“Oh great,” said Happy. “Fantastic. That’s all I need, something else to be paranoid about.”
“Unfortunately, you’re not as paranoid as you used to be, sweetie,” said Melody. “There really are dangerous forces in the universe out to get you.”
“Life was so much simpler when I was merely mentally ill and chemically deranged,” said Happy, glumly. “Now every case we go into feels like a trap.”
“That’s situation normal where the Ghost Finders are concerned,” said Melody.
“I want danger money,” said Happy.
“We are getting danger money.”
“I want more danger money.”
“It’s nice to want things,” Molly said briskly. “I saw the sweetest French Maid outfit in an Anne Summer’s, the other day.”
“I told you,” said Happy. “I’m not wearing it.”
“You can be very unadventurous sometimes,” said Melody.
They looked across at JC, on the far side of the lobby. His head was bowed, and he was frowning, lost in thought. He might have been a thousand miles away. Unreachable. Happy shrugged, uneasily.
“Do we know where the homeless guy died?” he said. “Was it here? Because I’m not picking up anything to suggest a recent death, natural or otherwise. In fact, I’m not picking up anything. Just…dead air.”
“Ho ho ho,” said Melody, concentrating on her instrument readouts. “Telepath humour. It’s all in the mind.”
Happy scowled, moved away, and lowered his mental shields, slowly and methodically opening himself up to his surroundings. Nothing happened until he was completely open and defenceless; and then everything hit him at once. The lobby was suddenly packed full of people, men and women, from all times and fashions, milling back and forth, overlapping and passing through each other. Memories, ghosts, of all the people who’d ever been in the theatre lobby. A hundred thousand audiences, all of them talking at once, a terrible clamour of raised voices from out of the Past, filling Happy’s head to bursting. He clapped both hands to his ears, a practiced psychological trick to keep voices outside his head; but it didn’t help. There were too many of them, layer upon layer of people pressed upon people…Voices determined to be heard.
And slowly, one by one, then in small groups, heads turned to look at him. Faces focused on him, becoming aware of his presence. They could see Happy because they weren’t memories, they were dead. Ghosts of people who’d died in the lobby, or the theatre, or returned there because it had special memories for them. They drifted slowly, implacably, towards Happy, passing inexorably through all the other presences in their way. Drawn to him like moths, to the bright light of his living soul. Happy looked about him desperately, but everywhere he looked there were more, coming right at him, their dead faces distorted by an awful, endless hunger.
Happy slammed down all his shields at once, forcing his mental defences back into place, until every last bit of his telepathy was shut down and he was as blind to the world as everyone else. Until he couldn’t have seen a ghost even if it walked right up to him and glared into his face. Or, at least, he hoped so. He stood very still, breathing hard. He could feel cold sweat on his face. When he finally lowered his hands, they shook violently. Happy looked quickly around the lobby. JC was still wrapped up in himself, but Melody was looking at him steadily. She came out from behind her instruments, walked over to Happy, and put her arms around him. She held him close, while he hung on to her like a drowning man. She patted his back gently, giving him the warmth of her body to drive out the cold of the dead. Giving him her steady presence to anchor him in the world again.
“Bad one?” she said, her voice carefully calm and neutral.
“Bad enough,” he said, when he could find his voice. “My own fault. I should have known better than to lower my guard in a place bound to be soaked in people and memories. Still…”
“Yes?” said Melody.
Happy took his arms away from her, and she immediately let go of him and stepped back. Beyond a certain point, Happy didn’t like to be fussed over.
“That…didn’t just happen,” said Happy. “That felt much more like an ambush. Which means we’re not alone here. Someone, or Something, targeted me.”
Melody studied his face carefully. “You need some of your little chemical helpers, don’t you?”
“No,” said Happy. “I’m stronger than that, now. I don’t need them. You showed me that.”
“But you still want them,” said Melody.
“Oh, God, yes, I want them,” said Happy. “Luckily, I want you more.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” said Melody. “I really wish it was true.”
And then they looked round sharply, as the main doors slammed open and their theatrical guests arrived. A man and a woman, both well into their forties, both clearly fighting for every inch, both of them that little bit too deliberately glamorous. Because they felt it was expected of them. They stopped directly inside the doors, realised they had an audience, and immediately fell into flattering publicity poses without even realising they were doing it. There was a pause, as everyone looked at everyone else, then JC strode briskly forward to stand with Happy and Melody, to present a unified front in the face of civilian outsiders. The two actors looked the Ghost Finders over and gave no impression of being in any way impressed.
“Are you the…experts?” said the woman, in a rich clear voice.
JC gave them both his best professional smile. “We are, indeed, the experts. Allow me to introduce your team for tonight. I am JC Chance, ghost finder extraordinaire, exorcist without portfolio, and leader of the pack. Despite everything I can do to get out of it. The short sulky thing on my left is Happy Jack Palmer; team telepath, portable psychic, and general pain in the arse. Feel free to ignore him or throw things. We do. Finally, this sweet and very dangerous young lady is Melody Chambers, geek girl nerd technician and Take That fan. Don’t get too close, she bites. Do not be fooled by the way we look; we are in fact very experienced and very efficient.”
“So…ghosts don’t scare you?” said the man, in a mellifluous, carrying voice.
JC grinned. “Hell no…ghosts are scared of us.”
“I’m not sure whether that makes me feel any safer, or not,” said the woman.
“Lot of people say that,” said Happy.
“Only because they know us,” said Melody.
“I’m Benjamin Darke,” said the man, a bit grandly. “And this is my wife, Elizabeth de Fries.”
They both stood a little taller, clearly expecting to be recognised. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, Benjamin announced their names again, a little louder and more distinctly, as though that might make a difference.
“Oh come on!” said Elizabeth. “You must have heard of us! We’ve been jobbing actors for twenty years now! We’ve been in everything, both stage and screen!”
“Exactly!” said Benjamin. “We’ve done everything, from soaps to period dramas, police procedurals to sitcoms! I was in a Doctor Who and she was in a Sherlock Holmes! Recently!”
“Sorry,” said JC. “We’re usually out working, of an evening. Our business is with the dead, not the living.”
Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other. Their shoulders slumped, and they stood more closely together, as though they could only depend on each other.
Benjamin Darke was tall and stocky, with a certain physical presence. He dressed well, if not actually expensively, with a smart sweater and slacks under a navy blue blazer, and a white silk cravat at his throat. He carried himself with a certain youthful vigour, through sheer force of will, and long stage training showed in his every disciplined movement. He was still handsome, in a severe sort of way, though middle age had clearly got a grip on him. His receding hair was suspiciously jet-black. He smiled a lot, a bright, professional smile that probably fooled most people.