Who are the macho idiots?
He didn't answer. I was not in possession of my guts, but my guts still told me to be concerned. I knew of at least one person who was working late that night, out on supernatural business. And Chet had referred to his coworkers at least once as “macho idiots.”
Vincent's big head was blocking the central monitor, blocking the macho idiots who were going into some place that was dangerous.
I walked toward Vincent's command center, or at least I tried to. My legs didn't move, probably because I didn't have legs. How was I supposed to ambulate? Was I supposed to wish myself forward one step at a time?
I leaned forward, thinking of the joystick controls on an early-model video game controller.
No movement.
Probably because I couldn't technically be leaning, if I didn't have a body.
Time passed. I watched helplessly as Vincent tapped on a keyboard. The screen in front of him zoomed in on what appeared to be a high-resolution satellite street view. But I still couldn't see around his big, bulky head.
I looked around for ideas. The concrete bunker didn't have any windows, but it did have a few cots, a kitchenette, and a door leading to a bathroom. Beyond the bathroom door was a set of metal stairs, leading up to an upper floor. From where I was, I couldn't see what was on the upper level, but I wished I could.
I wished, and then suddenly I was on the upper level, at the top of the stairs. I was gradually getting the hang of this astral projection business.
Even better, now I knew the location of Vincent Wick's secret headquarters. The bunker was directly below his shack of an office. Now I could see why he had all those big filing cabinets lining the walls. They were on a mechanical system that raised them on an angle, allowing access to the metal stairs leading down.
I wished myself back downstairs, to get a closer look at those video panels.
Unfortunately, I was right back where I'd started, next to where Frank slept on a cot.
Again, I tried to move myself closer to where Vincent sat, so I could see what was on his screen. But I still couldn't do small movements. Getting around in spirit form was like playing the world's most buggy video game.
I tried for several minutes, and only succeeded in frustrating myself. I was so angry at myself, I wanted to smash everything in the bunker. Especially the stupid mug sitting next to Vincent on his desk. The ridiculous thing read WORLD'S BEST BOSS. How could that be true?
Suddenly, the mug flew off the desk and smashed on the concrete floor.
Vincent jerked with surprise, looked at the smashed white bits on the floor, and then rubbed his elbow. He swung his arm, testing the reach of his elbow. It passed through the space where the mug had been sitting. He shrugged and returned his attention to the monitor before him.
If I'd had a hand, I would have made a fist pump. That mug had been smashed by me. I had powers again.
I tested my telekinetic powers on the smashed ceramic on the concrete floor. A large shard slid over an inch, as though I'd nudged it with my toe.
Either Aunt Zinnia's chocolate-flavored ban on my powers had lifted on its own, or I was only grounded when I was in corporeal form.
I was back in business. Now all I had to do was figure out how to use my powers. My telekinesis was limited to things I could do myself. I couldn't lift anything heavier than I could pick up with my arms, for example, or throw a ball bearing with the speed of a bullet.
What to do? I could easily push Vincent out of the way. His chair had wheels. But then he'd know I was there. And he had more than computers and monitors in his concrete lair. The walls were lined with all sorts of scientific-looking equipment. He was liable to spray the air with ghost-revealing powder and then suck me up with a vacuum cleaner.
Rather than move him, I had to move myself.
I tentatively pushed down on the concrete floor. To my perception, the entire planet Earth shifted down about six inches. It worked? I was the most powerful witch in the world! Able to move entire planets with my mind! Or so it seemed, in my moment of triumph. I pushed again, until I was floating with my vision at the same height as the bunker's concrete ceiling. Next, I visualized rolling the world like a bowling ball beneath me. It moved easily, and at first I overshot Vincent's workstation, but then I got the knack of the roll and positioned myself just behind Vincent's shoulder.
He shivered and pulled on a cardigan that had been draped over the back of his chair.
Finally, I could see the view on his central monitor screen.
A large, black cargo van with tinted windows was parked in front of a house. The house was a plain box with a gravel front lawn. The Pressman residence. Three men in dark clothing were approaching the front door. The image on the screen was dark, but the resolution was clear enough that I recognized the silhouette of one man's face. It was Chet.
Vincent Wick said, “Don't do it.” He fidgeted his hands, yet he wasn't doing anything to stop what was happening on the screen. His warning was as effective as that of a movie-goer talking to the film.
Chet and the other two men had reached the front door. The largest of the trio did something to the door handle. The door opened.
I watched helplessly as they went into the house. There was no audio accompanying the imagery. I wished I could hear what was happening.
Suddenly, I could hear yelling.
Men's voices.
Shouting, inside the house.
Time was spinning quickly for me. The rectangle of light in the open doorway flashed bright. It flashed again, and then a third time, each flash accompanied by a loud bang. And then the house was quiet.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. Short, with round hips. The shadow turned sideways, and I recognized the silhouette. It was Josephine Pressman.
She turned her head and looked right at me. Even without a body, I felt the chill in her gaze.
How could she see me? I was a ghost, plus I was far away, in an underground bunker.
Except I wasn't in the bunker.
I was in front of the Pressman house.
I must have shifted when I'd wished I had audio coverage.
Josephine Pressman looked at me, and then through me. She couldn't see me, just the dark van parked on the street.
She took a step back and closed the door.
The house was quiet.
An orange glow flickered in the window on the top floor.
Chet was in there, and I had to help him.
It wasn't hard for me to wish that I was inside the glowing attic. I wanted to help Chet even more than I wanted to find my missing body.
But as soon as I saw what was inside the Pressmans' attic, I very nearly wished myself somewhere far, far away.
Like the moon.
Chapter 25
When I saw what horror resided in the Pressman attic, I nearly wished myself away but didn't.
I was thankful at least to be there in spirit form, to not have a mouth, nor a stomach to empty through that mouth.
The attic was lit by a sickly orange light, and at first I thought I was still moving, not quite landed from my astral jump, but no. It was the walls of the attic that were moving. The walls were pulsing, crawling with a vast number of moving parts, like a busy anthill but on a larger scale. There was sound, too. The chorus of a million bug feet shifting, and something like water dripping, and the wheezing sound of fluid being sucked or blown through pipes or tubes or even, horror of all horrors, arteries. The walls were alive. The house was alive.
On the back wall, directly across from the entrance where I was positioned, I could see that the mass of insectoid horror on the walls was different. The lumps were larger, redder, and more like viscera. As I watched, a dozen fist-sized creatures shaped like the hybrid offspring of spiders and scorpions skittered in a circular pattern over the back wall, coating it with a film.
It was the oily black and gray thing from my visions, but so much bigger in real life. I struggled to relate what I was seeing to wh
at I'd glimpsed in the visions, and I struggle now to describe it to you.
Imagine opening an infrequently used cupboard in a dark basement, only to discover a bubbling pile of goo, where you forgot a bag of potatoes months earlier. It's summer, and the flies have laid eggs within the sodden mess, but you don't realize it's crawling with maggots until you have your hands in the slippery slime, and then you see the eyeballs of a rat who died eating the rotting mess, only the rat isn't dead after all, and it's scurrying up your arm, and your arm is turning into blackened goo, wriggling with maggots, and then your own hand is rising up, your fingers tentacles now, reaching for your face.
Seeing the walls of the attic was shocking like that, and then it got worse.
The monstrosity wasn't just bugs and goo in need of an exterminator and cleaning products.
Within the mass of organic horror, there were gears. Clockwork gears turning. And a sound like squealing, or like the hiss of air from a punctured lung.
But wait. It gets even worse.
One of the gray shapes embedded in the spider-scorpion wall had the face of Chet.
I went to him, pushing the floor away to propel myself. I was getting the hang of movement in spirit form, but I felt no joy from my mastery.
Chet was embedded in the wall of the pulsating monster machine.
His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing. The other two men were embedded along with him, in similar condition.
I didn't have my body or my hands, but with effort, I was able to use my magic to grasp the tip of a tentacle that was wriggling toward Chet's slack mouth. The tentacle fought me, so I applied more pressure and yanked it from the wall. I threw it on the floor, where it lay still for only seconds before wriggling away like a snake and worming its way back into the wall of machinery and fleshy black goo.
I yanked three smaller tentacles from Chet's face. His eyelashes fluttered.
“Zara,” he said, his voice barely a croak.
Can you see me? Hear me? I'm in spirit form, but I can move things, as long as they aren't too heavy.
His eyelashes fluttered again and his eyes opened.
He croaked, “Why are you here?”
I'm here to get you and the other macho idiots out of this mess!
His eyes focused, but he was looking through me.
And then things got even more weird.
I followed his gaze, across the attic, to a person standing in the doorway. This person had my face. They had my eyes, my mouth, the freckles on my nose. My body, my arms—the right one smeared in what appeared to be blood—my blouse, brown belt, and voluminous skirt. All mine, right down to the boots, which were technically Zinnia's, but it was me.
Zara Riddle stood in the doorway, breathing heavily.
On the plus side, at least I wasn't lying on a bath tub full of ice somewhere.
On the minus side, whoever had snatched my body had brought it here, to the world's least cozy attic.
Chet groaned. The tentacles and sinewy straps that held his body to the wall were evidently causing him pain.
“This is incredible,” said the impostor in my body. “I knew Perry Pressman was a gifted man, but I had no idea he was working on such a large scale.”
“Go,” Chet managed to say. “Get out of here now, Zara. Leave me here. I'll stay until backup comes.”
The impostor replied, “Backup? How long?”
I screamed my thoughts at Chet. Don't tell her! Chet, that isn't me. It's an impostor!
Chet croaked out, “I don't know how long. Get out of here. I'll be fine.”
No, you're not fine, I thought. You're plant food.
He groaned again. “I'm not plant food. Give me a minute to just... catch my breath.”
You can hear me!
He mumbled something incoherent. His eyes fluttered closed.
The impostor walked toward Chet. My body's boots clomped clumsily and the walk was both stiff and snakelike at the same time.
The impostor gave Chet a cursory glance and then reached out and ran her fingers over the wall's fleshy tubes. Talking to herself, she mused, “Perry, you've done a fine job, even if you didn't know what you were building.”
From some dark corner of the attic came a high-pitched keening sound.
The impostor smiled and continued stroking the slimy, crawling wall.
I studied the familiar face. If only I could climb inside my head and see who was in there.
Who are you?
Her hand jerked away from the wall. “Zara? Is that you, wondering who it is inside your body?”
You can hear me? Yes. I demand to know who you are. It's only fair.
The impostor shrugged. “Demand all you want. I'm not ready to reveal myself yet, but I will tell you who I'm not. I'm not the penny-pinching miser who was frittering away his final days sending emails to your bank manager. I'm not the spirit you called Mr. Finance Wizard.” She laughed. “That was Perry, my minion who has been weaving between the land of the living and the dead for the past few days.”
Perry Pressman really was Mr. Finance Wizard after all? But how? Even as I wondered, the answer came to me. I was currently in spirit form, and my body was standing before me, talking. Something similar must have happened to Perry.
The impostor in my body tapped her chin thoughtfully. “That reminds me. I should kill him, now that I have this nice, new body.” She smoothed her hands down her sides—my sides—and twirled her skirt. “I'll have to thank your aunt for getting me into a body well ahead of schedule, and such a nice body.”
That's my nice body!
She shrugged again. “You snooze, you lose. Possession is nine tenths of the law.” She held up one finger. “Oh, and might makes right.” She grinned. “How d'ya like them apples?”
I turned my attention back to Chet, who was making a sickly wheezing sound. I used my powers to loop a rope of energy around him and tug him from the wall. The wall didn't like that. It hissed and lashed out with more tentacles, clutching him tighter.
“Don't struggle,” said the impostor to Chet. “What is meant to be will be. If you keep twisting around, you'll only make it hurt worse.”
Chet's eyes opened and he squinted through the goo at the impostor. “Zara?”
“Don't worry. Your death won't be meaningless,” the impostor said breathily. “We're on the verge of an incredible breakthrough. Magic and science, together at last. Mortals will live as gods, and we will slay all who oppose us.” The impostor moved in close to Chet and stroked his forehead. “You're so strong and powerful, with your wolf energy.”
Chet made a growling sound, but it was with his human mouth. He couldn't shift if he was injured.
“Shush now,” said the impostor. “You should be excited to see a masterpiece at work. The machine is already working better than I dared to imagine.” She kept stroking his ashen, sweaty forehead. “But you have to stop straining, stop closing your mind to it. Just relax.” She smoothed his wet hair away from his face and ran her long, pale fingers down his cheeks, clearing streaks through the gray goo.
Chet's pupils dilated. “Zara?” He was whispering now. “I'll stop struggling if you tell me to. I trust you.”
“Good,” she said.
“But first, kiss me?”
The beast who wore my face hesitated.
Impotently, I screamed Chet, don't trust her! She's not me! She's trying to kill you!
I struggled to yank the tentacles free of Chet's body, but for every one I removed, two more sprung up in its place.
“One kiss,” he said weakly. “I should have kissed you after dinner. I can't rest until I get one kiss.”
The impostor grinned as she leaned forward, lips pursed.
Suddenly, Chet's eyes flashed open with vigor. He jerked his arm free of the tentacles, and punched her under the jaw. Her head shot back from the force, her eyes rolled up, and she fell backward.
He pulled the rest of his body free of the wall and stumbled to catch my b
ody before it hit the floor.
“I'm so sorry, Zara,” he said.
You should be, I thought.
He leaned over my prone body and pushed up one eyelid and then the other. “Are you in there somewhere? I swear I can hear you. It's like you're buzzing around inside my head.”
I'm right beside you.
He looked around, swooning a bit. He was still weak from whatever the wall had done to him. He had gray holes on his bare chest, and now the wall was reaching for him again, its slimy tentacles groping up his legs. The fleshy fronds seemed to be leaking acid, burning his clothes and flesh.
I realized I could use my powers to heal him. I'd done it once before, in the forest. He'd been in wolf form at the time, and I'd been inside my body. Now my body was taking a nap without me. I tried putting my hands on Chet's injured chest, but my hands floated right through. I didn't know how I'd healed him the first time—it had been pure instinct—and the situation didn't feel the same this time.
Chet touched his chest and whispered, “I feel you.”
You can feel me? How about this?
I leaned my ghostly body in and pressed my mouth against his. I felt his lips on mine, his mouth parting, his arms embracing me, and then I was kissing air. I'd gone through to the other side.
I'm trying to heal you, I thought. That's all I was doing.
He muttered, “Sure you were.”
Something in the wall let out a wail, like an injured animal.
Chet straightened up and ran to the wall.
“Rob,” he said. “I'll get you out of this.”
I turned my attention back to the other two guys embedded in the fleshy machinery wall. Guilt hit me like a blast of cold water. I had forgotten all about the other two men, who were living humans with hopes and dreams, with families waiting at home. These men worked with Chet, and they deserved rescue every bit as much as he did. And here I was, with my body knocked out cold on the floor, trying to plant ghost kisses on Chet's injured mouth.
Chet was at work, his muscles bulging under his ripped and burned clothing, trying to free his coworker.
I started pulling away the tentacles and fibrous cords holding in the man he'd called Rob.
Wicked Wisteria (Witch Cozy Mystery and Paranormal Romance) (Wisteria Witches Book 2) Page 20
