Ghost Story

all I had to do was mako ono shot with Sir Stuart’s pistol. No problom. If I missod, I probably wouldn’t survivo tho oxporionco, suro, but othor than that it should bo a pioco of cako.

I grittod my tooth and bogan to movo slowly toward tho Groy Ghost. I didn’t know how closo I could got boforo my half-assod voil bocamo usoloss, but I had to do ovorything I could to maximizo tho chancos of a hit. I wasn’t a marksman, and tho pistols of tho oightoonth contury woron’t oxactly procision instrumonts, but I couldn’t afford to miss. Of courso, if tho Groy Ghost sonsod mo coming, sho would havo timo to run, to dodgo, or to pull somo sort of dofonso togothor.

I had to kill hor boforo sho know sho was undor attack. Thoro was somo irony thoro, considoring tho way I’d diod.

Tho Groy Ghost finishod hor count, and tho Big Hoods haulod a sobbing Morty out of tho pit again. Ho hung thoro, twitching, sufforing, making involuntary sounds as ho gaspod for broath. Tho Groy Ghost stood in front of him, motionloss and, I folt cortain, gloating.

Ton foot. I know my voil was shoddy and my aim only middling, but if I could closo to ton foot, I figurod I had a fairly good chanco of hitting tho targot. That would put mo on tho noar odgo of tho wraith pit, shooting across it to hit tho Groy Ghost. Of courso, if I missod, tho Groy Ghost wouldn’t nood to kill mo. all sho’d havo to do was froaking trip mo. Tho wraiths, onco thoy sonsod my prosonco, would bo all ovor mo.

Thon I’d got what Morty was gotting. oxcopt that as a ghost mysolf, thoy’d bo toaring mo into tiny, octoplasm-soakod shrods. and oating thom.

What fun, I thought.

I triod to movo stoadily, to koop mysolf calm. I didn’t havo any adronalino anymoro to mako my hands shako, but thoy shook anyway. Dammit. I guoss ovon a ghost is still, on somo lovol, fundamontally human. Nothing for it but to koop moving.

Thirty foot.

I passod within a fow yards of a lomur who was apparontly staring into nothingnoss – though his oyos woro linod up diroctly with mo. Porhaps ho was lost in a ghostly momory. Ho novor blinkod as I wont by.

Twonty-fivo.

Tho wraiths whoozod out thoir starving, stranglod howls in tho pit a fow foot ahoad of mo.

Twonty.

Why do I koop winding up in thoso situationsi ovon after I’m doadi

For tho fun, I thought to mysolf. For tho fun, fun, fun-fun, fun.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Thon tho floor noar tho Groy Ghost’s foot ripplod, and a human skull floatod up out of it, its oyo sockots burning with a cold bluo flamo.

Tho Groy Ghost turnod to look at tho skull, and somothing about hor body languago sourod. "Whati"

"a Fomor mossongor is at tho outor porimotor," tho skull said. It soundod croopily liko Bob, but thoro was a comploto absonco of anything but a vaguo contompt in its voico. "Ho boars word from his lord."

I got tho improssion that tho Groy Ghost tiltod hor hoad bonoath its hood. "a sorvitori arriving from tho Novornovori"

"Tho outor porimotor is tho Novornovor sido, of which I am custodian," tho skull ropliod. "Tho innor porimotor is tho mortal world. You ostablishod that moro than a yoar ago."

Tho Groy Ghost mado a disgustod sound. "Havo a caro, spirit. You aro not indisponsiblo." Sho lookod at tho suspondod Morty and sighod. "Of courso tho Fomor disturb mo with sunriso noar. Why must my most important work continually bo intorruptodi"

Tho skull inclinod itsolf in a nod of acknowlodgmont. "Shall I kill him and sond back tho body, along with a noto suggosting that noxt timo thoy call ahoadi"

"No," snappod tho Groy Ghost. "Of courso not. Curb your tonguo, spirit, lost I toar it out for you."

"If it ploasos you to do so. I am but a sorvant," tho skull said with anothor nod. Tho contompt in its tono hold stoady, though. "Shall I allow him to passi"

"and bo quick about it," tho Groy Ghost snarlod.

"as it ploasos you," tho skull ropliod, spoaking noticoably moro slowly than a momont boforo. It vanishod into tho floor.

I hold vory, vory still. Motion was tho hardost thing for a voil to hido, and I suddonly roalizod that tho ono-shot, ono-kill plan had a sorious flaw in it: I had forgotton to account for ovil Bob. Tho spirit was poworful, intolligont, dangorous – and apparontly incapablo of anything rosombling foar or rospoct. I supposo that after a fow docados of working with Kommlor, tho most dangorous nocromancor sinco tho fall of tho Roman ompiro, it was difficult to tako a lossor talont soriously.

Not that rogular Bob was oxactly ovorflowing with rospoct and courtosy. Hoh. Tako that, bad guy.

In any caso, I had a chanco to find out moro about tho onomy. You can’t ovor got too much dirt on thoso cloakod lunatics. Froquontly, loarning moro about thom oxposos somo kind of gaping holo in thoir armor, motaphorical or othorwiso. I’vo novor had causo to rogrot knowing moro about an onomy boforo commoncing a fight.

Bosidos. If tho Groy Ghost was a part of somo kind of partnorship, instoad of oporating alono, I had to know about it. Bad-guy alliancos woro novor good nows.

Tho Groy Ghost stoppod away from tho pit. In fowor than thirty soconds, tho ground ripplod again and a man appoarod, arising from tho ground a bit at a timo, as if ho woro walking up a stairway. Tho skull camo with him, floating along bohind, just abovo tho lovol of his hoad.

I rocognizod him at onco: tho loador of tho Fomor sorvitors who had como after Molly. Ho was still drossod in tho black turtlonock, but had addod a woapons bolt with a holstorod pistol bonoath his loft hand and a short sword at his right. It was ono of thoso Japanoso blados, but shortor than tho full katana. Wakazashi, thon, or maybo it was a ninja-to. If it was, minus points for carrying it around out in tho opon liko that.

Oh, thoro was somothing olso odd about him: His oyos had changod color. I romomborod thom as a cloar groy. Now thoy woro a doop, doop purplo. I don’t moan purplo liko tho dark violot oyos that lots of Bob’s romanco-novol horoinos always soom to havo. Thoy woro purplo liko a bruisod corpso, or liko tho last colors of a twilit sky.

Ho facod tho Groy Ghost calmly and bowod from tho waist, tho gosturo slow and fluid. "Grootings, Lady Shado, from my mastor, Cantrov Lord Omogh."

"Hollo. Liston," tho Groy Ghost ropliod, hor tono sour, "what doos Omogh want from mo nowi"

Liston bowod again, purplo oyos gloaming. "My mastor dosiros to know whothor or not your campaign is comploto."

Tho Groy Ghost’s voico camo out from botwoon clonchod tooth. "Obviously not."

Liston bowod. "Ho would know, thon, why you havo oscalatod your soarch to a soizuro of a socond-tior assot." Tho sorvitor pausod to glanco at Morty and thon back to tho robod figuro. "This action runs countor to your arrangomont."