“No. That’s stupid.” Sam snorted, reached down, grabbed my armored collar, and hoisted me as if I weighed nothing. “Can you walk?”
It hurt like a son of a bitch. I’d wrenched one leg on the way down. My ankle felt like it had been sprained, same one the stupid rag monster had torn up earlier. I wasn’t going to win any races, but there wasn’t time to whine about it. “Yeah.”
He pulled me along, through the ruined gardens, through the evil swirling fog, and away from the breached wall. “You’ve got no idea how much it sucks being in the spirit world watching my people get their asses kicked in the world of the living and not being able to do anything about it. We can’t see everything, but we can watch those that we’re close to a little. We’re still in this fight, we just haven’t been allowed to participate yet.”
The red haze in my head had cleared a bit, enough to know that I wasn’t imagining this. I’d been rescued by a dead Monster Hunter. And judging from the gunfire in the gardens, he’d brought friends. “We?”
“See for yourself.”
I was still blinking away someone else’s blood so it was hard to see clearly, but there were several men waiting ahead of us. Some were dressed in modern MHI armor, but a few were wearing armor that seemed more old-fashioned, and a few were even in the archaic high-necked leather suits that I’d seen Bubba Shackleford in. They seemed somehow blurry. The strong winds didn’t so much as muss their hair. I could have swore that it was Chuck Mead that gave me a small nod as we passed, but Chuck had died at DeSoya Caverns.
“Terminate these insect assholes with extreme prejudice,” Sam ordered. “Be ready for him to throw anything at us. He will not let up. Keep the living safe as long as possible. They’re counting on us. Move out.” The ghostly figures faded away and were gone.
Sam carried me around the corner, where there was a bit of shelter from the screaming wind, and set me down with my back against a low wall. He squatted next to me, looking remarkably good for a dead man. I rubbed the blood off of my face and realized with a shock that the blurriness of his features wasn’t due to crap in my eyes at all. Everything else in the world was sharp and focused, but the lines that made up Sam seemed to flicker. “How’re you feeling?”
“Confused.”
“I was asking about physically, but that’s understandable. Listen carefully, Z. You need to know that you aren’t in this alone. There’s a war coming, and it’s bigger than just the living, and it’s bigger than just the Earth. A lot of those that came before you still have skin in this game. There are legions of us. Legions. But until the war starts, there’s rules set that we have to follow, including not meddling with the living. Ah, but you know I’ve never been too good with authority.” He chuckled.
I raised one shaking hand and pointed upwards questioningly.
Sam nodded. “Pretty much. It’s mostly hands-off the living world for reasons I don’t get myself. Way over my pay grade. But this place isn’t in the living world right now. Nobody important has laid claim to this place except for scum that live here. So the rules are in sort of a gray area, which is how come some of us came here to help. We’re buying you some time, but this needs to be finished by the living. I’ve got a message from Mordechai that’ll help. Since the Old Ones messed with your head, you can read other people’s memories. Think of this as a download.”
Sam reached out, put his palm on my forehead, and SNAP.
It was like getting a stun gun to the brain. But when the white-hot electrical vise grip unlocked from my synapses, there was a gigantic pile of new memories in my head. I’d watched other people’s memories unfold before as a result of my connection to the Old Ones’ artifact, but never anything like this. It was quite literally an infodump, and I was surprised to see who it was from…
Chapter 19
He had been called many things since he’d died. He did not like being referred to as a ghost and preferred protector spirit, which seemed to him to have more dignity, though restless dead also had gravitas, but often had negative connotations. Usually the living that he had dealt with simply referred to him as the old man, since that was how he still tended to perceive himself, and thus how the living perceived him as a result. Regardless of what he was known as, the most common adjective applied to any of his titles by his superiors was usually stubborn.
Come on, girl. Pick up your telephone…There is not much time. Pick up the telephone, girl!
The girl in question was Holly Newcastle. The old man knew that she was the most suitable person available and time was of the essence. It was not often that he was allowed to interfere in the affairs of the living, but this was a prelude to the big war, one of his own flesh-and-blood descendants was in danger, and the Hunters could not afford to lose their champion.
The old man knew Holly well. He had seen her grow and mature, fighting alongside the champion, always with conviction, never showing fear. But she wore a mask, crafted so well that even she thought it was real. On the inside there was still some of the old girl left. She had her own destiny yet to fulfill, but sadly, most of her choices would lead her to a dark end. Her road was a difficult one.
She was dressed in a manner that would have been scandalous and completely unacceptable during the old man’s mortal time on earth, but was normal now. She had left the other Hunters with excuses of “partying” or such mortal nonsense, but that had only been at first. It had been an excuse, to the others, but mostly to herself. Squandering her money and poisoning her body were distractions from what was really on her mind. She had done that for a time, but there was something far more important that she had to tend to that she’d been avoiding, and this was the first time she had returned home since she had discovered the real world.
So she had paid a cab driver to take her far to the outskirts of the city, to a rusting industrial area. It was the sort of place where only the most unsavory ruffians would be found, but Holly was not afraid of the human kind of monster. She was here to confront her memories of the other kind.
It had not been difficult to find, because a place where such evil and horror occurred was always visible to a spirit’s eyes. Even long after the evil had taken place, it would still glow like a hot coal. The ruin had once been a factory of some kind. The police had put a chain and a padlock on the door. So Holly had smashed out a window with an old board and crawled inside, ripping her dress in the process, but not caring.
The old man had found her deep inside, sitting at the edge of a hole in the ground. The hole was not so big, but big enough to hold many captives, and deep enough to keep them from crawling out. It was a horrible thing, this pit. Vampires were vile beasts, and the things they did to survive were terrifying to comprehend. The old man had survived much in his mortal life, but even he had a hard time understanding what it would be like to be kept as a prisoner and used as food. She had become strong to protect the others, and eventually herself. All of the other captives had broken and then died.
Yet, Holly had survived the pit. And that had made her strong.
While the others had wilted and died and come back and died again, Holly’s determination had grown, until she’d used her cunning to kill a vampire and then go for help. Hunters had come and eradicated the rest of the nest, and Holly had found her destiny. The girl had two sides, one made of anger, and one made of love. Anything that provoked the anger or endangered that which she loved was doomed. The old man approved.
She had come back to the site of her horror. The old man wondered if the hole seemed smaller to her now. Did it seem insignificant? Compared to the other things that she had faced without flinching, it must seem insignificant, this dark place. But then again, it must not, because she had sat next to the edge of the pit for hours, always remembering, hating the vampires that had taken her, sometimes crying, occasionally talking to herself, or perhaps to the ones that had died around her. The old man could have saved her the time. Those spirits had moved on. They were not restless, like him.
Holly was strong, stronger even than she or any of her friends realized. Coming back and facing again the test that had made her a Hunter would hone that commitment. She was an ideal choice for this task.
The only problem was that she wouldn’t heed his words. Your friends need you! He was practically shouting. Even with all of the excess magical energy leaking into the city from the rift, she wouldn’t hear his voice. Why will you not listen to me?
Because there aren’t very many living that can hear us good, his companion told him. The champion’s in tune with the dead. Most folks ain’t.
Then we need another alive person to serve as messenger. And that gave the old man an idea. The champion came from a special bloodline, prepared and honed over generations to fulfill a prophecy. That particular challenge had been won, but then he’d been drafted for another. There were no more prophecies, and fate would be determined by mortal choices. But the champion was not the sole inheritor of that prepared bloodline. Come, my friend. New strategy I have. Not a Hunter, but I know a man that will hear us.
I hope this works, Mordechai.
The spirits left in search of another. Holly, exhausted and emotionally spent, had finally had enough and decided to leave the warehouse. She contemplated setting the place on fire and burning it to the ground, but her conscience wouldn’t let her, on the off chance there were some bums sleeping in the neighboring buildings. As Holly made her way back into the light, she checked her messages and found one from Owen Zastava Pitt.