The Spirit in St. Louis

by Mark Everett Stone

The desk chair cradled my tushie as if made with me in mind, soft and silky with just the right amount of support. I usually don’t spend a lot of money on luxury items—no sense getting too comfortable in my line of work—but that chair was number one with a bullet on my Amazon-dot-com shopping list.

  Cigar, too. A luxury I could get used to, despite throat cancer or a host of other illnesses such things can lead to. The taste satisfied me on some visceral, primal level. Sure it took some getting used to, but let me tell you, the nicotine rush helped a ton.

  I leaned back in the comfy chair, put my hands behind my head, and stared at the ceiling through the DRAFTlite. Sure I was rich, famous, and had more twitter followers than Justin Bieber, but I’d trade all that away to turn back the clock and undo the revelation of the World Under. That genie had no intention of cramming its fat ass back into that bottle, though, no matter now nice and cheery it would make everyone feel. They weren’t lying when they said ignorance is bliss. That and good, smooth vodka.

  A shot could take the edge off my nerves, an edge that the cigar came nowhere near touching. Nine months, thirteen days, six hours, and thirty-one minutes since I last took a drink of my favorite alcoholic beverage. Not that I’d been counting, mind you, but I sure missed the sweet burn as it traveled down my throat to set fire to my stomach and the warmth that spread from my middle to the outlying areas, reaching my head to set up shop. That slightly unreal feeling as up became sideways became down and all ’round and ’round.

  “ ‘You spin me right ’round, baby right ’round like a record baby right ’round …’ ” I crooned softly. Another smoke ring floated out of my mouth, expanding slowly.

  “Not a great singing voice. Not even a good one.”

  I didn’t bother to move. “Figured you were going to show.”

  “How could I not?”

  Of course. “So what was your play in all this?” My eyes took in the brushwork on the ceiling plaster.

  “When did you figure it all out?”

  I levered the chair upright and faced the other man. Orson R. Nias. Mr. Handsome himself. “So that’s how this is going to work? A little quid pro quo?”

  Nias sauntered over to the gleaming perfection of his coffee maker and began to prepare an espresso. “Want one?”

  “Already made one,” I said, holding up a white porcelain demitasse cup for him to see.

  “Do you mind if I have one?”

  “It’s your office.” Not to mention his Kona coffee. While everything above the fourth floor was a big empty, his first-floor office had weathered the subsequent explosion just fine. Not a paper out of place, not even dust on the desk. “Is that my cigar you are smoking?”

  “My second one while waiting on you. The ventilation system in here is awesome.” As soon as the smoke rings reached the five-foot mark, subtle drafts whisked them away into waiting registers. Hyper efficiency not often found. “So, you going to go first?”

  The coffee machine clunked and hissed gently. “Might as well keep this civilized, don’t you think?”

  Sure. “Right. Civilized. That’s me, Mr. Civilized.”

  He smiled with all one thousand of his teeth and they were perfect. I desperately wanted to add a few scars to that face. “My ‘play,’ as you so eloquently called it, was exactly what I mentioned when we first met—asset reacquisition. In this case I was unable to land that asset; it is gone.”

  “The Angel.”

  Orson nodded. “The Angel.”

  “So what is a mid-level bureaucratic demon doing chasing an escapee from Hell? Are you some sort of infernal bounty hunter?” I stared into his pearlies. “Do you at least get dental?”

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he replied, wagging a finger. The coffeemaker gave a last, soft fart of steam and he pulled a demitasse from under the spout. After a short, almost dainty, sip, he continued, “How did you know? About me, that is.”

  I spread my hands and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke before placing them behind my head. “You didn’t make it hard, did you? Orson R. Nias. Ornias, the demon who likes killing effeminate men, the demon I fought in the Field Museum all those years ago.” My hands were sweaty, but I kept them behind my head. “That and when you possessed Wesley Ng during the time he’d be easily subject to such things, all weak and drugged up, to give us some much-needed plot exposition. I recognized your smile. That’s one thing you can’t really hide—a smile. Even when you’re in a different body, you want the muscles to work in the manner you’re most accustomed to, and when I saw your smile on Ng’s face, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.”

  Ornias raised his demitasse in salute.

  Time for some more explanations. “Why did you send me to Quint’s elevator? You obviously knew that just stepping into it would summon the succubus.”

  A long sip from a small cup. “For giggles,” he replied. “I figured you could handle a minor demon.” Once again that perfect smile. I wanted to improve it with my fist. “You know the Ring of Solomon won’t work, just in case you had it in your pocket or something. It only works on a demon’s physical body, and you sent mine to hell when last we met.” He held his arms up. “This flesh outfit was a vegetable in the Mercy Hospital ICU, making it quite easy for me to possess.”

  The Ring of Solomon would have been a swell thing to have, but Israel wasn’t about to let one of its greatest treasures out of the country ever since they’d been informed of its significance after that Field Museum fiasco. I’d already asked.

  Twice.

  “You want to know about the Ring?” One ring to rule them … never mind.

  Ornias nodded.

  “Then tell me about the Angel—the whole story, mind you—and I will give you the skinny on Solomon’s toy.” I raised a hand, one finger up. “Pinky swear and everything.”

  Eyes the color of an oil slick narrowed. “That’s not your pinky.”

  “Still.”

  The demon slammed the rest of his espresso and toddled off to make another. Chung, hiss, whirr. While he carefully spooned Kona coffee, he said, “In your line of work, have you ever heard of the Dark Lexicon?”

  I shook my head. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Not surprising. Mind tossing me a cigar?”

  “Sure.” I threw one of his expensive cancer sticks end over end. It was a good throw and an even better catch. Ornias smiled again as the cigar seemed to light itself.

  Just to show me up, he blew a perfect smoke square. Sarky bastard.

  “The Dark Lexicon is a book. Not much to look at, about the size of the letter V volume of The Encyclopedia Britannica. I take it you’ve seen an encyclopedia before?”

  Don’t shoot him, just don’t shoot him … yet. “I’m familiar.”

  “The cover and pages are made of the skin of angels killed by Lucifer during the fall. Inside is the sum total of his wisdom, things learned from countless years of angelic perspective.” Ornias’ smile disappeared, and for a flashing moment he looked somber; then he shook his head, shedding the mood like a dog sheds water. “There are spells in there that would drive a human mad just glimpsing them briefly in passing. The Angel of Mass Murder was one of many agents employed to cause chaos in the mortal world. When not imprisoned for his tendency to wander unattended, the Angel had one duty, which you might have guessed. It was to train and inspire serial killers. If the job he performed went well, such as in the case of Jeffrey Dahmer, he was allowed spend a little time on … vacation.”

  Vacation. Cleverly slicing unsuspecting Straights into pork chops and causing untold physical and emotional pain. Yeah, a vacation.

  “The Angel was never an angel, but the first serial killer to walk this earth, the first true sociopath. Being the first made him an archetype, a being of considerable power—in many ways stronger than a ‘mid-level bureaucratic demon.’ ” He bowed to me over his cigar. “Powerful enough to allow him to escape from Hell from time to time. This time he managed to read some of the Lexicon. Just enough to lear
n about those … things that dwell in the dark places between worlds.

  “It was from the Lexicon that he learned how to summon the Engine—that flesh machine that creates portals to the in-between—and to create the force field around the building, although your Bureau could have penetrated it with an RPG or missile. Sad that your higher-ups didn’t try. It would have saved me a lot of effort.”

  It was just about time. “What’s the Engine? Besides being a portal to the in-between, that is.”

  “That’s off topic, Mr. Hakala.” Ornias snorted a plume of dark gray smoke from his nostrils and sucked more smoke from his cigar. “Just understand that if the Angel had succeeded, over half the population on this mud ball would have been destroyed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kal

  Closing Time

  So there I sat, staring at the demon Ornias (or at least the man he possessed), listening to him calmly tell me that at least three billion people had nearly been rendered terminally sleepy.

  It really got under my skin. In fact, I was seeing three kinds of red when Ornias’ voice burst in on Kal’s Angry Time.

  “The problem with the Angel,” he continued, “was that he never liked working under a higher authority.”

  “Lucifer, you mean.” My throat felt like I’d been gargling glass shards. “The Adversary.”

  He made a face. “Whatever.” He gulped down a second demitasse of espresso, tossing the tiny cup over his shoulder where it broke to flinders against the countertop. “The president of our corporation was none too thrilled that the Angel was sucked into the in-between, but it’s far better than letting him roam free. A hell on earth is one hell too many.”

  The cigar in my mouth had burned down to the last two inches and I chewed on the stub as I thought furiously. “So, let me get this straight.” The tobacco tasted of ashes and anger. “The Angel escapes from Hell and you’re tasked with bringing him back, but for whatever reason you can’t do it alone because he’s too strong. So you do what you can to remain undetected by the Angel while giving us a helping hand, hoping that we will stop him in his plan to kill a bajillion people.”

  That smile was back. “I knew you had the tools and the talent,” he said.

  Ashes, anger, and a whole lot of desire to put a bullet between those perfect brows. As satisfying as that would be, I had other plans. “The whole pocket-dimension thing still has me a bit confused. Takes a lot of merlins to move objects between the worlds.”

  Ornias’ head was shaking before I finished. “Not really, not at the thin places between dimensions. It merely requires the correct spell Shape or an intrinsic talent for such things. Magical creatures slip in from what you call the World Under all the time, remember?”

  And done, I thought, hiding a grin. Hope this works.

  The demon must have seen something in my face because he shook his head slightly and muttered something that sounded like, “So it begins.”

  Some demons are supernaturally fast, but not humans, even if they are possessed by a supernaturally fast demon. Still, the body that Ornias wore like a coat gave a credible Flash imitation, moving at speeds on the high end of human capability.

  It just wasn’t fast enough.

  The DRAFTlite cameras flashed into action, projecting an image into the air, a holographic representation of a very complex spell Shape, one that only the most learned and powerful Magician could cast. Good thing we had a couple on the payroll.

  It hung there, all twisty and glowing, and in the middle was Ornias, toes a couple of inches from the floor, back arched as if in pain and arms flung out to the side, hands intersecting on a couple of convergence points.

  Awesome.

  The Lahti was aimed between the eyes, but it looked like shooting him wouldn’t be necessary. “I can’t believe that actually worked,” I said happily as I rounded the desk. “I mean really, this has to be one of the most boneheaded ideas I’ve ever had, and brother, I’ve had a few.”

  “I won’t argue that, Kal.” Alex’s voice was chock-full of amusement.

  “Can it, pipsqueak,” I said. “If I wanted to hear from a butthole, I’d fart.” I regarded the bound Ornias for a moment. “Think this will work?”

  The door to the office opened and Alex stepped through, followed by Dove and Rat bearing a stretcher. “It might, if only Ghost will answer.”

  I kept the DRAFTlite focused on Ornias while Alex pulled out a roll of silver chain and began laying out a pattern on the floor below the holographic spell Shape. “I’ve never cast a spell through a digital medium before,” he said quietly. “I’m surprised it worked. What would you have done if it hadn’t?”

  I held up the Lahti. “What do you think?”

  He raised an eyebrow, a trick I taught him. “That runs counter to your plan.”

  “No, it was merely a backup.”

  The spell Shape on the floor was almost complete. It hurt to look at. With a few brisk motions Alex completed the Shape by laying charged emeralds at various points alongside. “There you go.”

  Yeah, there but for the grace of God …. “Hope this works.”

  Alex held up a cell. “You or me?”

  “I’ll do it. He always answers when I dial.” The phone, the newest Android model with 128Gb memory. Free for Bureau personnel, over six hundred bucks for Straights. I stared at the keypad, my feelings a jumble of apprehension, anxiety, hope, and resolve.

  “He didn’t come for me.” Alex sounded sad.

  The screen didn’t provide any answers, but one came to mind. “He’s hurt. The Angel hurt him and you’re his friend, his best friend, a brother if you will. He doesn’t want you to see him like that. But me, well, we’re brothers of a different sort, brothers-in-arms. If you can’t show your wounds to the man whose back you got in battle, who are you going to show them to?” I met Alex’s worried gaze with mine. “He’ll come when I call.” My finger touched the Ghostbusters icon on the screen.

  The phone’s speakers kicked to life. “Yes, Kal?” Ghost’s voice sounded—for want of a better word—weak. The drone was less, ah, drone-y, more human.

  “You remember I made you a promise?”

  Two hours later ….

  Alex looked grim. “It’s not working.” Sweat beaded his upper lip. He looked exhausted. “I can’t expend this kind of magic for much longer and I’m down to my last diamond.”

  Ornias, or the flesh suit he’d worn, still floated in the center of two spell Shapes. I’d long since removed my DRAFTlite and set it on the table so it could project the holographic Shape unhindered. I considered the immobile man with his virtually perfect features—there was a small mole at the corner of his chin, but instead of detracting, it seemed to enhance his looks, damn him—and sighed. Too long. This had been going on too long. Last time Alex put me back together it took only an hour or so. Sure it had been touch and go, but it worked and I didn’t see a reason why it shouldn’t now. Of course back then I’d been a coma for a week, but I’d been all dead and needed my sleep. Ornias’ body wasn’t even mostly dead. In fact, the heart was still beating and all the red stuff still raced through the tubes in his flesh. Should’ve been good to go.

  Of course I knew the answer, and I think deep down Alex did as well. We traded a look and he left the room, not wanting to witness what happened next.

  “Ghost, you’re not trying.”

  “I am, Kal. How can you say otherwise?”

  “Because if you were trying, this would all be over and I’d be back in DC giving Jeanie the high hard one. As it is, I am stuck in St. Louis with a scaredy-cat spook who is a few short months from becoming completely divorced from humanity.”

  “That does not mean I would turn on mankind, Kal!” For an electronic buzz coming from a cell phone, he sure sounded offended. That alone proved my point. “I do want to do this.”

  “But you’re still here.”

  “Not my fault, Kal. I do not know why it is not working.”

&nbs
p; I hate the Tough Love approach. Mentally girding my loins—and what does that really mean? Sounds like an S&M act—I set in motion the second part of the plan. “And it doesn’t mean you won’t, or are being asked to do something ‘for that greater good’ that turns out to be totally heinous. I made you a promise, Ghost, and you’re going to help me keep it.” Deep breath. “Even it kills you. Kills the both of us.”

  An electronic wheeze, a ghostly equivalent of a sigh. “You can’t stop me, Kal.”

  “Think so?”

  “I am far too powerful.”

  “True, your thought processes exceed my own and every other humans’ on the planet, but you seemed to have forgotten one small thing, Ghost.”

  “What is that?” he asked hesitantly. Good for him; he knew me well enough to be afraid.

  “Knowledge isn’t intelligence,” I said. “In real world terms, you’re smart, genius smart, but not the smartest person in the building.”

  Real hesitation now. He felt the walls closing in, I’m sure of it. “What do you mean?”

  “You downloaded yourself into the phone like I asked, yes?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you tried to leave?”

  A brief pause. “You have jammed all signals!” Ghost shouted, and the phone vibrated violently in my hand.

  “Yes. And I’m not letting you go until you commit to this fully or the phone loses power. Either way, it all ends here.”

  To give him credit, Ghost didn’t try to manifest again (thank goodness) and kick my ass like he did the Angel’s, but the phone did give out some interesting green sparks from the headphone jack. After a couple of minutes of buzzing and vibrating, his voice finally emerged sounding frightened and alone. It about broke my heart. “What if it does not work?” he asked.

  This I had an answer for. “Of all the people at the Bureau, old spook, you know that I have the best handle on the whole life-after-death question.” I smiled softly and lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “If you don’t make it, find Leena and tell her I’ll be along shortly.”