“And in return you get a third of all the treasure he finds,” I said. “Isn’t that a bit steep?”
Laras spread his hands in front of him. “How much is your sight worth to you, Mr. Corinthos? If you lost it, but the only way to regain it was to sacrifice a third of your earnings, would you not do it? Besides, we worked out an equitable arrangement with Mr. Cather. He won’t be giving us a third of his findings forever, I assure you.” He smiled warmly again. “Now then, is there anything we can help you with?”
“I’m just here on behalf of the Caulborn,” I answered.
Laras gave me a knowing smile. “Come now, Mr. Corinthos, I consider myself a decent reader of people, and I can tell there’s something you’d like our help with. You have the look of a man who needs help but hates to ask for it.” He raised his hands. “But if you’re not comfortable discussing it now, I can respect that. What questions do the Caulborn have about the Keepers?”
“I’d like to know why we’ve never heard of you before.”
“Fair enough. We do business all throughout the universe, with all manner of beings and societies. I’ve always been possessed by a bit of wanderlust though, and so we don’t stay in one place for very long. This particular office has only been open for a few weeks. I spent some time in Massachusetts years ago, remembered it as a beautiful place, and thought that Boston might be a profitable place to set up shop for a while.” He smiled.
I let my eyes relax, hoping to filter out any illusion Laras might be casting. Nothing. “Has it been?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied. “There are always people who have needs, Mr. Corinthos. The Keepers fulfill those needs. Personally, I view us as one of the highest forms of public service.”
I spent the next half hour grilling Laras on the Keepers. Who they were, where they were from, how many people worked for them, and so on. He was completely forthcoming and cooperative.
When I’d run out of questions, he gave me another of those warm, genuine smiles. “It has been a pleasure speaking with you this afternoon, Mr. Corinthos,” he stood and shook my hand. “I do hope that you can see your way clear to doing business with us. I am certain that the Keepers can help you with whatever burden you bear.”
I thanked him and started back to HQ. I figured I’d run some searches on the Keepers and Laras, see if there was anything in the databases. Who knew? Maybe if the Keepers were on the up-and-up, I might be able to enlist their help with my promise to Megan. I was so enthralled with the prospect of being free from that particular obligation that I didn’t realize I was being attacked until a spectral fist exploded through my chest.
Chapter 3
Client Referral D33274Q – Dragon known as Cather (see Bargain 1987763) sent one Vincent Corinthos to our new location in Boston. Subjected Corinthos to several covert scans; discovered deific powers, accelerated healing, and an odd concentration of tachyon energy surrounding him. It reminds me of the sort of thing the Tempus would put around someone, but why? Regardless, Corinthos is powerful and I believe a touch naïve. In short, he’s exactly the kind of client I want.
—From Keeper Laras’s Transaction Journal
Getting attacked by ghosts isn’t at all like what happened to Bill Murray in Ghostbusters. Oh, there’s plenty of ectoplasm, but what the movies leave out is that the ectoplasm carries an electrical charge that can stop your heart. All those people who were “scared to death” actually had the electrical currents of their central nervous systems disrupted.
I collapsed to the ground, my body flopping around like a fish out of water. The street around me was surprisingly empty; I didn’t see a single car in motion or pedestrian as I convulsed. Of course, if anyone did see what was going on, they’d probably run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. I fought for breath as my heart fluttered and spasmed. The ghosts, clad like something out of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, stood over me impassively. “Let no man steal from the captain,” they said in unison. My eyes widened at the phrase from my nightmare. But before I could think too much on it, my heart beat rapidly three times, then went still for too long.
I’d like to say that I kept a cool head and diagnosed the situation with a cold, clinical eye. The truth of the matter though, was that panic was rapidly setting in as my vision began to darken. My Glimpse kicked on. Another gift from my father, the Glimpse lets me see moments of a person’s or item’s past. I saw myself as a boy, being given the deluxe Commander Courageous action figure for my eighth birthday. “Wow, Dad,” I heard eight-year-old me say, “It’s from the time when he internalized his power and didn’t need the Anisa Amulet anymore.” I felt the sheer joy at receiving the toy all over again; it was a warm feeling.
The Glimpse flickered, and I saw a moment from one of the first dates Petra and I went on; we were running through the back alleys of Boston with a gargoyle on our tail. Her hand found mine, and together we ran through the darkness.
A part of my rapidly fading consciousness was confused by this Glimpse. Then I understood. This wasn’t a Glimpse. This was my life flashing before my eyes.
The vision shifted, and I saw myself lying facedown on the sand in a desert that existed in a dimension outside time. A man wearing only a pair of faded blue jeans stood over me, monologuing about how telekinesis was most useful as a killing tool, because it could be used to stop a victim’s heart. That man, known as the Mentem, had nearly killed me that day by crushing my heart with his mind.
That tiny part of my mind that could still think clearly latched onto that memory. With the tattered remains of my willpower, I closed my eyes and used my telekinesis to strike down on my own chest, forcing my heart to pump a few times. With a little more blood going to my brain, I was able to gently reach inside my chest and telekinetically pump my heart directly. It got the idea and took off on its own again.
I stayed on the ground for a minute, panting, letting the feeling come back to my arms and legs. Then I lurched to my feet, grabbed onto a street lamp for support, and blasted the closest ghost with a telekinetic lance. That’s the great thing about telekinesis; it can affect incorporeal creatures. The ghost sailed through the air and phased through the side of a building.
The remaining ghost, obviously confused by my unexpected recovery, stood there and blinked its glowing blue eyes at me twice. I snarled and lashed out telekinetically, driving the ghost down into the ground like a nail into a board. My breathing was still ragged and stars danced in my vision, but now I was ready for a fight. The one I’d just put through the wall appeared by my side and bounced off of a shield I’d raised. I sent lances of force through it, impaling it. A spray of crackling ectoplasm gushed from its back, splattering the sidewalk with electric blue goo.
The ghost flickered a few times and then vanished. You can’t actually kill a ghost. At best, I’d be able to do enough damage to its ectoplasmic form that it’d be forced to disperse. I wasn’t sure how much damage that was, or if I had enough power to do that. I checked my faith reserves. Gods are like engines that run on faith, Each time I draw on my followers’ faith, I can fire off a telekinetic or pyrokinetic burst. I was about three-quarters full. That should be more than enough to—
A hand snaked up through the pavement from beneath my feet and latched onto my ankle. An electric buzzing crackled through my leg as I jolted and convulsed, collapsing to the ground in a graceless heap. My head bounced off the ground and the world swam. The ghost straddled me, drove its hands into my sternum, and kept them there. Its fingers wriggled like worms in my chest. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected, though it did hurt. This was more of a distracting buzz: not enough to kill me on its own, but enough to keep me from focusing my telekinetic energy on regulating my spasming heart or blasting the ghost off my chest.
I couldn’t even call for help. The best I could manage was a pathetic gurgling noise. My vision was darkening at the edges. This would be such a stupid death. I could imagine Doc Ryan cursing at my corpse as he conduc
ted an autopsy, struggling to find a way to tell Petra that I’d died of fright and stupidity.
A blast of white light streaked across my field of vision and hit the ghost right in the face, detonating it in a shower of prismatic motes. With its disruptive field gone, I was able to get my heart pumping again. The world slowly came back, first light, then sound. The sound became a voice. Megan’s voice.
“Vincent, can you hear me? Are you all right?” I looked up into my partner’s dazzling blue eyes.
“Peachy, thanks.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears. “What happened?” I moved to push myself up and planted my hand in something warm and wet. I glanced down, but instead of seeing a pool of liquefied ghost remains, my hand was in a puddle of hot chocolate and whipped cream. Megan tsked, conjured a wet wipe from her pocket dimension and handed it to me.
“We should get him someplace safe,” came another voice. “Preferably someplace warded against spirits.” I turned my head to find Herb Wallenby, benevolent necromancer, a few feet off to my right. A Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate was splattered at his feet, too. Herb wasn’t looking at me, rather his gaze was sweeping the area.
“Caulborn Headquarters is secure,” Megan said. “Help me get him up.”
Megan and Herb hoisted me to my feet. I tottered but found my balance after a few steps and could walk unaided.
“Hang on,” Herb said. His eyes were glowing a faint orange. I jumped back and popped up a shield around Megan and me. Herb glanced at me quizzically then shook his head. His eyes were normal when he looked at me again, and he held up his hands. “I call it specter sight,” he said calmly. “It lets me see things from the spirit realm. You have something in your pants pocket that’s shining like a beacon.”
“That’s what she said,” I heard myself say.
“Be serious, Vincent,” Megan said. “What’s in your pocket?”
I fished out an old, gold coin that I’d never seen before. It was about an inch in diameter, unevenly milled, and had an image of a Templar cross engraved on it. The other side had what looked like a Spanish coat of arms. Herb plucked it from my fingers and held it up to his once again glowing orange eyes. “Yep, this is what they were after. Must’ve been part of the treasure they were sent to guard.”
“Two ghosts jumped me for a single coin?” I asked, incredulous.
“Think of it as a magical homing device. They’ll go after the pieces of the treasure that are farthest from the main stash first,” Herb explained. “Once they recover all the little bits, they bring them back to the bigger stash, gradually restoring it to its original amount.”
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “Cather must’ve slipped that coin into my pocket to get the ghosts out of his lair for a while.”
“Who’s Cather?” Herb asked.
“A pain in the ass,” I said, waving a hand. “Thanks for the help back there. Lucky for me you were around.”
Herb looked at Megan. “Does this have anything to do with what we were just talking about?”
Megan looked at me. “You mentioned Cather, so I’m thinking yes?”
I nodded. “Herb, do you have time to help a friend of mine with a ghost infestation?”
“Sure thing.”
“Fantastic. Give me a second to make a phone call.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Cather.
He picked up on the second ring. “Vincent Corinthos, what can I do for you?”
“Oh, not much, Cath,” I replied. “Hey, listen, just curious, you wouldn’t happen to know how a fifteenth-century gold coin with a Templar coat of arms emblazoned on it might have gotten into my pocket, would you? I had a couple of gentlemen of a nautical persuasion most interested in it.”
“Dear me, did I forget to tell you about the gift I put in your coat? That was terrible manners on my part. You can think of it as a token of appreciation for all the times you’ve helped me.”
“I don’t believe I can accept such a gift, but thanks,” I said flatly. “I’m on my way to return the coin, and I’m bringing someone who knows something about dealing with offenders of a spectral nature.”
“Excellent, I look forward to your company, Vincent.”
I ended the call and moved back over to Herb and Megan.
“Maybe we could try again?” Herb was saying. “You up for dinner? Say Legal Seafood at seven?”
“I’ll be there with bells on,” Megan grinned. Her face became serious. “Not literally. That would be uncomfortable and probably annoying.” She blushed. “Yes. I mean, dinner sounds lovely.”
They looked at their shoes for a moment, then at me. I got the hint. “You know what? I’ll pick up these hot chocolate cups off the ground and throw them into that trashcan over there. Then I’ll just walk down the street. By myself.” I snatched the cups, walked away and waited to a count of five before stealing a glance over my shoulder. Megan and Herb were hugging. There was no mad, passionate face smashing or groping or anything like that. This was just a real, honest hug. It was just… wholesome.
I leaned against a wall and waited for them to catch up. They did after a moment and we headed toward the train station. I moved up to Megan and whispered, “I’m sorry I interrupted your date.”
“It wasn’t a date, silly,” Megan said. She was still smiling from the hug. Her dimple seemed a permanent fixture in her cheek. “I called Herb to talk about the ghost question you mentioned, and we were comparing notes over hot cocoa. I’m just glad we were in the area. Herb said he sensed something malevolent from the spirit world nearby and wanted to check it out. We came around the corner and there you were.” Her smile widened. “Besides, it just gives us an excuse to see each other again tonight.”
Something told me that they’d have seen each other again tonight regardless of my unintentional interruption, but I chose not to share that.
We caught the Gray Line back to Cather’s abode. Herb didn’t seem to be a stranger to the Undercity, or if he was, his attention was so focused on Megan that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. We got to Cather’s place and I let us in. Herb finally seemed to snap out of his Megan-fog and whistled as we walked inside. “Wow, this is neat.” He looked around. “He’s got sheet music from the early baroque period.”
“And over here, this is an original copy of Giuseppe Verdi’s Falstaff.” Megan said, a hint of awe in her voice.
“Should I know what that is?” I asked.
“It’s an incredible opera,” Herb said distractedly, his eyes fixed on Megan. “You like Verdi?”
“Yes, this is one of my favorites,” she said, gesturing to the copy of Falstaff.
“Mine, too.” They took a step toward one another, goofy grins quirking up the corners of their mouths.
I cleared my throat as politely as I could. “Let’s give the dragon his coin back and clear out some ghosts.”
Cather appeared from a side chamber a few moments later. He was dressed in a rich red smoking jacket and blue silk pajama pants. His leather slippers made no noise as he strode across the plush purple carpet.
“You raid Hugh Heffner’s wardrobe?” I asked, after introducing Megan and Herb.
Cather held up a hand. “That man has more style in his little finger than most humans have in their entire bodies, Vincent.” He clapped his hands together. “Now then, which of you is the necromancer?” Herb held up a hand and Cather’s grin split his face. “Splendid. Right this way, my good man,” he said, taking Herb by the arm. “I have no doubt that a man of your talents will have absolutely no difficulty sending these spirits on to their rest.”
Megan and I followed Cather and Herb down a hall and into Cather’s hoard room. The rotted wooden chests were gone, their contents piled up into glimmering mounds in the center of the room. Herb and Megan gasped when they saw the piles of gold and silver coins lying on the ground; a few of them came up to Megan’s waist. The gold Nazi bricks had been stacked into two Jenga-like towers that must’ve been three feet tall each.
“Thi
s is more what I had in mind for a treasure room,” I said to Cather.
Cather grinned proudly. “Oh, Vincent, that you could smell the metal as I can.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “It is so sweet, like cinnamon and honey and roast mutton all in one.”
“Mutton smells sweet?” I asked.
“To me, yes.”
I was about to ask another question when the temperature in the room dropped about forty degrees. The lights in the room dimmed until my companions were just shadows. “Ah,” Cather said flatly. “Here we go again. Now, Mr. Wallenby, this would be your time to shine. I’m certain you won’t disappoint me. Why, I’ll even pay you with that copy of Falstaff I heard you plotzing over.”
A spiral of pale blue light crackled into being over one of the piles of gold. The light bulbs in the room shattered as a thunderous boom exploded in my ears. As my eyes adjusted to the blue light, the spiral spun faster and faster, tiny arcs of electricity crackling from its center. The light sparkled and reflected off the piles of metal, leaving shimmering motes in my vision. “Hmm,” Cather remarked. “That’s new.”
Herb’s eyes glowed orange as he scratched his chin. “This goes beyond the standard treasure guardian. Something this big had magic of its own before it was slain.”
“Can you handle it?” Megan asked. Her transdimensional pocket cannon appeared in her right hand. She seemed to have conjured it unconsciously; she’d know that her weapons wouldn’t hurt ghosts.
“I’ll certainly try,” Herb replied, and began making complicated gestures in the air with his hands. As his fingers flickered through what I assumed was necromantic sign language, red characters began to form in the air. I didn’t recognize the language, but I’d seen enough bindings done before to know that Herb was essentially building a word or phrase that he’d use to banish whatever was coming through that spiral.
He didn’t get a chance to finish. With several of the characters strung together, a hideous shriek exploded from the spiral and a form surged through, crashing into the gold pile below. Gold bricks exploded in all directions. I tried to bring up a shield, but a brick caught me in the stomach and knocked me over. I heard Herb cry out. Great. The one guy among us who had a chance of dealing with this kind of problem had been—
Promise: Caulborn #2 Page 4
