Dead Things (27 page)

“He was gone already. You think Boudreau was going to move in and let the previous owner hang around? No, he kicked Ellis out, but he bailed when he realized he was in possession of a corpse. By the time I could react he’d already gotten his ghost swarm back.”

“So if he possesses someone and leaves he’s just as powerful.”

“That’s my thinking,” I say. “If we want to hit him we need to hit him as he’s possessing a body. And killing whoever he grabs doesn’t do any good.”

“So what’s your plan, exactly?”

“We get him to come after someone and when he lets his guard down we hit him.”

“That simple?”

“That simple. Look, so far he’s been at places that are important to him. The warehouse, for example.”

“What about the hospital?”

“He was going after Ellis. And you said yourself he’d been attacking you.”

“Feeble attempts, yes.”

“But still attempts. And he’s getting stronger. He can’t pop up just anywhere. He has to have a link to the place or something in it. That’s why he showed up at the hospital. He had a link to Ellis.”

“Why go after a dying man?” he asks. “Why not you or me?” A spear of anger flashes through me. I want to jump on the table and scream, “Just go with it, goddammit,” but kill the impulse before it fucks everything up.

“Ellis was prepped. All that time he was down in that hole? It wasn’t just to get the spell right. It was to make him a receptacle. He went after Ellis because he was the only one who he could go after.”

Griffin leans back in his chair. Eyes clouded over in thought. “That’s a lot of supposition. And even if it’s true this has been a waste of time,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” I say. “We can get him.”

“How? Harsh language?”

“The same way I took him out the last time. He’ll be weakened as he’s moving into a new body and I can pull him out and shred him.”

It’s bullshit and I can tell he’s not buying it. I try to keep my cool.

“So do it yourself. You don’t need me for this. You need bait. You need a body prepped like Ellis for him to move into.”

“I already have that. I’ve figured out how he prepped Ellis and I’ve got that all handled. But I’ll need you to distract him.”

“What stupid sonofabitch did you get to sign up?”

I lower my sunglasses, give him a full look at my new, pitch black eyeballs. He startles, taken aback.

“Me,” I say. “The ritual leaves a bit of a mark.” Please believe this. Please don’t ask how I really got these eyeballs.

I push the sunglasses back up. “But just because I’m going to look like a lamb at the slaughter doesn’t mean I am one. I have no intention of letting him take over. But I can’t kick him out of me and take him out at the same time.”

“So what, I run interference? How exactly? Shoot you? I’d be happy to.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of an attack dog.” I pull out the bottle of Stoli with the drunk ghost I got from Darius’ bar in it. He squints at it.

“There’s something in there. What is it?”

“Nature spirit,” I lie. “Let it loose as he’s trying to take me over and it’ll go after him like a Doberman. Won’t hurt him much but it’ll give the chance to take him down. Between that and you and,” I nod at the men in the corner, “a couple of your goons sucking up some of the local magic pool, he won’t get a chance to fight back.”

I can almost see the gears turning in his head. Wondering if I’m telling the truth, maybe figuring out how to fuck me over, get rid of Boudreau and me at the same time.

“I don’t like this,” he says. “There are too many variables. And I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t trust you, either. But we both want him gone. We have a shot if we do it together.”

“And if we don’t you take control of him and send him after me?”

“More or less.”

“I don’t believe you can do that.”

“Want to find out if I’m bluffing?”

“I’m tempted, but you’re right. We have a better chance working together than against each other. It’s a deal. When and where?”

“Give me a few hours. I’ll call you with the address. Be ready.” I slide out of the booth.

“Why not give it to me now?”

“Because I think you’ll go over there without me and get yourself killed and then where will I be? That and if I don’t tell you now it’s an extra incentive to not have your thugs over there try to shoot me.”

“Point,” he says. “I’ll wait for your call.”

Chapter 25

It’s a horrible plan. Even if it weren’t all lies it’s a horrible plan. The only reason I can think Griffin bought it is because he wants it to work. I don’t know what kind of crap Boudreau’s been throwing at him, but it’s been enough that he’s worried.

I need to get a better handle on these powers Muerte’s given me. I haven’t seen or heard from her since the temple. If I’ve read her right I’m not going to. This is a test. See how I handle things. I know I can see the Dead better. I know I can pull in a hell of a lot more power than I’m used to. Can I do anything else?

I think about the toughest spell I’ve had to pull off recently. Cost a lot of money and took a lot of prep. I want to see if I can do it on my own. I drive out to a cemetery in east L.A. off the 110 Freeway. Gentle slopes with teetering gravestones encrusted with grime, pitted from smog and acid rain.

I stop at the gates, engine idling. Do I really want to do this? It’s not what I’m about to do that gives me pause, it’s the venue. It’s the people.

If things work the way I hope, at best there will be screaming. I can’t see any way around it. I put the car in gear and drive into the cemetery.

Two funerals going on at opposite ends of the grounds. One is a massive affair. A crowd of mourners, wailing relatives. A wreath next to the casket shows the picture of a kid. High school football uniform, big smiles. The future so goddamn full of opportunity he doesn’t know where to start. I drive past, leave them alone in their grief. I’m a bastard, but I’m not that big a bastard.

The other funeral is a small, somber affair. A handful of bored looking mourners, a droning preacher. Far off in a corner of the cemetery. Perfect.

I park the car a little ways off and walk to a grave far enough from the funeral to be unobtrusive, but not so far that I can’t see what’s going on. The spell I have in mind would normally cost me a small fortune in precious stones, energy and time. The work on the front end is exacting and takes a toll. I used something like it in Texas to make a corpse my puppet.

Now to see if I can do it cold.

I close my eyes, reach out with my senses. I can pick up some wanderers, a few haunts, but they’re pretty far away. Nobody dies in a cemetery. It’s just a place to bury meat. But some of who we are lingers. It’s hard to find, harder to grab hold of. Like talking to Ellis last night, only a lot more complicated. Doing it on my own is impossible.

Well, yesterday it was impossible.

The tiny glimmers of personality hanging onto the corpses in the cemetery flare in my mind. A few already underground. The strongest are the boy across the way and the man in the coffin nearby. I can feel the edges of him, like handprints left in sand, blowing away with each passing moment. Little more than an imprint of dust. I tease at the threads, pull them apart, strengthen them with my own power.

A loud thumping comes from the casket. I open my eyes to see it shake as I make the grisly puppet inside dance. The mourners back away, appalled, unsure what to do. I flail the body around some more, make the casket bounce, rock back and forth on the stand, tilt. It falls over with a crash. The latches locking it shut pop open, the corpse barreling out to roll on the ground.

Like I said there’s screaming. Some of the mourners scatter, a couple of men rush forward to stuff him back into his coffin. So I make him stand, stiff on legs like wood, joints cracking. It’s grotesque and tragic. Without the ritual I used in Texas the corpse feels like a numb extension of myself. But the fact that I can move it at all is amazing.

One of the men who rushed to the body when it fell out of the casket runs up, beats it over the head with a tire iron. He’s not screaming. He’s crying. And suddenly I realize what I’m doing to these people. I give up control, let the body fall to the ground, sick at my own power. Why did I do that? I didn’t have to make such a display out of it.

I leave the mourners terrified, walk back to the car, start it with shaking hands. Jesus, what am I turning into?

—

I stop at Alex’s house and check on Vivian. She’s still out. I check the house wards for any cracks, add my own to the mix, strengthen the barriers. My spells lock in place with barely a thought. I could get used to this.

But even with all this power I’m still worried. I have a plan, sure. Sort of.

Okay, not really.

Here’s the idea. I get Boudreau and Griffin together, Boudreau takes Griffin and I take them both out at the same time. And maybe unicorns will fly out of my ass.

I sit on the floor next to Vivian, head in my hands. I can’t fuck this up. There’s too much riding on it. The minute I let my guard down Griffin’s going to take a swing at me. And he’ll probably do it while Boudreau’s doing the same. Griffin was right. There are too many variables. But I can’t think of a better idea.

“I’ll get Alex back,” I say and kiss Vivian’s cheek. I don’t much care if I make it at this point, but goddamn it I’ll keep that promise.

—

Griffin pulls up in a Lincoln Town Car across the street from Boudreau’s old house. He and two of his thugs step out of the car, a buzzcut Latino who looks like he just got out of the army and a hook-nosed guy with glasses.

Two was the absolute minimum I figured Griffin would show up with. I half-expected a platoon. I don’t need twenty guys to take out on top of everything else.

“I should have known,” Griffin says. “His old house.” All three of them are wearing black tactical gear. Seriously. Holsters, buckles, the whole nine yards. Considering what we’re up against I don’t think the guns are for Boudreau.

“You bring your gas masks, too?” I ask.

Buzzcut looks worried. “You think we’ll need them?”

Jesus. “We’re going into a haunted house, not taking Afghanistan.”

“Your fashion advice is noted,” Griffin says. “I want to make something very clear.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I know you’re lying to me. About which parts I’m not sure, but your story is so full of holes I can’t tell where the truth ends and the bullshit begins.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“And yet I’m here. I want Boudreau gone as much as you do, maybe more. But if this is a trick I’m going to skin you alive.”

“You’re almost scary when you get all domineering like that. You’re going to try to skin me alive, anyway. So I really don’t see how I have much to lose. Now that we’re all on the same page, are we going to stand out here like idiots waving our dicks at each other or are we going to go do this?”

He gives Buzzcut and Glasses an almost imperceptible nod. They double-time it across the street. Griffin and I follow. The house is a two-story Tudor with a couple heavy chimneys, half-timbering and cross gables. I can feel Boudreau’s presence inside.

It occurs to me that, though I know Boudreau’s there, I have no way of knowing if Alex is in there, too. I falter for a moment at that thought, but I don’t have time for that now.

Griffin nods at Buzzcut. “If you would?” Buzzcut checks the door, whispers a spell and the lock pops. A glow surrounds his fingers as he gets ready for Christ only knows what on the other side. He nudges the door open. A deep smell of rot rolls over us like a tide.

“Maybe we should have brought gas masks,” Glasses says.

Buzzcut leans into the doorway, looks around. “It’s clear,” he says. Except it’s not. I can feel Boudreau welling up like a geyser.

“Get away from the door,” I say, but it’s too late. Boudreau’s swarm of ghosts fill the doorway. He’s found a new use for them. Hazy tendrils shoot out, yank Buzzcut inside, slam the door in our faces. Griffin gets a spell off, a jagged tongue of lightning and shadow that blows the door off its hinges. I stagger, my vision going double, as a backwash of energy that I can feel down into my soul hits me.

“What the hell did you do?” I say. My sight comes back into focus.

“Something I cooked up that should at least destroy some of the ghosts around him,” Griffin says. “It can be a little disorienting to be around if you’re not used to it. I guarantee if you felt it, Boudreau felt it more.” Yeah, no shit. I feel like a bell that’s been rung with a sledgehammer.

“Well, we know he’s home,” I say.

“And we’re down a man.”

“Try another entrance?” Glasses says.

Griffin turns to me. “But you can sense him, can’t you? You knew he was there before he hit.”

“Yeah, by like a second and a half. When he pops up I won’t get much warning. It’ll be like playing a game of Whack-A-Mole. This door, another door. I don’t see how it matters.”

I push my way past them and enter the house.

“Remember to wipe your feet,” I say.

“I don’t think the owners are going to mind,” Griffin says. He points through a pair of double doors across from a staircase. I can see the family piled like rotting cordwood on the dining table.

“Boudreau’s not one for sharing, is he?” I say.

“Some things never change.”

There’s a noise upstairs that grabs all our attention. Something heavy coming down the stairs. Buzzcut’s head rolls off the last step and lands with a wet thump on the floor. Glasses nudges it with a toe.

“Looks like an invitation to me,” I say and head up the stairs. “You guys coming?”

I follow the blood spatter Buzzcut’s head left as it bounced its way down. Dark red blotches on the carpeted steps, splashes on the banister. They stop at the second floor landing where Buzzcut’s body is slowly draining into the carpet. One less asshole I have to worry about. I step over him onto the landing, look over the hallway, wondering when Boudreau’s going to make another move.