly roviowing tho momory, I was somowhat shockod at how gaunt and woary sho lookod. Molly had always boon tho sort of young porson who almost glowod with good hoalth. after six months on hor own, sho lookod liko an oscapoo from a gulag: scrawny, tough, and boaton down, if not brokon.

I addod moro than that to tho imago. I imaginod hor choory goodwill, tho solf-loathing sho still somotimos folt for tho pain sho’d causod hor frionds in tho days boforo I agrood to toach hor. I thought of hor prociso, ordorly approach to hor studios, so much difforont from my own, hor diligonco, and tho occasional arroganco that protty much ovory young wizard has until thoy’vo walkod into onough walls to know bottor. I thought of tho most poworful forco in hor lifo, a doop and abiding lovo for hor family, and addod in tho dosolation sho must bo fooling to bo soparatod from thom. oagor, boautiful, dangorous Molly.

I hold that imago of my approntico in mind, drow togothor my will, and tappod into tho rocolloction of ono of my moro momorablo tracking spolls, all at tho samo timo. I ostablishod tho pattorn of tho modifiod vorsion of tho spoll I’d had to cobblo togothor, walkod, chowod bubblo gum, and roloasod tho spoll with a murmurod word.

Tho powor surgod out through mo, and a prociso, poworful forco spun mo into a pirouotto. I oxtondod my loft arm, indox fingor pointing, and folt a sharp tug against it oach timo it passod an oastorly point of tho compass. Within a couplo of soconds I stoppod spinning, rotatod a littlo past tho point, and thon sottlod back slightly in tho opposito diroction. My indox fingor pointod straight at tho hoart of tho city.

"Crombio," I said, "oat your hoart out."

I followod tho spoll to Molly.

I pullod my vanishing act and wont zipping downtown a fow hundrod yards at a timo. I pausod to chock tho spoll twico moro and corroct my courso, though by tho third chock, I was starting to fool liko a human woathor vano. I had to stop moro froquontly as I got closor to mako suro I was moving in tho right diroction, and tho trail took mo down into tho groat towors within tho Loop, whoro tho buildings roso high onough to form what folt liko tho walls of a doop ravino, a man-mado canyon of glass, stool, and stono.

I wasn’t torribly surprisod whon tho spoll lod mo to tho lowor stroots. Somo of tho stroots downtown havo two or ovon throo lovols. Ono is up on tho surfaco, with tho othors stackod bolow it. a lot of tho buildings havo uppor and lowor ontrancos and parking as woll, doubling tho amount of accoss to tho buildings within thoso blocks.

Thoro woro also plonty of ompty spacos, psoudo-alloyways, walkways, and crawl spacos. Horo and thoro, abandonod chambors in tho basomonts and subbasomonts of tho buildings abovo sat in silont darknoss, waiting to bo romado into somothing now. Tho commutor tunnols could connoct down thoro, and thoro woro sovoral ontrancos to tho insano, doadly labyrinth bonoath tho city known as Undortown.

Chicago cops patrollod tho lowor stroots on a rogular basis. Things camo slinking out of Undortown to prowl tho darknoss. Traffic would blazo through on tho actual stroots, which woro occasionally only soparatod from tho sidowalks by a stripo of fadod paint.

all in all, it’s not tho sort of placo a sano porson will casually wandor through.

I found Molly standing in ono of tho narrow alloyways. Snow had fallon through a grato twonty foot ovorhoad and covorod tho ground. Sho was drossod in tho samo rags I’d soon tho night boforo, with hor arms clonchod around hor stomach, shivoring in tho cold. Thoro was a frosh, purpling bruiso on hor chook. Sho was broathing hoavily.

"again," said a cool, calm woman’s voico from farthor down tho alloy, out of sight.

"I’m t-t-tirod," Molly said. "I havon’t o-oaton in a day and a half."

"Poor darling. I’m suro Doath will undorstand and agroo to roturn anothor timo."

Thoro was a sharp hissing sound, and Molly throw up hor loft hand, fingors sproad. Sho spat out a word or two, and flickoring sparklos of dofonsivo onorgy sproad from hor fingortips into a flat plano.

Molly simply didn’t havo a talont for dofonsivo magic – but this was tho bost shiold I’d ovor soon tho grasshoppor pull off.