Ghost of a Smile (19 page)

“Very good point there,” said Happy. “God, it's coming to something when you're the paranoid one on this team.”

They all went back to staring into the great grey expanse before them. JC stepped cautiously forward and swept one hand through the fog. It felt cold and damp, as though it had blown in off some ancient unknown ocean. He shuddered suddenly, not from the cold. Whichever way he looked, endless shades of grey filled his sight, with no trace of the floor they were supposed to be on anywhere. Lights flickered and flared, glowing and fading in the grey deeps, like taunting will-o'-the-wisps. JC squinted. The fog was hard on the eye, the featureless grey almost painful to look at for too long. He strained his altered eyes against the fog. He couldn't shake off a very definite feeling that somewhere deep in the fog, something was staring back at him.

JC turned to Happy. “Time to do your thing, team telepath. What do you sense about this fog?”

“Nothing specific,” said Happy, scowling in concentration. “No thoughts, no intent, no emotions . . . Just this
diffused
sense of presence.”

Kim nodded immediately, looking nervously this way and that. Melody stuck both thumbs in her belt and tapped one foot ominously on the floor. She felt frustrated and left out, with nothing to contribute. She felt naked without her equipment. With all her usual toys at her disposal, she could have analysed the hell out of the fog by then, broken it down into its various components, and come up with half a dozen different solutions to the problem. But there wasn't even a computer she could use in the room. She said as much, and JC nodded soberly.

“We have been relying on the building's computers, rather a lot. And I'm starting to wonder if we can trust what they've been telling us. You said yourself someone was making it too easy for you to access information. Maybe they only meant for us to know what they wanted us to know.”

“Someone was definitely sending messages through the computers,” said Melody. “And they've all been spot on useful, so far.”

“Quite,” said JC. “Convenient, that. Perhaps a little too convenient.”

“Then why not tell us what's going on here?” said Happy.

“Maybe they don't know,” said JC. “A sign, perhaps, that our mysterious benefactor isn't all-knowing.”

He took off his sunglasses and unleashed his brightly glowing eyes on the fog. Happy and Melody turned their heads away, unable to look at him directly. It wasn't that they were afraid of what they might see if they were to look directly into JC's golden eyes, it was that they found the light too fierce, too unrelenting, for human eyes.

“What does it look like, JC?” said Happy. “When you see the world through those eyes?”

“Everything seems so clear, so simple,” said JC. “As though . . . everything finally makes sense.”

“I don't know why you two keep looking away,” said Kim. “It doesn't bother me. They look like eyes to me. Nice colour, too.”

JC took another step forward, concentrating on the fog. He couldn't see anything new, but wherever he turned his gaze, the fog reacted. It seemed to recoil from him, churning and roiling violently, as though disturbed or agitated. When he swept his hand through it, there was no reaction, but he got the sense that the fog didn't like his golden gaze at all. That perhaps . . . the fog was frightened of it.

“The fog!” Kim said suddenly. “
It's
the presence!”

JC nodded slowly. “Yes. It is. I've heard of this phenomenon though I've never encountered it before. Don't know anyone who has. But I know what this is, what it has to be. It's rare, very rare. Takes a lot of energy to produce and maintain, to make it even possible . . . This is ghostlight. Undifferentiated ghosts. This is what will become ghosts, in time. As the building calls the dead to it, they will form out of this fog, taking on shape and nature and purpose.”

“Okay,” said Melody. “That's all very fine and groovy, but what is it exactly? Are we talking ectoplasm of some kind?”

“Spookier than that,” said JC. “What we're looking at isn't really water droplets suspended in the air. Our eyes interpret this as fog because that's as close as our minds can get to understanding it. This . . . is pure potential, the raw chaos from which order unfolds itself.”

“Oh crap,” said Melody.

Dim dark shapes began to form in the grey depths of the fog. Row upon row of them, standing unnaturally still, stretching out wider and further back than the building should have been able to accommodate. Most of the shapes were human, or at least humanish. Others were larger, bulkier, distorted. And some were only abstract shapes, impressions of people, like nightmares given shape and form in the waking world. JC looked back and forth, trying to get some sense of numbers, and failing. So many ghosts, drawn there by the birth of the New People, and what had been done to Chimera House. Standing in ranks, as though waiting for something. For some voice, perhaps, to tell them what to do.

“Have you noticed?” Happy said quietly. “They all seem to be looking at you, JC. They're not even glancing at the rest of us. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, of course, but it is interesting, and possibly even significant.”

“The eyes have it,” said Melody. “They're attracted to the light.”

“No,” said Kim. “It's more than that. I think it's because JC has been touched by the Outside, the afterworlds. They recognise that and respond to it.”

“Yes . . .” said Happy. “I'm picking up all kinds of things now. Fear, and fascination, and . . . a whole bunch of other things I don't even recognise, let alone understand. These ghosts might once have been human, but they don't feel like people. I'm not picking up even the most fundamental sense of identity, or individuality. It's almost like . . . looking at them from far, far away. And it's almost as though they think of JC . . . as one of them, only more so.”

JC looked at Happy, who flinched away from the golden gaze in spite of himself. “How can they be ghosts and not people?” said JC. “What are ghosts, except memories of people?”

“I don't know! It's as though they're . . . becoming people! The ghostlight is using the memories of ghosts to make forms rather than the other way round! These are . . . copies of ghosts, created by the fog, to do . . . something!”

“The ghosts of London,” said Kim. “From the Past, the Present, and maybe even the Future. Memories of the London dead, drawn to this place, to be made again out of the ghostlight. I never knew there could be so many kinds of ghosts. I don't think some of the things rising out of the ghostlight are even human, or ever were.”

Happy moved in close beside JC though still careful not to look at him. “Come on, JC, this is where we usually rely on you to pull a rabbit out of the hat, and by that I mean produce some really nasty weapon out of your capacious pockets. Tell me you've got something really destructive about your person that can deal with this.”

“Well,” said JC. “I have a brass knuckle-duster, a silver dagger, and several phials of holy water to sanctify them with. I have various useful herbs and charms, in small sealed bags to keep them fresh. I've even got an amulet, somewhere. And I have—something else.”

“What?”
said Melody. ”

“It's not something I should have, so I'd better not tell anyone,” said JC. “And it may be a bit too much for this particular situation. It's not exactly fine-tuned. If I use it, I'm not sure what might happen. We might end up in pieces, end up scattered all over the Moon.”

“I vote we don't use it, then,” said Happy.

“Unless we absolutely have to,” said JC.

“Well, of course,” said Happy. “That goes without saying.”

“What?”
said Kim. “Under what circumstances could having your bodily parts scattered over the craters of the Moon possibly be considered a viable option?”

“There are times when death is the kinder option,” said Melody.

“You had to say that, didn't you?” said Happy.

“Children,” said JC, “the ghosts are becoming restless.”

Some were swaying in place, others were turning their heads to orientate on the Ghost Finders in general, and JC in particular. Some stepped slowly forward, advancing through the mists, heading towards the group. JC gave them the benefit of his best golden glare, but it didn't seem to bother them in the least. And as they drew closer, emerging out of the fog, they began to reveal more of themselves. Some were suicides, with bloody wounds at their wrists and rope marks at their throats, or sullen faces distorted by gas or poison. Some were broken and shattered, pieces of splintered bone protruding through dead white flesh—jumpers, probably. Some were murder victims, still displaying their death wounds from knives and guns. Some were only children, with cold dark eyes, abused and murdered by those they had every reason to trust.

People who die peacefully don't make ghosts.

Not all of the figures were entirely human. Some were like animals, and some were like machines, and some . . . were simply monsters. Because you can't hide your true nature after you're dead. JC considered them all carefully and noticed that the dead weren't looking just at him. Some were fixing on Kim. She'd noticed, too, and wavered uncertainly this way and that, trying to escape their gaze. When she found she couldn't, she moved in close beside JC. He gave her his best reassuring smile. The ghosts were coming out of the fog, slowly, deliberately, more solid and more real.

“They're just images,” Melody said loudly, though whether she was trying to convince herself or the others was open to question. “They don't have any physical form. They can't . . . They can't hurt us!”

“Try saying it louder,” said Happy. “You might convince some of them. They looked solid enough to me . . .”

“They're drawing strength from the ghostlight,” said JC. “Which, in turn . . . is drawing strength from the altered reality of the building. And, possibly, from the New People . . .”

“Don't you have anything good to say?” demanded Happy.

“Not often,” JC admitted. “Comes with the job, and the territory.”

Happy scowled. “They feel real. More like individuals, now. Though all I'm picking up from them is . . . bad intent.”

The first rank of ghosts was almost upon them, dead hands reaching out for Kim. They smiled at her, devouring her with dark, unblinking eyes. She cried out and shrank away. JC moved forward, to stand between her and the approaching ghosts. He took out his silver dagger, and quite deliberately cut his palm with the razor-sharp edge. He closed his fist, and blood dripped thickly from it.

“Spilled blood has a voice,” said JC, almost casually. “It calls to the dead. Leave her alone, you bastards! Concentrate on me!”

When he cut himself, the ghosts had stopped. When he spoke, all their heads turned at once, towards JC, and when they started moving again, they all headed straight for him.

“All right,” said JC. “Now I've got their attention, a plan would probably be a good idea. Anyone got any ideas? Because I think I'm going to be very busy in a moment.”

“I don't know what to do!” said Melody. “I don't have my tech, my gun's no use . . . What can you do, against an army of ghosts?”

“The fog keeps making more of them,” said Happy. “The ghostlight's the source of their power, but how do you fight fog . . .”

“The fog!” said JC. “That's the answer! It shouldn't be here, inside the building! It's an unnatural condition, which makes it physically precarious. Which means vulnerable! Melody, run back down to the previous floor, log on to the computer, and access the building's internal systems. Override the air-conditioning, throw it into reverse, and have it suck the fog right out of here!”

“I thought you said it wasn't really fog?” said Happy.

“The more real it becomes, to make the ghosts real, the more real its physical properties become,” said JC. “Don't argue with me, I'm a doctor!”

“No you're not!”

“I might be. You don't know. Melody . . .”

But Melody was already off and running, through the doors and back down the stairs. Happy started to go after her.

“Happy, stay right where you are!” JC said urgently. “I need you here. You have to look after Kim while I'm busy.”

Happy hesitated, looked longingly at the doors, then looked at Kim, cringing miserably back against the far wall. He sighed, heavily.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Good man,” said JC.

“I've always thought so,” said Kim, trying hard to smile bravely.

“I know I'm going to regret this,” said Happy. “What's the plan, JC?”

“Well, I plan to keep them occupied, while you keep Kim safe, and Melody hopefully saves the day,” said JC.

“That's it, is it?” said Happy.

“Everything else is just details,” said JC.

The first ghost to emerge fully from the fog seemed utterly real and solid, and very dangerous. The fog itself seemed to be thinning, as more and more ghosts walked out of it. Up close, they were a horrid sight. Road-crash victims, dragging broken bones and twisted necks. Victims of domestic abuse, with wild, feral eyes. Victims of gang wars and honour killings. Old men and women who died alone and weren't found for months. All of London's dark, dead secrets, given shape and form and purpose by the ghostlight.

A tall, spindly figure in the rotting remains of an evening dress, with a dead white face and outstretched hands like claws, loomed suddenly up before Kim, coming at her from out of nowhere. Kim shrieked, and Happy thrust himself between Kim and the ghost, and hit it with a concentrated blast of disbelief. The ghost blew apart in slow motion, falling away in bits and pieces, dissipating back into the fog.