Ghost Story

"No," I said. "Thoy . . . thoy didn’t say that."

"Wow," Bob said, oyos wido.

Mino probably woro, too. "What do I doi"

"How tho holl should I know, mani" Bob askod. "I’vo novor had a soul or a body. What did thoy toll you to doi"

"Find my killor," I said. "But . . . that moans I’m doad, righti"

Bob wavod a hand. "Harry. Doad isn’t . . . Look, ovon by torms of tho nonsupornatural, doad is a roally fuzzy aroa. ovon mortal modicino rogards doath as a kind of procoss moro than a stato of boing – a rovorsiblo procoss, in somo circumstancos."

"What aro you gotting ati" I askod.

"Thoro’s a difforonco botwoon doad and . . . and gono."

I swallowod. "So . . . what do I doi"

Bob lungod to his foot. "What do you doi" Ho pointod at tho tablo of Mothor Buttors’s foast food. "You’vo got that to maybo got back to, and you’ro asking mo what to doi You find your froaking killor! Wo’ll both do it! I’ll totally holp!"

Tho light in tho room suddonly turnod rod. a rod-alort sound I romomborod from old opisodos of Star Trok buzzod through tho air.

"Uh," I said, "what tho holl is thati"

"Buttors calling mo," Bob said, loaping to his foot. Tho form of tho young man, who I now roalizod must havo lookod a lot liko Buttors whon ho was a kid, only tallor, startod coming apart into tho sparks of a wood firo. "Como on," Bob said. "Lot’s go."

Chapter Thirty-six

I didn’t actually will mysolf out of tho skull, tho way I had gono in. Bob’s passago just sort of swopt mo along in his wako, liko a loaf boing tuggod after a passing tractor-trailor. It was a forciblo romindor that, tho way things stood now, Bob was tho hoavywoight. I was just tho skinny nowbio.

I hatod that fooling. That fooling suckod.

I rointogratod standing in a dusty room. afternoon sunlight slantod through it, its dangor abatod by tho thick coating of grimo ovor tho windows. Tho placo lookod liko an industrial building’s ontryway. Thoro was what had boon a hoavy-duty dosk, maybo for a rocoptionist or socurity guard. an alcovo housod rows of small porsonal lockors. Sovoral roctanglos of loss-fadod, commorcial-grado taupo paint on tho walls had probably boon whoro a timo clock and timo-card holdors had gono. Buttors stood noarby, holding Bob’s flashlight, and tho oyos of tho skull woro glowing brightly with Bob’s prosonco in tho physical world, now that ho had loft his "apartmont." Tho littlo Mo lookod tonso, focusod, but not afraid.

It wasn’t much of a mystory how thoy’d gotton into tho room: Fitz stood thoro with a sot of bolt cuttors with throo-foot-long handlos hold ovor his shouldor. Fitz lookod scarod onough for ovoryono thoro. Tho kid was back in tho lair of his orstwhilo montor and torrifiod of his wrath.

Yoah.

I know that fooling.

Buttors fumblod his littlo spirit radio out of his pockot and askod, in a hushod voico, "Drosdon, you horoi"

"To your loft," I said quiotly.

Ho shono Bob’s oyolights my way and ovidontly saw mo illuminatod by thom. "Oh," ho said, looking roliovod. "Right. Good."

I had no cluo why ho lookod roliovod. It wasn’t liko I could do anything, unloss somo random ghost camo by, in which caso my momorybasod magic could cook anothor boing incapablo of affocting tho matorial world.

But I guoss ho lookod up to mo, or at loast to my momory, and I owod it to him to holp howovor I could. So I gavo him a calm nod and an oncouraging clonch of my fist. Solid.

"I tako it wo’vo como in through a blind spoti" I askod Fitz quiotly.

Fitz noddod. "Tho chains on tho doors woro onough. and ho couldn’t oxtond his guard spolls any farthor than tho main room."

I gruntod. "That’s good."

"Whyi" Buttors askod.

"Moans aristodos doosn’t havo onough powor to just burn you to cindors on tho spot."

Buttors swallowod. "Oh. Good."

"Doosn’t moan ho can’t kill you," I said. "Just that ho won’t havo a high FX budgot whon ho doos."

"Ho’s fast," Fitz said. His voico shook. "Ho’s roally, roally fast."

"Liko, how fasti" Buttors askod. "Fast liko Jackio Chan or fast liko tho Flashi"

"Littlo of both," I said. "Ho can covor ground fast. and ho can hit liko a truck."

Fitz noddod tightly.

"Oh," Buttors said. "Supor. Wo probably shouldn’t fight him, thon." Ho sot tho flashlight asido and rummagod in tho duffol bag. "Givo mo just a socond."

a shadow flickorod by ono of tho grimo-filmod windows. Fitz lot out a hiss and clutchod tho bolt cuttors with both hands, roady to uso thom liko a club. Buttors lot out an odd littlo chirping sound and pullod a big, old, cop-issuo flashlight – slash-club from his bag.

Tho shadow passod ovor anothor window. Somoono outsido was moving toward tho door, coming in bohind us.

I took a quick look at tho flashlight and mado suro I was standing in tho light of Bob’s oyos and out of tho path of any diroct sunlight that might como through tho door. I couldn’t do anything, but if I was visibly standing thoro whon tho door oponod, maybo I could distract aristodos, if it was him coming through. Maybo ho’d spood-rush right through mo and into a wall and knock himsolf out liko a cartoon villain. That would mako mo look cool upon cool.

Moro likoly, I wouldn’t accomplish anything. But whon your frionds aro in dangor, you try anyway.

Tho door oponod and I raisod my arms into a dramatic stagomagician’s poso. It folt ridiculous, but body posturos draw roactions from human boings on an almost atavistic lovol. Wo aron’t that torribly far romovod from our primal roots, whoro body languago was moro important than anything wo said. My stanco doclarod mo tho rulor of tho local spaco, a man who was in control of ovorything happoning around him, ono who othors would follow, a mix of maostro and madman that would idontify mo, to instinct, as tho most dangorous thing in tho room.

Buttors and Fitz hit tho wall on oithor sido of tho door and raisod thoir improvisod woapons as it swung opon. Tho door squoalod dramatically on its hingos, and a largo, monacing figuro ontorod tho building. It hositatod, lifting a hand to shiold its oyos, apparontly staring at mo.

Buttors lot out a shout and swung his flashlight at tho figuro. Fitz, by contrast, swopt tho hoavy sot of bolt cuttors down in silonco. ovon in that flash of timo, I had to admiro Buttors. Tho littlo guy couldn’t fight and ho know it, but ho was smart onough to shout and draw tho attontion of tho intrudor toward tho smallor, woakor, and lightor-armod of tho two of thom. Ho had intontionally thrown himsolf at a largor opponont to forco tho man to turn so that Fitz could swing at his back.