The ghost drifted back the way he had come originally, south, across the parking lot that was now pitch-black between the scattered bars of light falling from the freeway and the cones from rare streetlamps. His color flushed and faded again and again as he moved, as if he couldn’t stop the sparks of memory that haunted him with pain. Stumbling a little on my still-trembling legs, I followed him. Quinton and Grendel stayed by my side while Chaos crawled up into my collar, as if she meant to comfort me by her presence. Or just lick the sweat off my neck—who knows?
At last, Simondson stopped and flared bloody red before his shape darted through the brick and glass of the nearest building. I could see that he’d stopped inside, but he was fading now, his energy ebbing. Even ghosts need rest. “All right,” I murmured to his thin shade. “I’ll take it from here.” He dimmed into the raw sparkle of the Grey.
As soon as he was gone, I plopped down onto the steps of the building he’d led us to. It had a covered porch with a short set of marble stairs on each side. The brick-and-stone porch led to three arched windows with French doors in two of them. I wasn’t quite high enough up the steps to look through the glass. I hung my head a moment while I caught my breath.
Quinton must have been studying the building. “It’s the old brewery office.”
I raised my head, shaking it a little to dispel the tinnitus that had started up—my descent into the Grey after Simondson seemed to have muffled my hearing, as if I’d gone swimming and now had water stuck in my ears. Quinton was looking past me into the darkened building.
“Looks like the tenant left in a hurry; the carpet’s been torn out. I don’t think that’s the latest in corporate decor, though it looks like someone’s been using it for something.”
“How can you tell?”
“Footprints in the dust and lots of power cables on the floor.”
I put one hand on the brick wall beside me so I could stand up and then jerked away from the building as the energy streams running through it snapped at me like static. I peered at it, glancing sideways into the Grey to see what was going on.
Coils of red power encircled the base of the building, crosshatched in blue, as if someone had erected a kind of magical insulation between the interior and the rest of the world. I couldn’t be sure of the magical nature of whatever had been going on without more information, but the gory crimson lines gave me the impression vampires had been involved. Not too surprising, since Simondson had died inside. Taking care not to touch the walls again, I walked up the short flight of steps and looked through the glass panes of the nearest window.
Squiggles of industrial glue and motes of sand and sawdust defaced the once-gleaming marble floor. Black and orange snakes of electrical cable ran across the mess, disappearing through the doorways in the white-plastered walls. Glancing up, I could see a chandelier that had captured shreds of translucent plastic and white gauze on its curled arms. I would have bet the missing carpet had a hell of a bloodstain on it and more than minor traces of Simondson’s DNA. Solis hadn’t mentioned the office building. I guessed the police were still trying to get a search warrant, even though an office wouldn’t seem much like the site of a hit-and-run, and Solis hadn’t been entirely sold on that idea anyhow. The right kind of beating might look a lot like a car accident until the autopsy report was in. . . .
A year or two earlier, I might have been perversely mollified by the manner of Simondson’s death, if my idea was correct. Back when the damage he’d inflicted on me was still fresh and seemed to be nothing but mindless fury unleashed on my undeserving self, it might have seemed poetic justice. Now it left me stunned and angry. Yeah, he’d killed me, but he hadn’t done it strictly from his own desire; he’d been led to it, tricked and used like everyone else Wygan had touched in his scheme. Not that I was feeling sorry for Simondson; I just didn’t feel the need to cause him any additional hurt anymore.
“I should go in there,” I mumbled, trying to convince myself.
Grendel whined and shifted to stare toward the street. The ferret was more interested in the building as she wormed her way back up to my shoulder. The scrape of footsteps on the gritty sidewalk pulled my attention around in the same direction as the dog’s.
A police officer on foot, his light-blue uniform shirt glowing under a moving shaft of light from the freeway, strolled toward us. He checked his radio on his shoulder and I spotted his partner coming across the street from the direction of Nine-pound Hammer. Both cops kept their hands in sight, not worried about us, just keeping an eye on things.
The first one called out as he came close. “Evening, folks. How y’doing?” He might have thought we were drunks who’d left the club to get some air, except for the dog. Quinton twitched the leash and the dog sat down to his whispered command as the two cops got within talking range.
I knew Quinton didn’t want to chat with them. I didn’t either, but chances were good they’d make a note of our presence and Solis would see it, so I leaned out the nearest arch in the front of the dark office porch and returned the greeting.
“Hi, guys.” I didn’t recognize either of them and they didn’t seem to know me, which was fine.
The first cop noticed Grendel, who was cocking his head and looking at the dark legs of his uniform trousers with some speculation. “Nice dog.”
“Yeah, except for all the peeing,” I replied. “I swear he has to sniff everything and leave a puddle every fifty feet.”
The second cop laughed, casually hitching his thumbs into his equipment belt. “Mine’s the same way. Gotta read his pee-mail and leave a reply, I guess.”
The first officer was looking us over but seemed satisfied we were just a couple out walking their dog. I was grateful Chaos was keeping still in the darkness under my collar—no one would believe we were out walking the ferret. We needed to keep up the illusion and negate their interest by moving along. Investigating the site of Simondson’s death would have to wait.
I glanced at Quinton as if I were irritated by the delay. “Is he ready to go?”
“I think he’s done for now.”
I nodded and walked down the other set of steps, the one farthest from the cops and more shadowed by the freeway ramp overhead. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
Quinton shrugged and twitched the leash again. Grendel stood up, wagging his tail at the prospect of moving; his doggy grin broke out and he panted in excitement. Quinton just nodded to the cops and walked past to catch up to me, the dog trotting alongside. We strolled off under the freeway as the patrolmen gave us one last look and dismissed us from their minds to go back to their beat.
EIGHT
As we walked away from the policemen, I felt the hot/cold presence of Simondson’s ghost in my pocket, thrumming in the metal box. Grey things whispered in my ear, not quite comprehended, not quite ignored. “Are we clear?” I asked Quinton.
He bent down and adjusted the dog’s leash, shooting a look back toward the old brewery under the cover of his long coat. “Yup. They’re checking out the bar up the street.”
I lifted the ferret out of my collar and she made a disgusted chittering sound. “Don’t give me that, you furry knee sock. You almost got us in trouble.”
“How?” Quinton asked. “I didn’t see her doing anything.”
“She was wiggling down my back trying to get into my pocket with the box full of ghost.” I put my free hand into the pocket in question. As my fingers brushed the metal surface, an electric shock ran up my arm and with it came a shriek of sound. Chaos made a high-pitched bark and twisted in my hand as I jerked, consumed in the moment of noise.
My grip failed and Quinton grabbed the ferret, tucking her into one of his own pockets before reaching to catch me as my knees buckled. I pushed him away, afraid the shattering noise in my head would envelop him, too. The shouting, muttering cacophony meant nothing, a jumble of sounds and words running over one another, breaking apart in my mind like exploding fireworks. I pulled my hand out of my pocket, clasping both of them together at my chest, bending as if I’d been punched by a heavy fist. The sound fell away slowly, leaving a single word in its fading echo in my mind: “maiandros.”