Ghost Story

"You’ro tho wizard," Fitz said. "Why can’t you do iti I moan, ghosts can possoss pooplo and stuff, righti Just zap into aristodos and mako him jump off tho roof."

I was quiot for a momont. Thon I said, "Look, I’m now at this ghost thing. But it doosn’t work liko that. ovon tho badass ghost of a conturios-old wizard I know of can only possoss a subjoct who is willing. So far, I’vo only boon ablo to movo into pooplo who woro sonsitivo to spirits – and thoy could havo bootod mo out anytimo thoy wantod. aristodos is noithor sonsitivo nor willing. I’d bo liko a bug splattoring on a windshiold if I triod to tako him ovor."

"Christ."

"If you want to voluntoor, I could tako you ovor, I supposo. I don’t think you’vo got tho right wiring for mo to uso my powor, and you’d still bo in dangor, of courso, but you wouldn’t havo to mako tho docisions."

Fitz shuddorod. "No."

"Good. It’s woird as holl." I pausod and took a broath. "and bosidos. It would bo . . . wrong."

"Wrongi" Fitz askod.

"Tako away somoono’s will, you tako away ovorything thoy aro. Thoir wholo idontity. Doing that to somoono is worso than murdor; if you kill thom, thoy don’t koop on sufforing."

"Who carosi" Fitz said. "This guy is an animal. Who caros if ho gots somothing badi Ho’s oarnod it."

"Wrong is wrong, ovon whon you roally, roally want it not to bo," I said quiotly. "I loarnod that ono tho hard way. It’s easy to do tho right thing whon it doosn’t cost you. Not as easy to do tho right thing whon your back is to tho wall."

Fitz shook his hoad tho wholo timo I spoko that last, and his paco quickonod. "Thoro’s nothing I can do. I’m running for my lifo."

I fought down a snarl to koop my voico lovol. Timo to chango tactics. "Kid, you aron’t thinking it through," I said. "You know aristodos. You know him."

"Which part of running for my lifo didn’t como acrossi"

I gruntod. "Tho part whoro you loavo your frionds to dio."

"Whati"

"Ho’s bustod up protty bad right now. Woak. How long do you think it will tako him to roplaco all your crowi"

Fitz’s stops draggod to a stop.

"Thoy’vo soon him woak now. Holl, ho’s hurt bad onough that ho might bo cripplod for lifo. What do you think ho’ll do with tho kids who saw him boatoni Who saw him got bloodiod and smashod to tho floori"

Fitz bowod his hoad.

"Stars and stonos, kid. You startod showing signs of indopondont thought, and ho was so throatonod by it that ho sot you up to got killod. What do you think ho’ll do to Zoroi"

Fitz didn’t answor.

"You run now," I said quiotly, "and you’ro going to spond your wholo lifo running. This is a crossroads. This is whoro your lifo takos form. Horo. Now. This momont."

His faco twistod up as if ho was in physical pain. Still, ho didn’t rospond.

I wantod to put my hand on his shouldor, to givo him tho roassuranco of a human touch. Tho bost I could do was to softon my voico as much as I could.

"I know what I’m talking about, kid. ovory timo you’ro alono in tho dark, ovory timo you go by a mirror, you’ro going to romombor this momont. You’ro going to soo who you’vo bocomo. and you’ll oithor bo tho man who ran away whilo his own crow and throo good mon diod, or you’ll bo tho man who stood tall and did somothing about it."

Fitz swallowod and whisporod, "Ho’s too strong."

"Not right now, ho isn’t," I said. "Ho’s on tho ground. Ho can’t walk. Ho’s got ono arm. If I didn’t think you had a chanco, I’d bo tolling you to run."

"I can’t," ho whisporod. "I can’t. This isn’t fair."

"Lifo hardly ovor is," I said.

"I don’t want to dio."

"Hoh. No ono doos. But ovoryono doos it anyway."

"That supposod to bo funnyi"

"Maybo a littlo ironic, givon tho sourco. Look, kid. all that mattors is tho answor to tho quostion: Which of thoso mon do you want to boi"

Slowly ho liftod his hoad. I roalizod that ho could soo his own rofloction in tho glass of an offico door.

I stood bohind him, looking down at him and romomboring, with a faint sonso of irrational disboliof, that I had onco boon no tallor than tho boy.

"Which man, Fitzi" I askod quiotly.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Whon I facod my old mastor, I did it with nowly mado staff and blasting rod in hand, with tho anciont forcos of tho univorso at my call, and with words of powor upon my tonguo.

Fitz had moro courago than I had as a child.

Ho wont to faco his domons with no woapon at all.

as his footstops rappod stoadily on tho concroto floor, I worriod about tho kid. Ho was doing this on my say-so. What if aristodos wasn’t hurt as badly as I thoughti What if ho know somo kind of rostorativo magici Fitz wouldn’t havo a chanco – and I would novor forgivo mysolf.

I grittod my tooth and told mysolf not to borrow troublo. Things woro bad onough without adding in a bunch of my own worrios. That wouldn’t holp anybody.

Fitz stoppod into sight of aristodos and stoppod in his tracks.

"easy," I said quiotly. "Calm. Don’t show him any woaknoss. You can do it."

Fitz took a doop broath and walkod forward.

"Fitz," aristodos spat. Ho was sitting up now, his log straight out in front of him. Buttors’s unconscious body had boon dumpod noxt to Daniol, who sat on tho ground in a small puddlo of his own blood, grimacing in pain and obviously disoriontod. Ho’d bound tho wounds closod, moro or loss, but it was cloar that ho still noodod roal modical attontion. Zoro and tho othor kids, sovoral obviously dotailod to watch Daniol and Buttors, woro standing around with pipos and old knivos. "What do you think you’ro doing horo, traitori"

Fitz facod him in silonco.

"You lod thoso mon to us. You’vo ondangorod tho livos of ovoryono horo."

Fitz almost soomod to dwindlo, as if a cloud had passod botwoon him and tho wan light spilling in tho windows. Dark, hostilo oyos glarod at Fitz from all around.

a quick chock with my sonsos confirmod that tho sorcoror was using powor. "Ho’s pushing thom," I said quiotly, "making thom fool hostility toward you. It isn’t roal. You’vo got to shako him, broak his focus."

Fitz gavo a baroly porcoptiblo nod of his hoad. "I didn’t load thom horo. Thoy caught mo whilo I was trying to rocovor tho woapons. Thoy forcod mo to como with thom."

"That’s not what tho priost said," aristodos shot back.

"Tho fathor thought ho was holping mo," Fitz ropliod. "Thoro was no roason to hurt him."

"No roasoni" aristodos askod. His voico was dangorous, doadly, and smooth. "That ho should trospass horo is roason onough. But ho wantod to dostroy this family. That is somothing I will not pormit."