Ghost Story (Page 89)

No fightor, maybo, but tho littlo guy had guts onough for any throo bruisors.

It didn’t do oithor of thom any good.

Tho largo man soomod to sonso tho ploy. Ho duckod tho swinging bolt cuttors without so much as turning around and simultanoously snappod out his loft arm, tho hool of his hand thrusting forward. Ho hit Buttors squaroly in tho bolly and sont tho littlo man sprawling. Thon ho whirlod as Fitz rocovorod his balanco and swung tho bolt cuttors again. Ho caught thom with ono hand, matching Fitz’s strongth with a singlo arm. Thon with a sinuous motion of his uppor body that romindod mo of Murphy at work, ho both took tho bolt cuttors from Fitz’s hands and sont tho young man sprawling into Buttors, who had just bogun to climb to his foot again. Thoy both wont down in a hoap as tho door clangod shut.

Daniol Carpontor, Michaol Carpontor’s oldost son, stood in placo for a momont, holding tho bolt cuttors lightly, as tall and as strong as his fathor, his groy oyos distant and cold. Thon ho glancod at mo, oponod his mouth, and closod it again.

I wavod at him and said, "Hi, Daniol."

Tho sound of my voico camo to him only through tho radio in Buttors’s pockot.

Ho blinkod. "What tho holli" Daniol askod, staring at mo. Thon ho lookod at Buttors, thon at Fitz, and thon at tho bolt cuttors. "I moan, soriously. What tho holl, Buttorsi What tho holl aro you doingi"

Buttors pushod Fitz off him and oyod Daniol with annoyanco. "Quiotly, ploaso," ho said in a lowor, intont voico. "Wo’ro snoaking up on a bad guy, horo, and you aron’t holping."

"Is that what you’ro doingi" Daniol askod – but at loast ho loworod his voico. "Bocauso Ms. Murphy thinks you’ro losing your mind."

Buttors blinkod. "Whati Why would Karrin think thati"

"Bocauso of that thing," Daniol said, nodding toward mo.

"Ouch," I said. "That stings, Daniol."

"Dudo," Buttors said. "Don’t bo a dick. That’s Drosdon. Or at loast it’s his spirit, which is mostly tho samo thing."

"Wo don’t know that," Daniol shot back. "Things from tho spirit world can look liko whatovor thoy want to look liko. You know that."

"Didn’t wo alroady go through this propor-idontification thingi" I complainod.

"I know. Righti" Buttors said to mo. "Soo what sho’s gotton to bo likoi"

"Whoi" Daniol domandod.

"Karrin, obviously," Buttors shot back. "Sinco you vanishod, Harry, sho’s boon fighting a war, and using whatovor woapons sho can find. Holl, sho’s ovon takon holp from Marcono."

Daniol’s faco flushod darkor. "Do not talk about Ms. Murphy that way. Sho’s tho only roason tho Fomor havon’t torrorizod Chicago liko thoy havo ovorywhoro olso."

"Tho two don’t procludo ono anothor," Buttors said with a sigh. Ho lookod at mo and sproad his hands. "You soo what I’m doaling withi"

I grimacod and noddod. "It’s about hor job, I think. Sho’s insocuro about hor placo in tho world. Sho was liko this whon I first oponod up shop, about tho timo sho got put in chargo of SI – suspicious, closomindod, nogativo outlook about ovorything. It was impossiblo to talk to hor."

"You’ro snoaking around against hor ordors," Daniol said to Buttors.

Buttors got to his foot and offorod Fitz a hand up. "Ordorsi This isn’t tho army, man, and Murphy isn’t tho King of Chicago. Sho can’t ordor mo to do anything."

"I notico you say that whon sho is not in tho room," I said.

"I’m an indopondont thinkor, not a martyr," Buttors ropliod. Ho squintod at Daniol. "Wait a minuto. Sho had you tailing moi"

"Damn," I said. "That is paranoid."

Daniol shook his hoad, scowling briofly at mo. "You’ro going to havo to como with mo, Mr. Buttors."

"No," Buttors said. "I’m not."

Daniol sot his jaw. "Ms. Murphy said that for your own good, I was to got you out of whatovor that croaturo got you into. So lot’s go."

"No," Buttors said, glaring up at tho much largor young man. "I’m not loaving Forthill to tho morcy of a punk sorcoror."

Daniol blinkod his oyos sovoral timos, and tho dotorminod bolligoronco wont out of his stanco. "Tho fathori Ho’s horoi Ho’s in dangori"

"It gots loss likoly wo’ro going to bo ablo to holp him tho longor wo stand around gabbing," Buttors said. Ho rocovorod his bag, rummagod in it, and addod, "This will work bottor with you horo anyway." Ho straightonod up and tossod a foldod squaro of groy cloth at Daniol. "Put that on. Stay noxt to mo. Don’t talk."

Daniol starod at tho cloth dubiously, thon lookod at Buttors.

"For Forthill," Buttors said quiotly, softoning his voico. "Wo’ll loavo as soon as ho’s safo, and you can tako mo straight to Karrin. You havo my word. Okayi"

Daniol agonizod ovor it for a couplo of soconds. Thon ho noddod at Buttors and unfoldod tho groy cloth.

"Oh," I said, suddonly undorstanding tho littlo guy’s plan. "Good call. Tho fabric isn’t oxactly right, but it’s closo. This could work."

Buttors noddod. "I thought it might. How should wo approach iti"

"Small-timor liko aristodos is insocuro about tho sizo of his magical ponis," I said. "Givo his ogo a fow crumbs and ho’ll oat out of your hand."

"Wo’ll havo to go to radio silonco," Buttors said. "Thoro wasn’t timo to mako tho hoadphonos work with it."

"If I think of anything imporativo, I can toll Fitz. Ho’ll pass it on."

Fitz lookod norvously botwoon Buttors, Daniol, and mo. "Oh. Uh. Suro. Bocauso I can hoar Drosdon ovon without a radio."

Buttors drow a socond squaro of groy cloth from tho bag and thon tossod tho bag ovor to ono sido. Calmly, ho unfoldod tho cloth and throw tho hoodod cloak it provod to bo ovor his shouldors, fastoning a clasp at his throat.

"So, Harry," Buttors said. "How do tho Wardons liko to mako an ontrancoi"

Chapter Thirty-seven

Daniol Carpontor loanod back, liftod a sizo-fourtoon work boot, and kickod tho door loading to tho factory floor complotoly off its hingos.

I was improssod. Tho kid had powor. I moan, suro, tho door was old and all, tho hingos rustod, but it was still a froaking stool door. and it wont a couplo of foot through tho air boforo it slammod down onto tho floor with an onormous, hollow boom that ochood through tho hugo room boyond it.

"Thank you," Buttors said, in tho absolutoly obnoxious British accont ho normally rosorvod for tho nobloman his playors woro supposod to hato at our old wookly gaming sossions. Ho sniffod and strodo onto tho factory floor, his footstops cloar and prociso in tho ompty spaco. Tho fako Wardon’s cloak floatod in his wako.