“Funny,” Jack replied. “I swear I hear rock-and-roll music playing. The noise sounds like it’s coming from somewhere in the building. But we’re the only ones here.”
“I have spectacular hearing,” said Simon, frowning. “And I can’t hear a note.”
“That’s strange,” said Jack, stepping over to the wall. He pressed his head against the plaster. “Listen. It’s that song by Quiet Riot, the one about ‘the noise.’ Remember? They filmed the piece as a music video with the walls exploding from the sound.”
“I avoid music videos if at all possible,” said Simon. “They’re not aimed at my age group.”
“I’m surprised you don’t hear it,” said Jack. “The bass has the walls vibrating.”
“Is it getting louder?” asked Simon. The changeling bit his lower lip, his expression thoughtful. “Much louder?”
“The noise is growing,” admitted Jack. “It’s not loud enough to shake the foundation—yet.”
Jack put his hands over his ears. That helped, but not much. “What’s happening? Overwhelming sound requires amplifiers like they use at rock concerts. That’s not normally the type of equipment housed in the mathematics department.”
“I’ve got it,” said Simon, snapping his fingers. “It’s a banshee. Von Bern’s using it to force you outside.”
“A banshee?” said Jack. “I thought they were Irish spooks.”
“They migrated,” said Simon. “Not many castles left to haunt these days. Chicago’s large Irish population attracted them to the Midwest. Besides, the girls enjoy singing too much to remain in old stone towers. Now, they live in big apartment buildings, driving the tenants crazy.
“Using their powers, they create the phantom music you hear lying in bed at night. They’re the stereo playing upstairs or from the next apartment, just loud enough to keep you awake, but that’s never on when you go to complain. Plus, they’re the ones responsible for the loud, giggling noises you hear coming from the bathroom grate at three a.m.
“No question that a banshee has targeted you for its attentions. They can focus on one person if they wish. That’s why I can’t hear a thing. Usually they tire after a few hours. But, in the meantime, there’s only one sure way to stop them.”
“What’s that?” asked Jack, pressing his hands tighter. “My teeth are starting to ache.”
“The old-fashioned solution,” said Simon mournfully. “A banshee quits singing when its victim dies.”
“That’s not an answer,” declared Jack. “I am firmly against suicide. Especially my own.” He cursed. “If this was the dorms, we’d padlock the bastard responsible for the noise in his room all night and see how he enjoyed life without the convenience of a bathroom.”
“Not very pleasant, I’m sure,” said Simon. “How did you get offenders to turn off the stereo?”
“Usually, it took them a couple of hours to understand their predicament,” said Jack. “Until then, we survived by drowning it out with our own systems.”
Jack laughed wildly.
“That’s it,” he yelled and rushed for the stairs leading to the second floor. “Follow me.”
He located what he was searching for in the third office he searched. It rested on the desk of another graduate assistant. Triumphantly, Jack held his prize aloft.
“A portable CD player,” he declared. “Complete with headphones.”
Fumbling through the desk drawers, Jack pulled out a CD case. “A Question of Balance by the Moody Blues,” he said cheerfully. “One of my favorites. I especially like ‘The Minstrel’s Song.’ It should do the trick nicely.”
Jack hooked the player to his desk and fitted the receiver on his head. Grabbing several rubber bands, he snapped them over his skull, forcing the ends of the headphones tight against his ears. Grinning, he turned on the device and programmed the seventh song on continual repeat. In seconds, his face relaxed in an expression of total bliss.
“I don’t understand,” said Simon.
“Sorry,” answered Jack loudly. “I can’t hear a thing you’re saying. That’s the beauty of headphones. If the ear pads are positioned properly, the music sounds like it’s coming from inside your head. It drowns out anything. The banshee’s powerless as long as I’m using this unit. And, unlike the ghost’s thumping, I find this music very soothing.”
Yawning, he flopped onto the nearest chair. “Hopefully, the banshee is the last of von Bern’s surprises. I doubt if I can sleep wearing this thing, but at least I can rest.”
He yawned again, stretching his jaw wide open. “Damn. Being a hero is exhausting business. And so far, I haven’t done much.”
Sighing, he shook his head, thinking of Megan. “Not much at all.”
17
No other spirits disturbed them that night. A few minutes after the sun rose, the Border Redcaps disappeared, as did the amnesia spell. A short interval later, a band of bewildered janitors warily approached the mathematics complex. It soon became clear they had been wandering about in a daze for the past hour, trying to find a building they cleaned every morning.
Surveying the wreckage that covered the floor, Jack concluded that discretion was the better part of valor. He and Simon exited through the rear doors as the maintenance men cautiously entered through the bullet-riddled front entrance.
“Wait till your buddy Anderson learns you were the last one seen in the place,” said Simon, as they hurried across the stretch of lawn leading to the street. “I’d advise staying off campus for a few days. Or years, depending on the chief’s temper. He did not strike me as the forgiving type.”
“Funny, I received the same impression,” said Jack, laughing. He sobered immediately. “I’m dead on my feet. We both need sleep and plenty of it. Let’s head back to your dorm room and rescue the money I hid there. Using some of it, we’ll rent a motel room off campus and sack out for a day.”
“What then?” asked Simon.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Jack. “However, von Bern is our one definite link with whatever deviltry the Old One is planning. We’ve got to locate the Huntsman’s hideout and rescue Merlin and Megan. And free all those other women as well.”
“There’s a group of supernatural living on the north side I visit when life on campus wears thin,” said Simon. “They’re cousins of mine. Maybe they know where we can find von Bern.”
“Fine,” said Jack. “Time for us to get that cash and scoot.”
Twenty minutes later found them at the front entrance to the Hideaway Motel and Lounge. Located a mile off campus in one of the less respectable areas of the city, the bright red neon sign overhead proudly proclaimed, “Three Hour Rates, Nap Attacks, Adult Cable TV, Waterbeds.”
“I’m not terribly convinced about the wisdom of staying here,” Jack said to Simon.
“Nonsense,” declared the changeling, grinning. “You’re letting puritan morality blind your judgment. No one would ever think of looking for us in a place like this. It’s one of the few spots in town we can rent a room without luggage. And the manager definitely guarantees the privacy of his guests.”
“Okay,” said Jack reluctantly. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a wad of cash, which he handed to Simon. “But you check in for the two of us. I can’t.”
The Brit chuckled. “No problem. Stick around and I’ll demonstrate the joys of shapeshifting.”
The changeling passed a hand over his face. As before, his features wavered, shifted, and reformed in the space of seconds. Jack gasped at the transformation. Simon’s visage was gone, replaced by the snarling mug of Benny Anderson.
“Like it?” growled Simon, his voice a perfect copy of the security chief’s. “I’ve wanted to do Benny for a long time. He’s got personality.”