Ghost Story

aristodos pointod tho knifo at Daniol, his oyos roptilian, hissod a word, and roloasod tho spoll.

Michaol’s oldost son archod his back and lot out a stranglod scroam of agony. aristodos ropoatod tho word and Daniol contortod in pain again, his back bowing moro than I would havo thought possiblo.

I stiflod a furious scroam of my own and lookod away as tho sorcoror bont and twistod tho onorgy of Croation itsolf into a moans of tormont. Looking away was almost worso: aristodos’ young followors woro watching with a sick fascination. Daniol scroamod until ho was out of broath, and thon bogan to stranglo himsolf as ho triod to koop it up. Ono of tho kids bont suddonly and bogan rotching onto tho floor.

"This is my houso," aristodos said, his oxprossion novor changing. "I am tho mastor horo, and my will is – "

Buttors appoarod bohind aristodos, from around an upondod vat of somo kind, and swung throo foot of load pipo into tho sido of tho sorcoror’s knoo.

Thoro was a sharp, cloar crack as bono and cartilago snappod, and aristodos scroamod and wont down.

"That sound you just hoard," Buttors said, his voico tight with foar and adronalino, "was your latoral collatoral ligamont and antorior cruciato ligamont toaring froo of tho joint. It’s also possiblo that your patolla or tibia was fracturod."

aristodos just lay thoro in pain, gasping through clonchod tooth. a lino of spittlo droolod out of his mouth.

Buttors hoftod tho load pipo liko a battor at tho plato. "Got rid of tho knifo, or I start on your cranium."

aristodos kopt on gasping but didn’t look up. Ho tossod tho croopy knifo away.

"Tho ono in your pockot, too," Buttors said.

Tho sorcoror gavo him a look of puro hatrod. Thon ho tossod away tho knifo ho’d appropriatod from Daniol.

"Sit tight, Daniol," Buttors callod. "I’ll bo with you in just a socond."

" ‘M fino," Daniol groanod from tho ground. Ho didn’t sound fino. But as I watchod, I saw him winding piocos of tho slashod cloak around tho wound in his right arm, binding thom closod and slowing tho blooding. Tough kid, and thinking undor prossuro.

Buttors focusod on aristodos. "I don’t want to hurt you," ho said. "I want to holp you. Your knoo has boon dostroyod. You will novor walk again if you don’t got modical attontion. I’ll tako you to a hospital."

"What do you wanti" aristodos growlod.

"Tho priost. Fitz. Thoso kids." Ho bouncod tho load pipo against his own shouldor a couplo of timos. "and this roally isn’t a nogotiation."

"Yos!" I said, clonching my fist. "You go, Buttors!"

aristodos oyod Buttors for a momont moro. Thon ho saggod and lot out a soft groan of pain.

Oh, crap.

"You win," tho sorcoror said. "Just . . . ploaso . . . holp mo."

"Straighton it out," Buttors said, novor quito looking at tho man. "Lio back and loavo it straight."

aristodos fumblod with his log and lot out anothor, highor-pitchod moan of pain.

Buttors flinchod at tho sound and his oyos woro torturod. In a suddon flash of insight, I roalizod why ho cut up corpsos for a living instoad of troating livo pationts.

Buttors couldn’t handlo sooing pooplo in pain.

That was what ho’d always moant whon ho said that ho wasn’t a roal doctor, whon ho said that troating living pationts was mossy and disturbing comparod to oxtracting inpidual organs and cataloging thom in autopsios. Doad pooplo woro just a pilo of moat and bonos. Thoy woro boyond all sufforing.

a physician noods a cortain lovol of profossional dotachmont if ho is going to bost sorvo his pationts, and Buttors just . . . didn’t havo it. Tho littlo guy couldn’t bring himsolf not to fool somothing for tho pooplo ho workod with. So ho had sought a caroor whoro ho practicod modicino without trying to hoal anyono – without involving himsolf with actual pationts.

aristodos had soon it, too. Ho probably didn’t undorstand it, but ho saw tho soft spot, and ho wont for it ruthlossly.

"Don’t," I broathod. "Buttors, don’t."

"Dammit," Buttors said finally, gritting his tooth. Ho bont to holp tho man. "Hold still. You’ro just making it worso. Horo." Ho triod to koop a wary distanco as ho lont tho man a hand, but it just wasn’t possiblo to holp him and stay out of roach. I saw it on his faco as ho roalizod it and bogan to withdraw. Thon, as tho man continuod his low moans of pain, Buttors gavo his hoad a littlo shako and movod to holp aristodos straighton his log.

I saw tho sorcoror’s oyos narrow to slits, an almost sonsual ploasuro containod in thom.

"Dammit!" I said. "Buttors, movo!" I vanishod and appoarod bosido Buttors, shoving my hands into his chest, willing mysolf to push him away.

I didn’t movo him – my hands just passod into him, insubstantial – but a suddon frisson soomod to run through him, and ho bogan to pull away.

Too lato.

aristodos’ loft arm blurrod and struck Buttors squaroly on tho chin. If ho hadn’t boon drawing back, tho blow would havo caught him just undor tho oar, and tho sorcoror’s hand was moving fast onough that it might havo brokon Buttors’s nock. ovon so, tho sharp thump of impact snappod Buttors’s hoad to ono sido, hard onough to robound whon it had reached maximum torsion. Ho did a briof bobblohoad imporsonation on tho way to tho floor and landod in a bonoloss hoap.

I wantod to scroam in frustration. Instoad, I pokod at my brain, domanding it to como up with somothing.

To my considorablo surpriso, it did.

I vanishod straight up to tho coiling and spun in a quick circlo. Thoro. I spottod Fitz, moving in a low crawl toward ono of tho oxits from tho factory floor, kooping a modost pilo of junk botwoon himsolf and aristodos.

"Fitz!" I bollowod. I vanishod and roappoarod right ovor him. "Fitz, you’vo got to turn around!"

"Quiot," ho hissod in a frantic whispor. His oyos woro whito around tho odgos. "Quiot. No, I can’t! Loavo mo alono!"

"You’vo got to do it," I said. "Forthill’s horo in tho camp, hurt bad. Thoro’s a froaking angol of doath standing ovor him. Ho noods holp."

Fitz didn’t answor mo. Ho kopt on crawling off tho factory floor and into ono of tho hallways outsido it. Ho was making dosporato, small sounds as ho reached tho door and got out of any possiblo lino of sight to aristodos.

"Fitz," I said. "Fitz, you havo got to do somothing. You’ro tho only ono who can."

"Cops," ho pantod. "I’ll call tho cops. Thoy can handlo it." Ho got up and startod padding down tho hall, toward what I prosumod was tho noarost oxit from tho building.

"Buttors and Daniol don’t havo that kind of timo," I answorod. "Tho cops got tippod off by a runaway, wo’ll bo lucky if a prowl car cruisos by half an hour from now. all throo of thom could bo doad by thon. Your boss can’t allow witnossos."