23
The first time I saw a ghost, it was my first love, Brad Evers. The boy who defended me from a high school bully was murdered by my father. The boy who took me to my first dance became a ghost standing in a field.
That shock left me unhinged at first. I remember the terror. I remember the sorrow. For a little while there, I even thought I belonged in the mental hospital I was sent to. I worried what it meant for me and everyone I knew that we could be trapped by our old lives after death.
We ignore death until we have to confront it, but I think, in our quiet moments, we feel time sliding away from us like mercury, uncatchable. We worry about many transient concerns: bills, what to eat, where to go, what to do. But the one fear — the terror that is most legitimate and permanent — is what happens when we die. We wonder about what’s next all our lives but we don’t want to solve that mystery too soon.
As I look back on that night in Palo Alto — the parts where members of my team weren’t hurt or killed — it was a marvel. I felt the heat of the burning mansion at my back. It seemed that the world had stopped to look at my disfigurement but, in that moment, the horns growing out of my head didn’t seem to matter much.
I’d watched what seemed like a hundred videos of police shooting and beating people. I wondered which cop was going to get so nervous they would shoot me in the face.
When you expect to be shot in the face, time can slow down. You think about a lot of things. I thought of Mama hearing the bad news. I thought of the demons I’d met, laughing at me for getting killed by my own kind. I thought of how I’d never get to save Samantha from the demon dimension. I wondered how much damage my failed mission would really do to the world. If the truth is supposed to set us free, maybe it was past time everyone knew about the threat of invasion from the Ra.
Kill me and maybe I’ll get some peace, I thought. My heart was always in the right place, I think. But I’m ready to die.
I knew I was lying to myself when the first scream reached me. Immense relief washed over me as the screams spread.
Ordinary humans cannot see ghosts but every Magical and each sword singer of the Choir Invisible can. With Psymon’s help, the cops and the onlookers all saw what we saw. Psychic Psymon was on the job showing the Normies what terror might await them after death.
Rory came down the street toward the burning mansion. The rising flames lit the faces of the army of the dead following Rory’s lead. They shone in the night. Every mortal wound was on display. From burn victims to the unscarred dead and the shuffling elderly, the misty wistfuls followed Rory into the crowd. Rory had collected them from the graveyard down the road. Some of those civilians might even have recognized some of the ghosts coming back to the neighborhood.
Many of the Normies froze in place at first. Some wet themselves. Others ran screaming with their hands held high over their heads. The screams of horror spread out in ripples. Then all the humans began to flee. They fled from the horrors Psymon allowed them to see. They ran from the truth of those who are left behind when the funerals are done.
I heard shouts of, “Stop! Stop right there!” The good protectors of Palo Alto had not been informed on the delicate details of ghost wrangling. Unblessed bullets and blades do nothing. One cop tried to tase Rory.
Heh. Good luck with that. Unless you’ve got a lot of sacred stones, you can’t burn and torment Rory.
“Stay back! Stay back!” The cops screamed that a lot. Finally, they took the hint and retreated.
Unless you’re a demon princess with a powerful ghost like Rory to order around, ghosts don’t do as they are told.
Feeling threatened, some of the cops at the rear began firing into the horde as they ran. To be fair, a bunch of the ghosts did look like zombies. Car accident victims, mostly. My poor Brad had had that same shell shocked, vacant look. Two bloody stumps for arms was also a tad off-putting.
As the ghosts kept coming, the police forgot about me and my team. The police officers rushed back to protect their own and put some space between themselves and the scary things that wouldn’t fall down when shot.
In the midst of an otherworldly panic, I’m sure I would have done the same. That’s what I’d been counting on.
The pale spirit of the bodyguard I’d killed rose from behind the Barracuda. He looked confused as he stared down at his lifeless body.
“You’re dead, you idiot,” Spider said. “Go wait outside a cemetery for a hundred years or something. You’re in a time out! Go think about what you’ve done.”
I might have laughed at our triumph but Minnie’s death spoiled that. All I wanted to do now was go get Pandora’s box and dig the pointy end of Excelsior through a slot and see if demon mages scream in high octaves.
The dead bodyguard lurched forward, his eyes fixed on me. I almost sent him Elsewhere with a blessed blade then. Then I decided, no. This is your fate. Spider was right. “I’m not letting you off so easy. I’m only killing you once.”
The dead bodyguard gave me one more long look, bowed, and wandered away to follow Rory.
“Mount up!” I ordered my team. “Get out of here! I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point!” (That sounded more impressive than, “I’ll meet you behind the Sizzler closest to our Motel Six!”)
As my crew made for the vans, I heard a shout of pain behind me. I knew that voice.
Rory popped into view as I blinked. “He’s upstairs, child! Go!”
“Thank you, Rory!”
“No need for that, Iowa. Thank you. I’ll see you again! I’ll keep watch and I’ll try to come when you need me! Go! Go! There’s little time!”
The old ghost was gone again with my next blink. I leapt for the fence and ran along the top of it, back toward the burning house.
The first floor was in flames. I’d already had plenty of experience with burning buildings and really didn’t want to do that again. The last time I went into a burning building, bad things happened that haunted my dreams. I’d lost my friend and friendly boss, Samantha Biggs, to the demon dimension.
A crash and a shriek of pain splintered the air.
Key and Peter Smythe captured and kidnapped Sam back at Castille as it burnt to the ground. I couldn’t bear losing any more people. Not tonight, anyway. I leapt for a second story balcony, made it easily, and kicked through a glass door. The hole acted like a chimney and smoke poured out. Coughing, I rushed in.
“Anguloora?”
Nothing.
“Anguloora!”
“Here!”
The first floor of the house was an inferno. I expected to see him writhing amid the flames pinned under a beam or something, or perhaps he’d fallen through the floor. Instead, he called to me from the third floor.
When I found him in a bedroom it was clear what the screaming had been about. He had already gone through the flames. The archer’s eyebrows and hair were gone and his clothes were burnt and stuck to his blistered skin.
He lay on a huge bed, wincing from the pain, teeth gritted. He held a large silver case to his chest. Anguloora was panting. “I was quick. Wasn’t quick enough.”
I stepped toward him.
“Don’t touch me!” he said.
I nodded. “It’ll hurt too much, Devin, but I’m going to have to touch you to get you out of here.”
I watched his pulse pound in his neck. His respiration was shallow. The smoke inhalation hadn’t killed us yet but he’d probably burned his lungs with superheated air.
“What have you risked your life for, Devin?”
He looked down at the case. “It’s one of the unholy of unholies.”
“Not helping. Tell me.”
Tears slid from the big Samoan’s eyes. “It’s what we’re really here for. You had your game to run but mine was the real mission. Merlin only got you command of this mission to get what he wanted. I’m here because of what Victor wants.”
I’d had reason to distrust the conductor of the Choir before but hearing this hurt. Not as
much as burned skin, but still.
Something crashed downstairs. We were running out of time.
“Take this back to Victor,” Anguloora said. His voice shook. “There’s a charm in my gauntlet. Take that, too, in case you ever lose this. The charm will help you find it.”
I pulled the charm out. It hurt him, but I got it. It was a gem that looked like an ordinary chunk of jade. It glowed green, then black, in my palm.
“A Merlin special,” Anguloora explained. “It is the Charm of Lost Things. Keep it. Maybe you’ll lose your car keys or something. You picture the thing you’re looking for and it will guide you. No matter how far away what you’re looking for is, you’ll know whether to go right, left or straight. Hold on to it, Iowa. It’s very valuable. That’s part of how Merlin bought you your mission…the one he wanted.” Despite his pain, he actually chuckled. “You have no idea what you’re doing. You’re a tool.” Spasms of pain wracked his body again and more tears came.
Getting laughed at made what I was about to do easier.
I heard more sirens, closer now. The fire department had arrived. The screams had died so I was sure Psymon was safely out of range with the rest of the team. The Normies would be unplugged now. The ghost herd would still be wandering through the neighborhood, but imperceptible to normal humans. The terror would hold for a while. The confusion would reside in them for the rest of their lives. Now was the time to use their confusion to escape.
“I came here for Chronos so Merlin’s immortality finally ends. I get that. What’s in the case?”
“The solution to keeping the Ra out of our dimension for a long while. Merlin’s using you. Victor’s using you.”
“And you?” I asked.
“Me? I was only following orders.”
I hate that sentence so much.
Anguloora began a hacking cough and couldn’t seem to stop. Something else crashed and thundered downstairs. My guess is that was the sound of a baby grand piano falling into the basement.
“Devin, I have to get you out of here now. The house will collapse under us any second.”
He shook his head and held the case out to me between shaking hands. “Go.”
“You hold the case. I’ll hold you.” I slipped Excelsior onto my back and bent to pick him up.
“No! No!” His next ‘no’ turned into a scream as I scooped him up. He struggled weakly as bright cinders wafted behind us. I jumped to the ground.
“It’ll hurt more if I have to drag you, tough guy.”
He dropped the case, in defiance, I think. That was a tactical error. I picked it up. Its weight surprised me. “What is this? Made of lead?”
He wouldn’t answer. No matter. I have demon muscles. I dragged him. It hurt him more. I didn’t mind too much.
Lesson 183: You can want to do a bad thing but still do the right thing. There is a time for spite but you can still rescue a lying douchebag.
24
Getting back to the Sizzler was harder than I expected. I’m a nice girl next door from Iowa. My boyfriend drove his parents’ tractor without permission once. My point is, I’m not accustomed to carjacking. However, this was one of those situations where the horns were helpful.
Picture this: you’re driving along Juniper Sierra Boulevard on a cool evening in Palo Alto contemplating the frozen yogurt melting in the back seat. Out of the night, a shadow whips across the road.
Next, your headlights illuminate a girl by the side of the road. You slow down.
You see the gleaming armor and…is that a sword? You speed up and swerve away, but now — bam! — the girl is on your hood.
“Please stop the car!” I yell. “This is an emergency!”
You stomp on the brakes and, as the tires squeal, I fly off, skidding down the road and throwing sparks and scratching up my armor.
I get up and brush myself off as you search for first gear again.
“Crap,” I say.
Let’s try that again.
In a moment I’m at your driver’s side window. You roll it up. I shatter it with my elbow (which, to my surprise, doesn’t hurt a bit.)
I grab you by the collar. “I said, this is an emergency.”
You try to pull away and I grab you by the shoulder and pull you out through the open window. I toss you in the grass as gently as I can manage.
You get up and, in the headlights, you see my head clearly for the first time. Yes, those silhouettes are horns. Horns! You gaze at me in wonder and terror.
“Sit!” I say.
You sit.
“Stay!”
You do.
I could get used to this. No wonder demons are so badass.
I jump behind the wheel to back it up the road to where Devin Anguloora lies in misery.
Shit. I never learned how to drive a stick. I try to remember what Brad showed me but I don’t have the right touch on the clutch and I lurch backward and stall.
Naturally, I blame you. “I’m trying to save a burn victim here! Who the hell doesn’t have an automatic transmission anymore?”
Another car is coming and I’m parked in the middle of the road while you continue to stare at me. If you laugh now, I swear I might cut you.
The newcomer blares his horn helpfully and I’m out of the car in a flash. No more time for questions and explanations and bullshit. For the second time that night within the space of a few minutes, I go through a car windshield. At least this time I planned it.
The bearded guy driving the Toyota starts screaming but it’s not words, just a lot of vowel sounds. In his panic, the driver’s door becomes a complicated puzzle to solve while he continues to scream and claw at the upholstery.
I reach across him and open the door. I don’t have to tell this one to run away.
I glance down. No stick. It’s an automatic transmission. Thank goodness. I don’t want to be out here crashing through windshields all night.
I back up fast. Then I stop the car so fast the tires smoke. I race forward again and come to another rocking halt. I get out and run to the first car. You’re still sitting in the grass, staring at me as the bearded driver runs past, still screaming. (He’s resilient, though. It’s not all vowel sounds now. Most of it is swearing.)
I smash your back window, reach in and grab your grocery bag. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m not a bad person. It only looks that way right now.”
Then I’m already running back to my new stolen car — the one with the automatic transmission. I say something about how I don’t have time to explain but you probably don’t hear me. The roar of the engine swallows my words.
I roar up the road, barely missing another car coming my way.
You are probably relieved that the ordeal is over. Then you see me stop the car to the sound of screeching tires. From your vantage point in dim light, it appears I’m dragging a body into the back of the car, which is true. Anguloora only looks dead. (He still has the energy to wince and cry quietly.)
It finally occurs to you that, despite what the demon lady with the sword says, it’s probably a good time to run in the same direction the bearded guy went.
You run, too. Inexplicably, you run down the middle of the road, just like the bearded idiot.
A moment later, you hear the car engine roaring up behind you. You try to run faster, but I’m in a car and you’re a human, dummy. You can’t outrun me.
Car horn blaring, I flash past, barely missing you with the front left fender. I yell, “Thanks for the frozen yogurt, Einstein!”
There’s no time to explain that the melting yogurt seems to be soothing my archery instructor’s ruined skin. Well, at least the first degree burns.
You’ll tell this crazy story for the rest of your life. Everyone will assume you were on drugs or are still on drugs.
My last glimpse of you is in my rearview mirror, running back to your car. The bearded guy must have left the road and is off in the trees. I hope he didn’t get eaten by mountain lions.
Lesson 184
: You mess with demon girl, you get the horns.
25
One call to Command and Control got us the logistics and necessities. Our first priority was Anguloora. He needed more medical treatment than we could provide with first aid kits. The big Samoan’s skin had blistered and swelled.
We needed a pilot, too. Victor made a call to the Pentagon. By the time we arrived at the jet a local private contractor and the medical team met us.
The last I saw of Anguloora, a Navy nurse was pumping him full of morphine as medics wheeled him away to a helicopter ambulance. Our replacement pilot already had the plane refueled and the engines warmed up.
The people Victor sent had been briefed a little or they were so well trained they didn’t ask questions about the strange band wearing armor and carrying swords. By their eyes, I knew they were shocked at my horns. No one said a thing about them, however. In fact, they seemed to make a point of trying to stare in my eyes as they answered my questions.
I guess that, in that situation, having a weird disfigurement like mine is kind of like being a boss’s daughter with huge knockers. Nobody wants to get fired so the employees pretend the big tits aren’t there.
I could tell they’d expected me, but no one had prepared them for our Patton Oswalt look-alike. If not for his consummate professionalism and desperate need to be cool, I’m sure the pilot would have asked Psymon for an autograph.
Anguloora had first, second and third degree burns, but he’d probably live. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Things had gone wrong, but only half of it was my fault. Minnie’s death was on me. I’d acted fast but not quite fast enough. We had the demon mage in custody but I kept staring at Minnie’s empty chair, wishing she were with us instead of Chronos.
I stopped staring at Minnie’s chair and considered the big silver case at my feet. I hoped Anguloora’s prize was worth the price we’d paid. That was hard to imagine. I’d gambled my life to try to get rid of my horns to fit in with humans. I’d done Merlin’s bidding. Victor had lied to me. I hadn’t understood what the real stakes of the battle were.
Fierce Lessons (Ghosts & Demons Series Book 3) Page 13