Ghost Guard 2: Agents of Injustice

by J. Joseph Wright

  And there was more.

  More than just the dead pine needles on the ground and the treeless, rocky ridge looming in the distance under the despairing moon. First she sensed a tug to her as if some titan was trying to drag her into a pit of absolute blackness. With a spin and a wiggle, she wormed loose from the supernatural tractor beam, only to fly into another. She realized it was a magnetic field generated by some sort of mechanical device. But not all mechanical. She knew that. It was some sort of hybrid technology. A cross between machine and magic. Spells and circuits. Processors and rituals. A spirit’s nightmare.

  Then she saw the devilish device. It looked innocuous to begin with, even nonsensical. A staff of wood extending from the desert floor to a height of about six feet. A nondescript stick with a tangled mass of something strange on top. Gnarly wires and hoary, twisted roots tousled around a dense core of unending desolation and gloom. The staff had an effect on its outer environment, a mystical grip that took all of Ruby’s skill, experience, and fortitude to shake. A device that dragged a soul into its net like a ravenous dog jerking and yanking its prey. But even fiercer, even more voracious.

  She pulled away from the unutterably dreadful force. Her momentum skewed her sideways, as she meant to turn immediately and leave this tainted forest. What she found in her path struck such extreme trepidation that she let loose a cachinnation of wild and uninhibited terror.

  Dozens of staffs. A veritable sea of the ungodly things. Rising from the forest floor in menacing positions. No matter how much she maneuvered, she couldn’t avoid them and their incessant suction, pulling her life force so strongly, so relentlessly, she had no power to escape it.

  Her screams deprived her of the last remaining vestige of energy she had, creating a crisis of the most desperate sort. A self-inflicted wound that brought with it a perilous outcome. Weary beyond any movement, she could only surrender to the immovable objects that had a stranglehold on her soul.

  Down and down and down she descended. She felt herself slipping ever closer to the brink, closer to the point of no return. Who knew what kind of diabolically ingenious technology had been imparted into these ancient and mysterious items of enchantment? She was getting the feel for how powerful and completely repugnant this machinery really was, and she despised every circuit, every wire.

  She had nothing left. Desperation was even a thing of the past, since even desperation took energy. It was the irresistible pull that ruled now. Even if she had the strength to fight, she wouldn’t have been able to withstand that pull. None but the greatest of spiritual beings could have done it. She was certain Brutus, and maybe even Rev, couldn’t overcome such an unyielding force.

  Finally, after a persistent pulling from many different directions, one staff took the load from the others. This was it. She’d be yanked her into the abyss of desolation and torture and all other unspeakable acts against innocent souls. She resigned herself to that terrible fact.

  Suddenly and mercifully, she felt a different kind of force acting on her. It became almost exhilarating, the sensation of electricity, of vitality. Then she had a flash of recognition as her mind and thoughts became whole again, the cloudiness lifted, allowing logic to rule once more.

  The realization: the sensation was a charged beam from one particular source—Morris. Specifically, it was a statmag emitter, infusing her with energy

  “Ruby, thank goodness,” he was so worked up and out of breath his glasses were fogging over. “I thought I’d lost you!” He released his finger from the trigger on the emitter and the particle beam terminated. Ruby was under her own power now. Morris’s heatspec goggles told him her levels were in the green. A far cry from what they were when he’d first seen her only a few moments ago.

  Morris was perturbed he didn’t have time for the lecture he wanted to unleash. Instead he was forced to flee with his little friend posthaste. Only problem was, the object she almost became trapped in fascinated him to no end.

  “What is this?” he felt its rough exterior. Stiff and strong. But it wasn’t the ancient canvas or rope bindings that stole his interested. It was the wiring and the interaction between what he identified clearly as advanced technology and high magic. “A trap of some kind. Very interesting.”

  Ruby wished she had the same technological curiosity. However, she was still feeling the machine’s contemptible gravitational pull, and told Morris about her displeasure in so many of her ripe and ribald invented words.

  “Okay, okay,” Morris took one final look at the curious device. “Unbelievable,” he exclaimed once he realized what he was holding. “Ruby, do you comprehend what this is? It’s a spirit snare modeled after a Petrovic design! A genuine Petrovic spirit snare, right here, in my hands! I mean, it’s been customized, but it’s a Petrovic, all right. Tell me I’m not dreaming!”

  Ruby let loose a raucous roar that made even the star struck Morris take notice.

  “Sorry…sheesh!” he made a funny face, knowing the spirit snares were still surrounding them, radiating negative energy, and Ruby was still in danger.

  Chapter 17

  The dining room was decked out like a palace. Countless oval, silk-draped, candlelit tables. Magnificent chandeliers of blown glass. Three giant stacked rock fireplaces with resplendent pine mantles. High vaulted ceilings with massive exposed beams angled in varied directions, making the dizzying sight even more dizzying.

  Brisk conversation skipped across the tables and back again. Servers filled champagne and martini glasses, often without prompting. Dozens of already half-drunken diners wearing pearls and cummerbunds. Rev and Abby were dressed to fit in, he in an all-white tuxedo and she in a black sequined dress.

  “My God,” Abby whispered. “The whole damned cult is here.”

  Damned is a pretty accurate description, he said mentally.

  “Can I show you to your places?” a young and attractive waiter stepped up smartly, clean linen draped across his bent elbow.

  “Thank you,” Abby nodded. Rev tilted his head and grinned slightly. They let the young man lead the way.

  Their seats were firmly at the center of a grandiose table, so long and elaborate a dozen silver centerpieces still didn’t fill the space. That job was accomplished by every known delicacy to mankind. Crab legs, peel and eat shrimp, smoked mussels, salmon mousse, beluga caviar, oysters on the half shell, pickled herring, and so much more.

  As they approached their table, the conversation became clearer.

  “What was the significance of The Singulate’s pursuits in relation to metempsychosis, Henry?” an aged, thin man with a dense, silvery tangle of hair was engaged in a cross-table debate. Henry, the one to whom the heated question was directed, drank prodigiously from his glass of Glenfiddich and then offered his rebuttal.

  “Eternal life, dear Wadsworth. Eternal life. The soul’s journey has always been a path of immortality.” He gulped more scotch. “We’ve just found a way to abbreviate that journey.”

  Rev and Abby were seated across from one another. As they found their chairs, the silvery haired man, Wadsworth, turned to Rev and pressed him into the conversation.

  “What do you think, old boy?”

  Rev lifted his champagne glass to his lips, but before he drank, offered his glib opinion. “I’ve always believed that if you take shortcuts, you’re likely to crash and burn.”

  Henry choked on his drink, appalled that this newcomer could be so audacious as to malign The Singulate’s philosophy.

  “Now you listen here,” he started, but didn’t get to finish because he was cut short by the announcement:

  “Dinner is served!”

  Genuine gasps of wonderment were heard as server after server entered from a set of tall and bejeweled double doors, carrying large silver trays overhead. The meals were served individually—house smoked prime rib with red wine steak sauce. And for dessert, assorted pastries, cakes, pies, cheese cakes, cobbler, petite fors, crème brule and dried fruit. An exquisite meal serve
d on antique table sets with luxurious linen, fine china, and gold-plated utensils.

  Abby was worried initially, thinking Rev, as with most things, wouldn’t take it seriously. She figured he’d use the wrong fork or ask if any hot fudge came with the sorbet. But he didn’t do any of that, and it shocked the hell out of her. In fact, he displayed all the grace and charm a man his handsome pedigree should convey. Bowing, smiling, even dabbing the corners of his mouth at all the appropriate moments.

  Nobody noticed that he in fact wasn’t eating a bite of anything, despite how delighted he acted in respect to taste, consistency, and the delicacy of each and every dish. He became a gourmand, sampling the soufflé, explaining to the couple on his immediate right about the importance of the flavor profile, and whether or not the chef caramelized the shallots or if he simply baked them into the recipe. “Very important,” said. “Otherwise the flavonoid compounds are broken down improperly, and the result is a bit bitter, not at all the same if it were prepared correctly.”

  Abby could only hold her breath. Not that she didn’t have confidence in his skills with the political and social elite. She just didn’t want him to accidently lose his focus and revert to invisibility while all eyes were on him. Even the most powerful and au fait ghosts (like Rev) had their moments of weakness once in a while. Maintaining the physical state for spirits of the dead was tough. It took a specialized and highly accomplished ghost to pull it off. And his focus had to be laser sharp.

  Yet he pulled it off with the grace and style of a man. A real man. A man of tradition and the lineage of a champion. The dining was five-star. The company was exquisitely mannered and dressed. The ambience was festive and light. So festive Abby forgot they were in serious danger. It was like the façade of decadence and leisurely gregariousness had disarmed her to the point of almost believing it was all okay.

  They were fraternizing with captains of industry and titans in their fields. The rich and the famous. Coaches of major league sports teams. Anchors of network news. CEOs of large tech corporations. Famous sportswear tycoons. The elite of the elite. The room buzzed with moneyed effulgence and sophisticated conversation. And soon it became quite clear that the lion’s share of the attention, even from the diners at the far tables, was centered on the two newcomers.

  For that very reason, Abby’s disguise had to be perfect, and it was. For Abby, mimicking CassiX3 came as second nature. One of the world’s most famous and reclusive musical artists, she was the perfect target for impersonation. Stayed mostly out of the public when not on tour. And she was about as famous as one could get. That enticed The Singulate. They let her in with open arms.

  Abby actually started to believe in the efficacy of her disguise when the rousing conversations on all sides were snuffed out by a clink-clink of a fork against a champagne flute.

  “Everyone, everyone,” a tall, broad-shouldered man commanded complete silence. It was Ronald Ward, token leader of The Singulate. By his side sat his wife, Katherine, dressed elegantly in a strapless gown. “Everyone, please raise a glass to our guests of honor, CassiX3 and Tyler.Z.”

  Abby’s pulse shot up. Her hands felt clammy. However, her outward countenance couldn’t have been more stoic. She’d studied the mannerisms of CassiX3 quite closely. Cassi never got flustered. Always cool. Always calm. Much the same way Abby would have played it.

  She stood and smiled like a celebrity, all nods and big teeth. Then the request Abby had been anticipating all evening.

  “Cassi,” Ron asked her. “Would you and Tyler honor us with one of your songs?”

  “We’d be delighted,” Rev stood eagerly. His smile could have lit the room if it weren’t already brilliant from the gold table settings.

  Abby cringed. They were supposed to be two of the top recording artists in recent times, yet Abby wasn’t so certain Rev could pull it off. What she didn’t know was Rev had almost every song in creation at his fingertips, at his beckon call, and all he needed to do was requisition the cosmos and it would infuse his fingers with the magical touch of Liberace, or Sviatoslav Richter, or even Mozart.

  Rev sat at the keyboard and began fingering a soft, low, slow rhythmic melody. A sultry and sexy bluesy number. A song that was as familiar as it was pleasing.

  Abby’s smoky and resonant voice took over, singing the narrative of a lost soul searching for a lost love.

  It was nothing short of musical synergy, Rev pleasing the keys of a genuinely magnificently gloss black Steinway, and Abby making the sound system purr with a spellbinding rendition of an instant classic. The overall effect was dazzling. Rev channeled the style and look and mannerisms of Tyler.Z to perfection, his hands a study of precision, grace, and refined artistry. And Abby became CassiX3. She wasn’t imitating the famous star anymore. She was the sultry and exotic beauty with the golden voice.

  If Abby harbored any doubt about their presentation, she was dubious no more. It was like a dream, a fairy tale for those few moments as they performed. Neither of them wanted it to end.

  Then Rev came down to the last measure. Abby came to the last line. The music faded. The magic held on for just a few minutes more with the applause. Abby felt a little embarrassed at the enthusiasm, people throwing napkins on tables and standing and cheering. Women swooned over Rev and men ogled Abby. In concert terms it was a small gathering. Less than a hundred. Yet it seemed the largest crowd Abby had ever played. They were respectful and genuinely enjoyed the performance. It was just that Abby knew their calculating coldness.

  In the moment, Abby and Rev were lost in each other. Abby strode three times before falling into Rev’s arms and pushing him against the piano and kissing him again and again to even more applause and cheers and whistles. Their love was at stake. There was no sugarcoating it.

  “I love you,” Rev mouthed between kisses. Her lips formed the words silently back to him and the applause seemed to grow even louder, if at all possible.

  No more words were necessary. They both realized that the moment they embraced. They could step outside of their normal personalities and be someone else, but they were being more themselves than ever at that moment, with the applause dying, with their lips parting, with their gazes turning toward their admirers.

  Then the entire atmosphere changed when Ron Ward gestured aggressively, triggering a flurry of activity. Two men wearing black robes sprinted from opposite ends of the room. Abby fought off her instinctual reaction, which was to launch into a violent burst of self-defense. Rev eyed the thugs and played it cool.

  “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “We have a surprise for you,” Ron matched Rev’s demeanor, though Katherine was decidedly less tranquil. Before she could protest her husband’s behavior, two men converged on Abby.

  “It’s a distinctive honor,” Ron continued. “One only bestowed to a certain distinguished and venerable few.”

  “What are you talking about, Ron?” Rev found marinating his cool a difficult task indeed, especially when the men were so close to Abby.

  “You mean you don’t know?” the tone took a decidedly sinister turn when Ron clapped his hands once more and two additional men wearing dark hoods marched in carrying long, gnarly wooden staffs topped by an amalgamation of natural and artificial nightmares. A technological and mystical aberration. The moment they entered the room, the abominations set Rev on edge. This was a blight against all that was holy. A perfect evil that destroyed all that it touched. Rev wondered if The Singulate even knew what kind of power they were dealing with.

  “We’re letting you in,” Ron said, his voice as evil as ever.

  “Letting us in?” Abby said. “To what? Your little club?”

  Ron grinned like the cat that swallowed the canary, his eyes flashing over the congregation. It was as if the positive emotion from earlier had been forgotten completely. Now all that remained was the rising tide of resentment, bordering on malice, heading straight for confrontation.

  Rev knew he should have demateriali
zed the moment he saw the hooded men. He should have gone. He could have kicked himself if he had feet. If he had a brain he would have gotten out of there. It was his heart that wouldn’t let him leave.

  Abby, on the other hand, had different ideas.

  Rev, go now! She shouted in her mind. A mental projection, instant and forceful. He heard her silent screams and answered back.

  If you think I’m leaving you here with these goons, you’re crazy.

  She felt rough hands on her wrists, back, and shoulders. She struggled but knew it would do no good. Even if she did get away from the two large men with hands of stone, she wouldn’t leave Rev. It was a paralyzing thing, their deep feelings for one another. A blade that cut both ways. It was their biggest strength, and now it had turned into their biggest weakness, for neither one was willing to abandon the other.

  “What kind of party is this, Ron?” Rev, ever the dashing wit, even in the most trying of times, motioned toward the thugs manhandling Abby. “I don’t know what you guys have in mind, but my wife and I, we don’t swing.”

  “Save it,” Ron stepped between Rev and Abby. “You can quit the act. We know who you are, and we know what you’re doing here.”

  “Ron, don’t—” Katherine dissented finally, hoping to stop the horrific events that were about to follow. She was too late.

  “Rev, GO!” Abby’s command came as a surprise to no one, especially those who had her in their grips. The two men wouldn’t let her go for anything, even with the fight she was putting up, even when she head butted one and kneed the other in the crotch.

  Rev was happy to see her do something, and he wanted to help. The problem was the onerous wooden staff. The closer it came, the more it felt like a vacuum drawing him in, pilfering his energy, muddling his mind. He sensed countless souls trapped inside the nexus of nightmares, and he was about to be added to the mix.

  “Ron!” he cried. The stinging pull from the staff was torture. That was nothing compared to the pain he felt at seeing Abby surrounded and seized. “Don’t you touch a hair on her head or I swear I’ll—”