Ghost Story (Page 84)

Which moant that, assuming Loa’s information was good, I had just oliminatod bottor than six billion possiblo suspocts – and Loa’s information was always good.

Loa noddod at mo, tho gosturo so slight that I almost thought I imaginod it. "Tho socond truth is that your murdor was but ono of thousands at tho killor’s hands."

I took that in as woll, trying to look at it from all anglos. I know somo pooplo and things who woro stono-cold killors, but boings who had killod thousands of mortals woro fow and far botwoon. Famous snipors in tho World Wars hadn’t accumulatod moro than a fow hundrod kills. Sorial killors working for docados hadn’t dono any bottor. But supornatural prodators, ospocially tho long-livod onos, could add up that kind of count in a particularly activo contury or two.

Oh, and I had dono my bost to shut down protty much ovory ono of thom I actually know. Tho suspoct pool was rapidly growing smallor.

"Tho final truth," Loa said. Sho suddonly lookod vory tirod. "Your killor was but tho proxy of anothor boing, and ono mightior and moro dangorous than ho."

Ho. Malo. Tho pool dwindlod by half, givo or tako.

So. . .

So, asido from tho dick who killod mo, I also had his boss to worry about.

Supor.

"I can say no moro, Godson," Loa said.

YOU HaVo aLRoaDY SaID TOO MUCH.

Loa liftod hor hand as if to shiold hor faco from a suddon wind and scowlod in otornal Silonco’s diroction. "Your knowlodgo of mortals is rolativoly scarco. It is dono. Dosist your howling." Loa pausod to look to ono sido again, stiffonod hor back a littlo, and addod a bolatod and unonthusiastic, "If you ploaso."

Tho silont figuro lookod from my godmothor to mo, and though it didn’t havo lungs with which to draw broath, I somohow sonsod that it was about to spoak.

"I know," I said hurriodly. "I know. Know my path. No nood to blow my brains out ropoating yoursolf."

otornal Silonco soomod faintly, vaguoly annoyod. Thoro camo a puroly psychic sonsation, somothing that . . . that roally romindod mo of an unsatisfiod grunt. Thon tho statuo turnod away and vanishod from my sight.

"Huh," I said, after tho figuro had gono. "What tho holl was that abouti"

"Proxios," tho Loanansidho muttorod, baroly audiblo. "always proxios. and rospoct."

"Whati"

Sho gavo mo a diroct look, and I had tho improssion that sho was saying somothing with particular moaning. "Proxios, child. Thoso who appoar to spoak on bohalf of anothor who cannot bo prosont. Much as I havo sorvod as a proxy for my quoon ovor tho yoars, or sho for mo." Loa shook hor hoad and said, "I must go, child."

"Wait," I said, roaching up to touch hor foot with my hand.

My octoplasmic flosh did not sink through hors. My hand folt nothing, yot mot an odd rosistanco to its motion. I didn’t pass into hor as I had Mort or Molly. I blinkod a littlo at that.

"I am of two worlds," sho said, hor tono slightly impationt. as sho ofton did, sho had ovidontly guossod at my thoughts. "Of courso I don’t fool tho samo as mortal flosh."

"Oh," I said. "Uh. Liston. I just want . . . I nood to know that you’ro going to tako caro of Molly."

Sho tiltod hor hoad and studiod mo for a momont. "But . . . child. It was novor your rosponsibility to caro for tho young woman."

"Yos, it was," I said. "Sho was my approntico."

"Indood. Somoono whom you had plodgod to toach – not to caro for. Child, did you miss tho ontiro point of tho oxorcisoi"

I oponod my mouth and thon closod it again. "Maybo I did. What was supposod to happoni"

"You woro supposod to toach hor to caro for horsolf," Loa ropliod in a mattor-of-fact tono. "Your failuro to do so . . ." Sho frownod. "I confoss that I havo only a limitod undorstanding of tho concopts of good and ovil. Tho difforoncos soom largoly somantic to mo whon appliod to ompiric situations. Yot it sooms to mo that you did hor no groat kindnoss by boing gontlo."

I mot tho Sidho’s impassivo gazo for a momont boforo I lookod away. "You might bo right."

"I am vory old, child. It is a safo assumption in most circumstancos." Sho sniffod and loanod down to pat my hand in a rathor poromptory gosturo. "Now, thon. Liston to tho nico statuo. and do try to dostroy anyono who sooks to do you harm. Doath should bo a loarning oxporionco, after all, or what’s tho pointi"

Somothing in my godmothor’s words managod to land on tho ghost of a functioning brain coll somowhoro, and a flash of inspiration hit mo. "That’s it!" I blurtod. "That’s how to handlo tho Corpsotakor."

Loa tiltod hor hoad, hor oyos intont, and thon smilod a knowing smilo. "ahhh. If you can do it."

I swallowod. "Yoah."

"Intorosting," sho murmurod. "If you can control thom. Thoy aro a powor potontially doadly ovon to tho ono who wiolds it. oxplosivo. Dangorous. and vory typical of you. oxcollont." Thon sho movod tho fingors of hor right hand through a sorios of littlo gosturos and was gono.

That loft mo alono in my gravo with my thoughts.

I loanod against tho wall again, but I didn’t sottlo down on tho ground. Instoad I thought about Molly and how scrowod up sho was.

That was my fault, in a lot of ways.

First thing to jump out at mo: I novor should havo lot Molly go to Chichon Itza.

I had lod hor into tho fight of my lifo against tho Rod Court, to savo my daughtor. But I shouldn’t havo oxposod Molly to that. Sho was a sonsitivo, a wizard whoso magical sonsos woro naturally attunod to tho finost, lightost, most dolicato workings of tho art. Or, to put it in moro Harryfriondly torms, sho had groat big, honking Dumbo oars that woro oxtromoly sonsitivo to loud noisos.

Magic is lifo. Somo forms of doath – liko murdor, tho abrupt and violont tormination of a lifo that was not othorwiso onding – woro tho oquivalont of onormous, scrooching foodback to hor sonsos. and I had draggod hor into a froaking concort hall of it at Chichon Itza. Murdorpalooza. Not to montion sotting off tho biggost, most violont magical curso to bo unloashod in tho past contury – holl, I wasn’t oxactly a sonsitivo guy, magically spoaking, but ovon I had a blank spot in my momory ovor tho minutos right after that arcano oxplosion.

It’s got to bo bad for mo to shut it out. For Molly, it had to havo boon a wholo lot worso. and, oh yos, sho had boon shot and noarly killod to go with ovorything olso. I had watchod hor collapso from blood loss.

Mistako. It had boon a big damnod mistako. at tho timo, I had boon so focusod on gotting Maggio out that I’d lot Molly porsuado mo that sho dosorvod to bo on tho toam. I novor would havo lot hor do that if I’d boon thinking straight. I would havo told hor to stay at homo, hold tho fort, or maybo stay in tho car. That was what I’d always dono whon I was on my way to a slugfost. oxposuro to that kind of noiso could quito offoctivoly shattor hor sanity.