I needed a closer look at Celia. In the confusion, I bolted toward the observation room door as the board full of Christmas lights in the séance room exploded, raining colored glass and sparks over Ana, Cara, and Wayne. The stereo let out a final tortured howl and fell silent as both rooms blacked out.
I heard the whoosh of a fire extinguisher behind me as I rushed into the hall. The séance room door crashed open, flooding the hall with Celia's hot glow and tangled lines. Wayne, Ana, and Cara rushed out as I skidded into the sudden fire and knives of the poltergeist.
A tornado of fury twisted around me, pulling and tearing at me with murderous power. Crystal planes, glittering like ice sheets, cut kaleidoscopic slices of time, flaying me with instants of memory— flashes of lives and shattered jumbles of faces. . and the odor of gun-smoke and salt wrack. The sensation of foulness pushed against me and I reeled forward, desperate to escape it.
Then I was through it and the séance sitters were milling, hysterical and gabbling, into the hall around me. Acrid smoke and the smell of the extinguisher's chemicals flooded from the rooms on a raft of chill. But I still had the other smell in my nose—the stink that had clung under the scent of superglue at Mark's apartment. The odor of the poltergeist.
Turning, I saw the hot swirl of Celia's shape collapse, spiraling away like water down a drain and leaving only dim, frayed threads like a spiderweb spun between the participants. I shuddered. It was a force—an entity—capable of great destruction, and the feel and smell of it only confirmed the sickening idea that had been growing in my mind for a while. I had passed through the thing that had killed Mark Lupoldi.
It hadn't just been present and it wasn't a coincidence. One or some of these people had created a killer ghost. I had no doubt of it, but Solis wouldn't like it. He would require a more prosaic solution and I might have to be the one to point him to it. No one else would or could.
I stood in the hall, breath heaving, and looked them over. Ken was still missing. Tuckman and Terry had come into the hall with Quinton a smoke-wrapped step behind them. Cara had allowed Dale to comfort her and I could see thin blood trickling from beneath her bandage as she leaned against him. Wayne had vanished again, leaving Ana in the care of Ian.
I caught up to Wayne exiting the séance room. Glancing in, I could see Ken sitting up against the control room wall. He shook his head as if dazed or deafened. I looked at Wayne.
"Bruised, but not broken, I think," he said. "Just knocked silly. How 'bout you call the medics and I'll take a look at the rest?”
"We'll have to keep them calm and here and not let them go wandering off like Cara did last time.”
"Check. Go tell Tuckman. He'll listen to you more than me.”
"OK. Be back in a minute." I glanced in at Ken one more time, but he hadn't changed any—his shield of blankness was still missing, but there was nothing much else to see. I dug up my cell phone and called 911 as I headed for Tuckman.
Quinton buttonholed me. "I really don't like this.”
"Join the club. What went wrong?”
He gave me a grave look. "I was going to ask you that. The machinery was all doing what it should have—right up until the electrical surge that fried most of it. What caused the surge seems to be your field, not mine.”
"I'm afraid I don't know, either. Some kind of ghost energy, but—”
He waved my explanation aside. "I don't want to know. Magic just makes my head ache. What I do want to know is if this is going to attract cops.”
I chewed my lip. "I think so. There's a murder investigation involved and I suspect the detective in charge has been watching at least a few of these people.”
"Then I need to go, but I'll call you later. There's something I need to check out.”
"Something wrong?”
"Maybe, but I want to be sure first. I've got your cell phone number. I'll call you when I know. Now, I'm out of here.”
I reserved judgment on his mysterious habits and blew out a breath. "I'm stuck a while longer or I'd offer you a lift back to Pioneer Square. Will you be OK?”
He chuckled. "I'm great at getting around. But you be careful, Harper. This thing's a mess.”
I gave him a sardonic look. "No duh.”
He gave me a small smile, then shook his head and loped for the back stairs with his pack slung over one shoulder.
I caught up to Tuckman next, hearing the screech of a siren and the clatter of noise from in front of the building. "Hey," I said, catching his arm to turn his attention from the hysterical Patricia, who was still pinching her bleeding ear. "You're going to have cops all over you in a few minutes and you need to keep this bunch contained—”
The Medic One team hustled up the stairs with their kits. Wayne sent them to Ken first, then resumed his position blocking the main stairs.
Tuckman seemed a little dazed. "What? Why?”
"I suspect that Detective Solis has been keeping an eye on you and your group. Someone has surely called campus security about the noise and the smoke, and Solis's guys will be right behind them. Keep these people in order and under control and try to get them coherent. No detective is going to buy the idea that your pet ghost got loose and attacked a few people—especially not when one of your project assistants died in mysterious circumstances a week ago.”
His respiration was a little fast, his eyes still a little glazed. I leaned in and peered into them. "Do you understand me, Tuckman? Hello?”
He blinked several times. "Yes. Yes, I think so." He shook himself back to normal. "I need to keep them together. Will you stay or have you other concerns elsewhere?”
I smiled at him. "I have other things I have to do. I need to talk to you about all of this, but it'll have to wait.”
"All right." He nodded and stepped away from me, beginning to move through the small crowd, soothing them and organizing their thoughts for them.
I watched the ghost-makers wander for a moment, beginning to fall back under Tuckman's calm. They seemed frightened and confused—unaware of what power they wielded. Most of them. But at least one of them was acting.
I followed Quinton's lead and slid away before the cops arrived. I had an appointment I couldn't miss. Not even for Solis.
CHAPTER 20
Carlos paused a moment outside the building to study it, as I had a week before. The Grey fog of yellow and black that had hung over the building the night of Mark Lupoldi's death had thinned and contracted to a single blazing spot on his window. The police cars and barricades were gone, but the building still had an air of violation and depression.
Carlos said nothing until we were upstairs and standing in front of Mark's door. The snap lock had been engaged but it was old, unsophisticated, and poorly installed—easily bypassed with a credit card. "Corruption is rife when even the locks take bribes," he observed. I raised an eyebrow. I'd never expected a joke out of Carlos. "It doesn't usually work," I replied. "This just happens to be a very cheap lock in a run-down building.”
I closed the door behind us, locking us into the murder scene. The landlord had not cleaned the apartment yet and the bloodstains and print-kit residue still marked the walls. Carlos looked it over and nodded approval as he began pacing around the room. His tread made no sound in spite of his size. He put his hands out as if touching objects as yet invisible to me.
I sank down into the Grey, hoping to see something of what he saw. The cold silver mist swelled over me, shot with the phosphorescent glow of energized objects, heaving and flickering with the shapes of ghosts and memories. Layers of old tenants had built up a map of their daily routines, laying a path paved with ghost footprints around the bed, kitchen counter, and bath. A similar pearly patch floated near the windows, where generations of tenants had gazed out, watered their plants, or sat to read in the sunlight a while.