Ghost of a Smile (31 page)

“We have many things in common,” said Latimer, not giving an inch. “Enemies in common. Just like in the Underground. And I should point out that I am quite capable of reading between the lines of an official report and noting the points where you were deliberately vague or even evasive about what actually happened. The Summit . . . is necessary. To pool our resources, to share useful information. Of course, there's always a certain amount of deliberate disinformation going on, from all sides, where we spread a little false information around, to see who'll bite and who already knows better. The Summit has always served many purposes.”

“There is a theory,” said JC, carefully not even glancing in Happy's direction, “that somebody, or perhaps some group of somebodies, really high up in . . . some organisation, did something they weren't supposed to, and it all went horribly wrong. As a result of which, the barriers between the dimensions were weakened. And that was why the door was able to open, and The Flesh Undying was able to come through . . .”

“Or even,” said Happy, determined not to be left out, “that these somebodies opened the door deliberately, hoping Something would come through that they could control!”

“Rubbish,” said Latimer. “Never happened. I would know.”

“Yes, well,” Happy said darkly. “You would say that, wouldn't you?”

“Don't push your luck, Palmer,” said Latimer.

“You didn't know about Patterson,” said Melody, and Latimer had no answer to that.

“Enough,” said JC. “We're talking in circles, and getting nowhere. It's late . . . or really early. It's cold, and I'm tired. Time to go home, boys and girls.” He turned to smile at the dead body. “Sorry we've kept you waiting so long, Kim. It's all right—you can come out now. Kim?”

There was no response from the dead man. Nothing to indicate there was anyone at home behind the unseeing eyes. JC strode up to Patterson, and thrust his face right into the dead man's.

“Kim! Come out of there! You've held the fort long enough. There's no way the rider's going to come back now!”

There was still no response. JC grabbed the front of Patterson's tattered jacket, took two great handfuls, and shook the dead man hard. The dead head lolled limply on its shoulders, rolling back and forth as though mocking him. The dead knees buckled, and the dead man crashed to the ground, the weight pulling JC down with it, for all his attempts to hold the corpse upright. JC bent over Patterson, still shaking him violently, screaming into the dead and unresponsive face.

“Kim! Stop messing around! You come out of there right now! Do you hear me! Kim!”

Happy and Melody stood close beside him but had enough sense not to interfere. There was as much anger as fear in his voice, and there was no telling who he might lash out at.

“JC,” said Happy, “she's not in there. There's no-one in there. The body is empty.”

“You're wrong!”

“I'm not wrong, JC. If she were there, I'd be able to See her. No-one's there.”

“You've got to be wrong . . .”

JC finally let go of the dead man and threw him away. Patterson lay sprawling on his back, staring up at the night sky with indifferent, empty eyes. JC sat down suddenly, as all the strength went out of his legs. He looked tired and confused and utterly bereft.

“Where is she?” he said. “What happened to her? You all saw her go into the dead man . . . Did the rider grab onto her, overpower her, take her with him when he left? Then why didn't I hear her? She would have called out to me, I know she would . . . Or did the rider call something else, something far more powerful, to bear them both away? While we were all preoccupied, all too busy talking, to pay proper attention to her? Did they take her, and I didn't even notice?”

His voice had risen almost to a scream, his face drawn and strained. Happy and Melody stood as close as they could, and shot a harsh warning glance at Latimer when it looked like she might say something.

“I didn't detect anything,” Happy said carefully. “And if I didn't, you certainly wouldn't have. There's no sign to show she was taken. She just . . . isn't in there.”

JC glared at the dead body. “Give her back! Give her back to me, you bastards!”

The dead body lay there. JC's hands clenched into fists before him, and when he spoke, his voice was cold, and hard, and little more than a whisper.

“I have to know. I need to know what's happened to her. Where she is. I have to track her down, and save her, and bring her home. I can't lose her, not so soon after finding her.”

“If there's no sign she was taken, she might have . . . wandered off,” said Latimer.

JC stood up, brushing at his clothes in an absent, unthinking way. “No. She wouldn't leave me. She wouldn't.”

“So,” said Latimer. “You and the ghost girl are . . . emotionally involved. Even though you know such relationships are expressly forbidden. Because they never work out well.”

“Really not a good time to go into that, Boss,” said Happy.

“Right,” said Melody, in an only moderately threatening way.

Latimer looked at JC, standing alone, looking as though something had punched his heart out, and surprised them all by nodding.

“I have to get back to the Institute,” she said evenly. “I have to make a report . . . of some kind. You can all come in . . . when you're ready.”

She walked away, back straight and head held high, not looking back. Happy and Melody watched her go.

“Kim is out there, somewhere,” said JC. “And I will find her.”

“Of course we will,” said Happy. “We're ghost finders.”

“Damn right,” said Melody.

From New
York
Times bestselling author

SIMON R. GREEN

For Heaven's Eyes Only
—A SECRET HISTORIES NOVEL—

 

 

I'm Eddie Drood, aka Shaman Bond, a member of the Drood family. We Droods have been holding back the forces of darkness for generations. It's a hell of a job—and we're good at it.

 

But right at this moment, the Droods have hit a bad patch, what with the death of our Matriarch and the discovery that she was killed by one of our own. It's left us in more than a bit of disarray, I can tell you. And it goes without saying that those forces of darkness are wasting no time in taking advantage of the situation. There's a Satanic Conspiracy brewing, one that could throw humanity directly into the clutches of the biggest of the big bads—forever

 

Things are looking grim—and here I am, not able to be of any help. On account of I'm dead.

 

 

 

 

 

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