by Graham, Jo
“You were right,” the creature said. Its smile was a deliberate parody. “We do need to talk.”
“If you say so,” Jerry said. It took a step toward him, and he stepped away, keeping as much distance as he could between them. His options were terribly limited: the thing couldn’t jump to him, and probably wouldn’t want to, Henry was a better host, but he still hadn’t figured out how to exorcise it, how to bind it, and Henry was stronger than he was in any case… It was backing him toward the wall of windows, he realized, and put out his free hand to guide himself along the rail. He mustered his will, focusing it like a knife, said, “What’s your name?”
The creature gave Henry’s good-humored laugh. “Oh, please. Do you think I’m really that stupid? And you, of all people, can’t force me.”
It stalked closer, and Jerry backed away again, letting his hand slide along the railing. It took a sharp turn, and in the same moment his shoulder hit the corner of the car. Trapped, stupid, a stupid, terrible mistake…. He shifted his grip on his cane, and the thing smiled.
“You’re lucky that I might have a use for you,” it said. “If you are suitably cooperative.”
“Unlikely,” Jerry said, dry-mouthed. “Look, this is not a good plan for you —”
“Oh, I disagree,” it said. “You haven’t even heard my offer.”
“Not interested.”
The creature smiled. The expression wasn’t Henry’s at all, but something much older, a depth of experience lurking in its eyes. “You’re clever,” it said. “Clever enough to make those charms you carry. I could use such skill, and I’m willing to offer you something in return.”
“You don’t have anything I want,” Jerry said.
“Gil,” it said.
The name was like a punch to the gut. Jerry let out his breath not quite soundlessly, shook his head hard. “You can’t do it. You can’t raise the dead.”
“You don’t know what I can and can’t do,” the thing said softly. “I have more powers than you have ever imagined — more than you have ever read about in all your books. And I can do better than raise the dead. Serve me, serve me well, and you can choose a body, young and healthy, never touched by war — Kershaw’s young pilot, perhaps? You seemed to get on well with him. And I will call Gil’s soul to it, and he will be yours again.”
“No,” Jerry said, but he couldn’t help imagining it, Gil alive again, alive and healthy, able to breathe without coughing, no more bloody handkerchiefs and useless cures…. And with Gil alive to lead them, they could fight this thing — Alma would kill him, he knew, if Gil didn’t do it first, and the thought steadied him enough to shake his head again. “No.”
“Pity,” the thing said, without particular regret, and pinned him with a look. Jerry heard the window slide open behind him, and felt the first blast of frigid air. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could only with enormous effort tighten his hold on the railing. The thing in Henry’s body moved closer, laid a hand on his shoulder, fingers closing tight enough to leave a bruise.
“We are flying at eleven hundred feet,” it said softly, “or at least that was the altitude when I left the control car. It’s a very long way down, and you’ll be conscious for most of it. You’ll be falling, seeing the lights recede from you, your life receding, and all the way down you’ll know. Perhaps you’ll even be conscious when you hit the water, when every bone shatters, your organs rupture, one tremendous flash of agony as you die. And I will savor every shrieking breath, every second of your fall.”
Jerry shuddered, tried again to move, and the creature smiled. “Such a tragic accident! Such a shame, a pointless end to a disappointing life.” It tapped Jerry’s wooden leg with its foot. “And so easily arranged. So easy for a cripple to stumble, such a foolish mistake to have a window open —”
Oh, God. Jerry couldn’t form a better prayer, and reached instead for craft, found a word and directed it not at Henry, not at the thing that wore him, but at the barrier that sealed the observation car. The creature kicked his leg again, sending it sliding; he lurched and fell forward, head and shoulders in the slipstream, tie whipping back like a flag.
And then there was a shout from the stairs and the thing was hauling him back in, a terrible mockery in its eyes.
“My God, Dr. Ballard —” That was Palmer, hurrying toward them, and Henry slid the window shut.
“Yes, that was a little too close. Jerry, are you all right?”
“Yes.” Jerry’s lips were numb, as though he’d been hanging in the freezing air for hours. “Yes, I’m fine.” He pulled himself upright, straightening his tie and jacket, and Henry shook his head.
“Make a note, Joe, we need to fix those windows so they don’t go all the way back. Damn, that was — close.”
“But it didn’t happen,” Jerry said, and dredged a smile from somewhere. “Don’t worry, Henry, I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Be sure you don’t,” Henry said, and slapped him hard on the bruised shoulder. “Does that take care of what you wanted?”
“Oh, yes,” Jerry said. He felt sick, swallowed hard. “Yes, that takes care of that.”
“Good,” Henry said. The creature smiled again behind his eyes, and he turned away, heading for the catwalk that led to the control car.
Jerry took a deep breath, his heart slowing, and Palmer gave him a worried look. “My God, how did that happen?”
“My foot slipped, I think,” Jerry said.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Palmer looked as though he wanted to offer his hand, but Jerry waved it away.
“I’m fine,” he said again, and willed it to be true.
Lewis knotted his tie — not the same tie he’d been wearing the night before, but the same suit, the same shirt — and stooped to check his hair in the mirror. It was mostly tamed, and his cheeks were smooth: as presentable as he was going to get, and he shrugged on his jacket. Alma had dressed already, gone with Mitch to grab a cigarette and to see if they could find Henry, and he wasn’t entirely sorry. He still didn’t know what to think of what she’d told him. He didn’t really want to think about it, if he was honest, didn’t want to keep wondering about Gil. Gil and Alma, Gil and Jerry, Gil and Alma wanting kids…. It was probably Gil’s fault they didn’t, he thought, and then was ashamed of himself, embarrassed at even thinking such a thing. But it wasn’t right, putting Alma in such a position — except that Alma said she was, had been, happy, and he couldn’t disbelieve her. He had always known she’d been happy with Gil, even if now he couldn’t figure out why. Take all the time you need, she had said. He wished he didn’t need any time at all.
He made his way down to the lower deck, where the washrooms were, aware that everyone else was heading for the dining room and he would need to hurry. He pushed open the door, checked as he saw Jerry leaning over the further washbasin. There was a sour smell of vomit.
“Jerry?”
He saw a shudder run through the other man’s shoulders, head still lowered. “Yeah.”
“What happened?” No point asking if something was wrong, that much was obvious.
Jerry didn’t answer at once, turned on the taps hard to rinse the sink, and when it was clean, splashed water on his face. “It’s in Henry.”
“What?”
“It’s in Henry,” Jerry said again. He reached for a towel, dried his hands and face. He looked suddenly old, face gray and strained. “He tried to pitch me out the window of the observation car.”
“Damn,” Lewis said. That was — he couldn’t imagine anything worse, anyone worse for it to take over.
“Yeah,” Jerry said again, with the ghost of his usual smile. He pulled off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We are screwed.”
Lewis took a breath, shoved away those words. They couldn’t afford that now, not if they were going to do — something, anything. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Jerry put his glasses back on, straightened slowly. “Scared. It’s —
a long way down.”
Lewis nodded, feeling an unwilling sympathy. You could never completely get over that fear, the knowledge that if the wings failed, the engine died, you lost control in any of a hundred ways, you’d fall out of the sky, with no chance of recovery. And it wasn’t even something that hit you once, and went away. Every glitch in the engine, every flutter in the controls, every time someone got the drop on you: the abyss was always there, always waiting. All you could do was learn to live with it, and kill the other guy first.
“Sorry,” Jerry said. “I’m Ok.”
“What do we do now?” Lewis asked.
“Tell Al and Mitch,” Jerry answered. “And hope one of us comes up with something.”
Jerry’s color was better by the time they reached the dining room, and he was moving with a semblance of his usual care. Alma and Mitch were already at their table, Alma glorious in her royal blue dress, and for a crazy instant Lewis wished they didn’t have to tell her. But her expression was already sharpening, and Mitch looked up from the menu, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
Jerry pulled out his chair, seated himself awkwardly before he answered. “It’s got Henry.”
“What?” Alma grimaced, lowered her voice. “Jerry, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Jerry concentrated on unfolding his napkin, his eyes on his plate, bright with the Kershaw emblem. “He — it — tried to kill me.”
Lewis took his seat next to Alma and tried to focus on the menu. Soup, trout, tenderloin of beef on toast…. His stomach roiled.
“How —” Alma began, but the steward interrupted her, offering a tray of cocktails. Jerry drained his, and motioned for the steward to bring him another.
“Easy, Jer,” Mitch said.
Jerry glared at him. “Mitch, the man tried to push me out the window of the observation car. I think I’m entitled to a second drink.”
Alma let her breath out with a whoosh. “Well,” she said.
“Yeah.” Mitch grimaced.
We’re screwed, Lewis thought. He unfolded his napkin, set it carefully on his lap. Really and truly fucked. No way out, no way off until they got to Paris…. A familiar cold settled on him, his hands steady on the silverware. He could kill Henry, of course. It wouldn’t be easy, he didn’t know what the thing, the demon, could do to stop them, but on balance, he guessed he could kill Henry, Henry’s body. There were lots of nooks and crannies on the ship, dark places to lie in wait; it could be done. The problem was, that wouldn’t get them very far. If they were caught, or even suspected, they’d be in serious trouble. No one was going to believe some crazy story about demons and possession. And, more importantly, the thing might jump again. Kill Henry, and it would need another host; it might not be able to take any of the four of them, but there were forty more bodies aboard the airship, too many choices. Too big a risk to take the easy way out.
Alma’s eyes widened, and Lewis looked sideways to see Henry making his way through the dining room. He was playing the gracious host, stopping at every table with a word and a grin, accepting the compliments as his due. He looked unchanged, at least on the surface, still the same tall, distinguished businessman. But on a closer look, darkness trailed him, fumed from him like strands of smoke. He was making his way toward their table, as inexorable as a snake, and Alma pressed her foot against Lewis’s beneath the table. She managed a cool smile as Henry loomed over them, resting one hand on Jerry’s shoulder. Lewis looked up, meeting the creature’s eyes, and felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. How could anyone not see the darkness there, a gap opened into something dark and dank and terrible, smelling of dead ground and old bones….
“Alma,” Henry said, the creature said. “I’m sorry I haven’t had much of a chance to see you this trip.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Alma said. We know you have other commitments.”
“It’s a pleasure to have you on board,” it said. It was entirely sincere, Lewis realized; it was enjoying every moment of this game, secure in the knowledge that it would win. It tightened its grip, and Lewis saw Jerry wince. “Did Jerry tell you about our earlier conversation?”
“He certainly did,” Mitch said.
“I don’t know if I made it clear,” the creature continued, “but the offer I made him was really for all of you.”
“Offer?” Alma said, with just the right note of curiosity.
“Hasn’t he told you?”
There were two spots of color high on Jerry’s cheeks. “I hadn’t really had the chance.”
“Oh, well, then.” Henry smiled. “I’ll let Jerry tell you, and you can talk it over. In the meantime, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”
“Immensely,” Alma said, and dredged a smile from somewhere. “It’s an amazing ship, Henry. You should be proud of it.”
She was speaking past the demon, Lewis realized, to the man trapped in his own body, and the demon couldn’t quite hide its frown. It mastered itself in an instant, managed a parody of Henry’s easy grin.
“Thank you. She’s a beauty — the best in the world, even if it’s me who says so.” It paused. “And, please, don’t wait too long to decide. I can’t hold my offer open forever.”
“Of course not,” Alma said, stiff-lipped, and Henry turned away. Lewis watched him go, pausing at one table and then another, exchanging an intimate smile with Mary Holliday.
“If you were a dog, you’d be growling,” Alma said. “Stop it. Look — friendly. As though we were having a good time.”
She was right, of course, and Lewis made himself relax, smile. Alma pressed her foot against his again, and looked at the others. “Ok —”
The waiter interrupted her, bringing the soup course, and he was followed by the wine steward, offering a Montrachet. Mitch accepted it with a smile, and the steward filled their glasses, leaving the bottle in ice as though they were in an earthbound restaurant. Lewis sipped at his soup. It was rich and creamy, but he barely noticed the taste.
Alma swallowed a spoonful. “What was the offer, Jerry?”
Lewis looked at his plate. He didn’t really want to hear, didn’t want to see Jerry have to explain himself, abase himself — and that was exactly what the thing wanted, he realized. It was keeping track of Jerry’s humiliation, just as it was sowing malice and discord throughout the dining room. Celena Moore was blushing, her expression surprisingly insecure; two of the reporters were glaring at each other as though they were contemplating a fistfight. Palmer looked like a scolded puppy as he trailed after Henry.
“Jerry,” Mitch said.
Jerry put his spoon down carefully, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “It’s not possible, you know. What he offered.” He looked at Alma then. “He said he could give us Gil.”
Mitch sat up a little straighter, blinking as though someone had hit him.
Alma said, “Oh.”
“It’s not possible,” Jerry said again, and Mitch shook his head.
“Then why offer?”
“Because it likes misery,” Jerry answered.
Alma said, “It cannot raise the dead. We know that, and it knows we know that. What was it proposing?”
“That we choose another host,” Jerry said. His voice was tight, remote. “And it would bind Gil’s soul to that new body. After we had done it good service, of course.”
“Of course,” Mitch said. “Could this thing really do that?”
“Probably,” Jerry said.
Lewis looked at Alma. She was sitting very still, as composed as a statue, nothing at all alive except her wide eyes.
“This is — this has to be tempting,” he began, groping for words, and her calm shattered into movement, reaching across the tablecloth to close her fingers tightly over his.
“Of course it’s tempting,” she said. “It was meant to be, that’s what it does. But we can’t, and that’s an end to it.”
Lewis returned the crushing grip. He didn’t dare look at Jerry, didn’t want to see what
he was feeling….
“Gil would murder us,” Mitch said, and Jerry laughed.
“We’d deserve it, too.”
“Yeah.” Mitch reached for the wine, topped up glasses that had barely been touched. “Ok, what do we do now?”
Alma squeezed Lewis’s hand a final time and leaned back to smile at the waiter approaching with the fish course. “We finish our lovely dinner,” she said. “And then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Nineteen
After dinner they assembled in Mitch and Jerry's cabin. Alma perched on one end of the lower berth while Jerry sat on the other. Mitch leaned against the wall beside the dressing table and Lewis stood with his back to the door. Alma crossed her legs, looking from one to the other, but everyone was silent. Lewis thought this was one of those moments when nobody knew what to say, not even Mitch, who usually had the right words. It was Gil’s ghost, Gil’s ghost and the creature’s offer, and Lewis took a breath. It was the last thing he wanted, Gil back, but the man had been their leader, and they needed him desperately right now. Hell, Lewis needed him, and they’d never met. Just loved the same woman, a mocking voice whispered in the back of his mind. If you can call it love. He shoved the thought away, and straightened a little.
“I know I don’t know anything about this,” he said, slowly, “But if the thing out there can do it — can we, I don’t know, call up Gil’s spirit, ask for his help? At least he knew what he was doing, and I sure the hell don’t.”
Jerry gave a bark of laughter, but Alma looked at him with a startled smile.
“We sure as hell can’t call his spirit into some stranger,” Mitch said, scowling.
“I didn’t mean that,” Lewis said. “Not what that thing was offering. I know that’s bad. But — I don’t know what you can do. What’s possible here.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Jerry said, and tilted his head back against the wall of the berth.
“We can’t raise the dead,” Alma said, still smiling, her voice gentle. “And while we might be able to reach Gil’s spirit if we could find a competent medium, I don’t know what good it would do us even if there was one on the ship. No, we’re the lodge. This is for the living to handle.”