Unholy Ghosts Page 17

  “Has the haunting escalated? You said last time that it was just a gray sexless shape, Mrs. Morton. Has it taken form? Started moving objects, anything like that?”

  “It’s not gray anymore.” Mrs. Morton pulled at the string of pearls around her neck as if they were choking her. “It’s black. A man, in a black hood. He … he watches us while we try to sleep, he sneaks into our dreams … he scares me.”

  She dissolved into sobs, sobs Chess could not hear over the pounding of her own heart.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “So they found the open spaces beneath the surface of the earth, and found the power there stronger than even that of the spirits, and they sent their guardians and messengers to the surface and brought the spirits to their new home, and imprisoned them there.”

  —The Book of Truth, Origins, Article 400

  She didn’t want to go home. Not after the break-in—had that really only been the night before? It had, and she couldn’t bear the thought of spending a night there alone. Not now, when she knew the person after her knew her, knew everything about her, had worked with her for years.

  Tyson could have been lying, but Chess knew he hadn’t. Knew it the way she knew what the Truth was, the way she knew … the way she knew the only safe place now, even in the midst of all her doubts, was the Church. This late at night the building would be deserted, no one would be in the great library, and she had a key. She could do some research, try to decide what everything meant. She could just sit and breathe. The locks in her home could be picked, but the locks of the Church buildings were impregnable.

  Of course, whoever had murdered Slipknot had a key, too. But they wouldn’t know where she was. It was still the safest place she could think of.

  She spread her notes on the table before her, scanning them to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, looking for things she might have missed, before starting.

  Neither Ereshdiran nor the symbol on her assailants’ robes appeared in any of the standard texts. She hadn’t expected them to, but wanted to be thorough.

  Why would someone want to summon a Dreamthief? This wasn’t the first time illegal entities had been summoned, of course. When Chess was still a student someone had tried to call an elemental hate spirit, to show off at a party. Those who’d survived the carnage had failed to be impressed.

  But a Dreamthief …? She kept thinking if she could remember where she’d seen that damned symbol she might have some idea what was going on, but her memory of it seemed too fuzzy. She couldn’t be sure in her mind it actually looked like she remembered, or if she’d embellished it somehow, made it up.

  Sighing, she closed the last book and glanced at the clock. Almost ten. She’d have to leave soon if she wanted to replenish her supplies, and she definitely wanted. Only a desire to get to the bottom of this had kept her from running straight for the pipes after Terrible dropped her off. After the book … after the memories, carving themselves fresh into her head and leaving bloody tracks running down her neck … if she hadn’t been determined to make that hellish experience worth the price of admission she would have done it.

  She gave herself half an hour more. Enough time to check a couple of the restricted books. Then she’d go. Straight to Bump’s.

  The door to the Restricted Room was locked, but Chess knew where a spare key was kept, tucked on the ledge at the top of the center desk drawer. She’d never needed to steal it before, but then she’d never done research like this after hours before—the library Goodys had always been there to let her in. Feeling a little like a criminal, she felt around the ledge with her fingertips until the key dropped into the drawer, then crossed the room and slipped it into the lock.

  It gave an audible click as the catch released, a click that seemed to echo in the big, empty room. Chess froze. Had that just been the lock, or had another click followed it, so closely she just mistook it for an echo?

  She whipped around, her gaze skittering from shelf to shelf, across the empty expanse of shining wood floor and up the walls to the fans hanging like bizarre spiders from the ceiling. Always look up. Nobody ever looks up.

  Nothing was there, and gradually her heart rate—already fast from all the speed—calmed down. She gave a soft, snorting laugh at herself, like a child bravely declaring themselves unafraid of the dark, and turned the knob.

  She’d always loved the Restricted Room. Here were the banned books, the esoteric books, the relics of past forms of religion. Ornate gold crosses and a diamond-encrusted Star of David in glass cases lined the walls and glittered in the dim light, welcoming her into their presence like they’d been waiting for her. Bibles and Korans rested silently on pillars, their wisdom no longer needed, and in one corner sat an enormous gold Buddha, his benign smile blessing them all—if blessing had been permissible, anyway.

  To own such items without proof of historical worth outside the Church meant heresy. Here she could look at them all she wanted, read the archaic words, piece together what life must have been like even thirty years before, much less centuries in the past.

  She padded across the thick carpet to the Esoteric shelf at the far end, flicking the light switch as she went. The main library room disappeared as the light hit the long, tall windows separating the sections. Funny how she’d never really noticed that before, but then she’d never been in the Restricted section this late at night, when the great library was a cavern of silent secrets between thick dusty covers.

  Her skin prickled as she grabbed the largest book, one of her favorites. If it couldn’t be found in Tobin’s Spirit Guide it probably couldn’t be found anywhere. The heft of the book comforted her as it always had, but even it could not hide the fact that she’d thought she heard another sound.

  A rustle, like breeze blowing a sheaf of paper or, she thought with a vague sense of nausea, the sound made by the pages of Tyson’s horrible book when Terrible’s fingers brushed against it.

  She stopped and stood rock-still, with the weight of the Spirit Guide starting to make her wrist ache. Looking toward the windows did nothing to help. That damned glass may as well have been a mirror; all she saw was her own pale face staring back at her.

  Her muscles creaked as she stood there, letting the seconds stretch into minutes, her ears straining for another sound, but the silence continued for so long she started to doubt herself. She hadn’t slept in days, not really. She was so wired she imagined her pupils were the size of pinpricks and her fingers felt grimy no matter how many times she washed her hands. Of course she was hearing things. It was probably Brownian Motion, or her own brain sizzling as the speed burned away at the cells.

  Had she heard a noise, really?

  She was being ridiculous. No, not in being cautious. Caution was the only way to stay alive. But in thinking she’d somehow been followed here by the unknown Church employees who’d imprisoned Slipknot’s soul. Tyson didn’t even own a phone. The idea that he’d somehow managed to get himself back together and notify whomever it was, that they’d managed to track her down here when she’d told no one where she was going, was stretching things a bit.

  Thus convinced, she sat down, grabbed her notepad, and started checking the Guide’s index. Eraduac, Eramuel, Erbereous, Eredmiam … Ereshdiran. Page one hundred fifty-three.

  She pulled off the cap of her pen with her teeth as she used her left hand to flip through the pages. Ugh. The line drawing was crude, but it captured the thin, cruel face and the hooked nose. It even managed to suggest the bloody teeth.

  Her pen scratched across the paper as she made notes, her skin growing colder with every word. She was going to have to call Doyle, to agree to go with him to see the Grand Elder. This wasn’t something she could handle on her own—or rather, it wasn’t something she wanted to handle on her own.

  Who the fuck had summoned him, and why? What possible reason could there be to invade dreams, to invest that much power into something as banal as sleeping patterns? If they wanted to put homeowners to sl
eep so they could break in, they could get a Hand of Glory like hers, or perform some other sort of spell. How many homes could they invade in one night? And the damned thing simply wasn’t safe, there was no real way to—

  This time the noise was definite. A click, like the step of a hard-bottom shoe on the wood floor. She might not have heard it if she hadn’t paused in her writing, but she had, and so she did. Someone was in the library, and whoever it was had not come simply to do some research. No one called her name, no one noticed the lights on in the Restricted Room and asked who was there. Instead there was only silence, clogging her ears, pressing in around her until she felt her body would collapse under the weight of it.

  Sweat beaded on her brow as she casually flipped a few pages in the book, her muscles aching from the strain of keeping her movements slow and even, as though she hadn’t heard anything. Two exits led from the library: the main one she’d used earlier, and the second one she’d used the other day when she overheard the Grand Elder and Bruce talking by the elevators.

  Talking about the fear infecting the ghosts, about their unusual behavior. Looked like she had an answer for that, at least. Ereshdiran. The presence of an entity like him would drive normal ghosts crazy.

  She’d take the amulet to the Grand Elder, tell him what was happening—No. She couldn’t, not without admitting she’d been out at Chester Airport, that a body had been found and not reported. The amulet explained clearly to anyone who could read it exactly what powered the spell.

  So would setting Slipknot’s soul free end it and send Ereshdiran back where he belonged? Or would he start feeding on her, as she’d worried originally? Her blood had fed the amulet … and it had left its little calling cards burrowing into her skin, hadn’t it, in exchange?

  Her fingers ached. She looked over and realized her knuckles were white around her pen, and that perhaps this was not the best time to start pondering the ins and outs of ritual but, instead, would be a good time to get the fuck out of the library before whoever was out there decided to make his or her presence known.

  The side exit would probably be best. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought the sounds came from the direction of the main entrance.

  Okay. Smoothly she grabbed her bag and set it on the table, slipping her pen and pad back into it while pretending she was simply looking for something. She wouldn’t be able to turn the lights in the Restricted Room off without advertising the fact that she was leaving and losing the element of surprise. The Element of Surprise had always struck her as a really good name for a band. This probably wasn’t the time for thoughts like that either, but her mind seemed to be working triple-time and she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  So. Casual, busy, unaware. She set her bag on the floor next to her, wrapping the strap around her wrist under the table. With her left hand she flipped forward in the Guide, hoping to disguise what she’d been looking at.

  Another footstep sounded, closer this time. Her entire body ached, her muscles so tense she was surprised blood still flowed through them. They were coming—he, she, it, whatever was coming, and she couldn’t see them but she might as well have had a neon arrow over her head, and she needed to move. She’d been so stupid. So careless, and so stupid.

  Her legs shook. Go! What the fuck are you waiting for, get up and go! Go!

  Carefully she slid her chair back, keeping her gaze focused on the book in front of her, as if she was just trying to get more comfortable. They were watching, she knew, she couldn’t see them but all the same she saw them, big shapes in black with no faces, their heavy boots moving across the floor toward her, their arms outstretched to grab her, to choke her, to slide a blade into her throat—

  Go!

  This time she obeyed, ducking down and slipping off the chair. If luck was with her—what a joke, luck was never with her—they might think she was looking for something, scratching an itch.

  Of course, they might also think the perfect time to attack her was when she wasn’t looking. Crablike she scuttled across the floor, keeping her head down. The fifteen feet or so to the door had never seemed like such a great distance; now she felt like an insect running across a hockey rink in full view of a crowd.

  She reached the door and stood, not breaking her stride but speeding up, and knew immediately that her gamble had not paid off. The other feet, the other person, was running, too, their heels making loud clicking thumps across the floor as they headed for her.

  Chess yanked her knife out of her pocket as she ran, but she didn’t think she’d have a chance to use it. It just made her feel better, sharper somehow, as if she herself could become steel. She ran as fast as she could, not seeing anything but the vague outline of the side door in front of her.

  She burst through it and almost fell. The rickety stairs clanged and rattled beneath her as she raced down them, her bag thumping against her legs and threatening to trip her with every step.

  Halfway down she heard the door above her open with enough force to make the staircase shake. She didn’t dare look up. She had to keep going, once she got around the next curve she could probably jump the rest of the way …

  This she did. The impact sent pain shooting up her legs and she knew her pursuer would unfortunately follow her lead, but she had no choice. The only choices she had right now were to try and go through the chapel, or get into the elevator, plunge into the earth to the platform for the ghost train, and head for the City. Neither appealed. If she went through the chapel she might be caught, and she’d still have to run through the hall and out the front doors to the parking lot.

  On the other hand, aside from her general discomfort and dislike of the City, there was no escape from there at all. The only way out was the way back up, and she didn’t particularly want to spend the entire night there while silent ghosts stared at her and her skin went pink then white with cold. Underground … underground was never safe.

  Unless … Hadn’t Lex said something about those tunnels? How they went everywhere under Triumph City itself? That probably extended to the Church grounds, right, since before Haunted Week this had been a business district?

  At the foot of the elevator was a platform where the train waited.

  Hadn’t she seen a couple of doors down there, when she went? One of them might lead into the tunnels. And if she could get into the tunnels, despite the confusing twists and turns, she could find an exit. She knew she could. She had her compass with her, tucked into its little pocket in her bag.

  It wasn’t a great idea, but it was the only one she thought might work. She slammed her palm against the elevator button. The second or two it took for the door to open stretched out like hours while the footsteps on the staircase grew louder, and she threw herself into the car as the railing rattled and she knew her pursuer had jumped over the side.

  Just before the doors closed she saw him, a hooded figure all in black, the symbol on his chest iridescent in the glow of the safety lights, and memory clicked into place like a bullet into a chamber.

  Oh, fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “… they were not aware of the earth’s power, and so pumped their garbage through it, and dug into it for all manner of things.”

  —A History of the Old Government, Volume III: 1800–1900

  Six minutes down, six minutes up. Then six minutes back down, if he decided to follow her, which she was sure he would—why wouldn’t he, when as far as anyone knew there were no exits? Alone with one of the Lamaru—the Lamaru with their fucking precious symbol and their bloodthirsty black magic. And they’d infiltrated the Church itself, actually gotten in the building, recruited another employee like her.

  If they had one, did they have more?

  If they were in the Church now … no one was safe. Not the Elders, not the Goodys, not the regular employees. And definitely not the People, who counted on the Church to keep them safe. The Lamaru didn’t want to keep anyone safe. They just wanted power. Wanted control, wanted adu
lation. And would do anything to get it.

  So what were they doing now?

  Unfortunately there was no way to hold the elevator, no emergency brake or lever to flip. So she had twelve minutes to get as far away from here as she could, into the tunnels, if she was even right, and those doors were tunnels and not simply a couple of supply closets or utility rooms full of wires tangled like snakes.

  Chess shivered. It was always so cold down here, and silent. The train with its dim, blue interior and flat opaque headlights watched her with the incurious gaze of a predator as the elevator started returning to the surface. Six minutes up, six minutes back.

  Two doors cut into the damp cement walls, one on each side of the train. She’d lost her syringe full of lubricant, of course, but sound didn’t matter so much when there were none to hear it. Luckily the lock was easy to pick, a basic tumbler with a rolling catch that she lifted in about thirty seconds. How much time had passed now? One minute, two? Shit, she could almost feel that Lamaru in the room, his black-gloved hands reaching for her, his eyes burning dark from blood sacrifice or who-the-fuck-knew what kind of spells he’d been working … She spun around, ready, but saw only the train’s empty eye staring back at her.

  Wasting time. Back to work.

  It was just a closet, as she’d feared. A mop and bucket—she couldn’t imagine why they were there, unless it was simply that closets of this nature grew cleaning implements like fungus. Some wires. A fuse box—oh, fuck yeah.

  She jimmied it open with her thinnest pick. How much time had passed now? Three minutes? All of the fuses were lit, they gave no indication of whether or not the elements they controlled were in use, and the elevator shaft was tall enough that she wouldn’t hear the car itself until it got closer. No labels decorated the shiny black metal of the box, either. There was nothing to do but to flip them all, one by one, and if flipping one of them gave her no result at all, she could assume it powered the elevator and leave it off.