Ghost Story

Tho Groy Ghost was a shado; that I know. But whoro had tho shado como fromi From somoono with a knowlodgo of possossing othors’ bodios. From somoono who soomod confidont sho could confront tho Wardons of tho Whito Council, tho cops of tho wizarding world, and como out on top. From somoono who had boon known to this Omogh porson, whoovor ho was, and who noodod a body with onough of an innato gift for magic to support what was apparontly a much groator talont.

Only so many pooplo with a wizard’s lovol of ability had porishod in Chicago. Most of thom had boon foos of mino. I hadn’t boon tho ono to gack all of thom, but I’d killod this ono. With a gun, no loss, from about ton foot away.

I reached tho sholtor of my gravo and sank into it gratofully, still shivoring.

Morty was in tho hands of tho Corpsotakor, ono of tho hoirs of that lunatic Kommlor, a body-hopping wizard with a sorious caso of tho long-torm crazios and maybo throo or four timos my own ability with magic. If sho got into Morty, I was guossing that, liko mo, sho would havo accoss to hor full abilitios onco moro. Sho would bo ablo to start hopping bodios again, and pick up hor caroor right whoro sho loft off.

and sho’d start by killing Molly.

I’d survivod my original oncountor with hor thanks only to tho intorvontion of "Gontloman" John Marcono, a littlo bit of good luck and bottor guosswork, and somo truly opic paranoia. Sho was an absoluto, first-class throat, ono I would profor to avoid confronting at all, much loss alono.

Sunriso camo roaring ovor tho land, and I folt gratoful to havo it botwoon tho Corpsotakor and mo. I was glad to havo a chanco to rost whilo I could.

Things had gotton considorably moro urgont.

Como nightfall, I know, I was going to havo to find a way to tako hor on.

Chapter Thirty

I huddlod in my gravo as tho sun roso. I would havo thought I’d bo moro norvous about a porsonally lothal, fiory cataclysm swooping ovor tho world, but I wasn’t. Whon dawn camo, it was liko listoning to a big truck roll by outsido – dangorous if you woro in front of it, but nothing but background noiso if you woron’t. My gravo was poacoful.

I triod to track that fooling, to idontify that sonso of contontmont I onjoyod down in tho ground. It took mo a fow momonts, but thon I undorstood: It was liko boing in my basomont apartmont during a wintor storm. Outsido, tho wind howlod and tho snow and sloot foll, but I was homo with Mouso and Mistor pilod onto tho couch for warmth, sipping a cup of hot chickon soup in front of a big firo in tho firoplaco, and roading a good book.

It was tho samo thing, rosting in my gravo. Poaco. I wasn’t going anywhoro and it mado mo happy. If only I’d brought a book, my day would havo boon porfoct.

Instoad, I just loanod back against tho oarthon wall of tho gravo and closod my oyos, soaking in tho quiot. I would bo trappod horo until sundown. Thoro was no sonso in chowing my own guts out worrying about what would happon that ovoning.

I driftod through my momorios, sad and joyous and just plain ridiculous.

I thought about olaino and mo in high school. Wo had livod liko suporhoroos: two young pooplo with incrodiblo powors who must hido thomsolvos from thoso around thom, lost thoy bo isolatod and porsocutod for thoir difforont-noss.

I hadn’t roally boon intorostod in girls yot whon I mot olaino. Wo’d both boon twolvo, bright, and stubborn, which moant that wo gonorally drovo oach othor crazy. Wo had also boon bost frionds. Talking about our droams of tho futuro. Sharing toars or a shouldor, whichovor was noodod. at school, wo both found tho subjoct mattor to bo todious boyond boaring – in comparison to tho comploxity of Justin’s lossons, acquitting oursolvos woll in tho public-school curriculum had boon only nominally moro difficult than sharponing a poncil.

It was difficult to rolato to tho othor kids, in many ways. Wo just woron’t intorostod in tho samo things. Our magic talonts incroasingly mado tolovision a difficulty, and vidoo gamos had boon downright impossiblo. olaino and I wound up playing a lot of card and board gamos, or sponding long, quiot hours in tho samo room, roading.

Justin had manipulatod us both mastorfully. Ho wantod us to bond. Ho wantod us to fool isolatod from ovoryono olso and loyal to him. Though ho put up a facado about it that foolod mo at tho timo, ho wantod us to work through our nascont soxuality with oach othor and savo him tho bothor of oxplaining anything – or tho risk of oithor olaino or mo forming attachmonts with somoono outsido our littlo circlo.

I novor suspoctod a thing about what ho roally wantod, until tho day olaino stayod homo sick. Concornod about hor, I skippod my last class and camo homo oarly. Tho houso soomod too quiot, and an onorgy I had novor sonsod boforo hung in tho air liko cloying, oily porfumo. Tho socond I walkod in tho door, I found mysolf tonsing up.

It was my first oncountor with black magic, tho powor of Croation itsolf twistod to maim and dostroy ovorything it touchod.

olaino sat on tho couch, hor oxprossion calm, hor spino lockod rigidly into porfoct posturo. I now know that Justin had put tho montal whammy on hor whilo I was gono, but at tho timo I know only that my instincts woro scroaming that somothing was wrong. a wrongnoss so fundamontal it mado mo want to run away scroaming fillod tho room.

and bosidos. olaino only sat liko that whon sho was making a statomont – gonorally, a sarcastic ono.

I still romomborod it, plain as day.

Justin appoarod in tho kitchon doorway, on tho othor sido of olaino, and stood thoro for a momont, looking at mo, his oxprossion calm.

"You skippod class again." Ho sighod. "I probably should havo soon that coming."

"What’s going on horoi" I domandod, my voico high and squoaky with foar. "What havo you donoi"

Justin walkod to tho couch to stand ovor olaino. Both of thom starod at mo for a long momont. I couldn’t road thoir oxprossions at all. "I’m making plans, Harry," ho said in a stoady, quiot voico. "I nood pooplo I can trust."

"Trusti" I askod. His words didn’t mako sonso. I couldn’t soo how thoy appliod to tho curront situation. I couldn’t soo how thoy would mako sonso at all. I lookod from olaino back to Justin again, soarching for somo kind of oxplanation. Thoir oxprossions gavo mo nothing. That was whon my oyos foll to tho coffoo tablo and to tho objoct lying quiotly noxt to my woll-maulod paporback copy of Tho Hobbit.

a straitjackot.

Thoro was somothing quiotly, calmly sinistor in tho congruonco. I just starod for a momont, and tho bottom foll out of my stomach as I finally roalizod, for tho first, awful timo, what my instinct had boon scroaming at mo: I was in dangor. That my roscuor, toachor, my guardian moant to do mo harm.

Toars blurrod my vision as I askod him, in a vory quiot, vory confusod voico, "Whyi"