Secondhand Souls

by Christopher Moore

  Charlie said, “They’re on their way. Maybe twenty minutes out.”

  “We should wait,” said Rivera as he popped the trunk. “This Yama probably doesn’t know we know he’s here. We shouldn’t blow our surprise when Fresh is the only one who has any way to fight him.” Rivera put his Beretta and holster in the trunk. “I’m keeping the Glock on my ankle. If the guards notice it, I’ll say I forgot I had it on.”

  “I have my sword cane,” said Charlie. “As far as they know, I just fell off the bridge. They’re not going to take away my walking stick.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” said Rivera.

  The wind covered the sound of the car trunk closing, but also whipped their trouser cuffs around their legs. Strangely enough, Rivera’s hair stayed perfect.

  “It’s freezing out here,” Charlie said.

  “We should wait in the car,” Rivera said.

  They climbed back in the Ford. Charlie texted Audrey that they would wait for them in the parking lot. He hoped that she wasn’t texting while driving, because that would be dangerous. No, she was smart, she’d hand her phone to the newly resurrected Egyptian demigod of death rather than do anything careless.

  The light shining down from the bridge plus a three-­quarter moon gave them light to see the entire southern side of the fort. No one was visible. Not even at the main gate.

  “Where are the guards?” Rivera asked. “The park rangers?”

  “You know I never actually worked on the bridge, right? Mike Sullivan did. I didn’t even know there were guards here until you told me.”

  “When Fresh gets here, you and Audrey need to stay here.”

  “No.”

  “Charlie, where are the guards? You don’t know that they haven’t been shredded by the Morrigan and are lying in pieces inside.”

  “No,” said Charlie.

  “Fresh and I will get Sophie.”

  “My daughter is in there, Inspector. Plus, do you think I’ve done battle with sewer harpies, been poisoned and died, been resurrected and lived as a meat puppet, then had someone throw himself off the Golden Gate Bridge to give me his body so I could sit in the fucking car?”

  Rivera considered it, ticked off Charlie’s points in his head, considered his lack of concern for his own safety, then said, “Okay.”

  “Okay,” said Charlie.

  They sat in silence until Rivera spotted headlights in his mirror and watched them go out even as the car continued on. “Good girl, Audrey,” he said.

  When Minty Fresh climbed out of the Honda, Charlie ran to him and threw his arms around the big man’s waist. Minty held his arms out to his sides and looked from Audrey to Rivera with the humiliated but resolved look of a dog enduring a bath until Charlie finally let go and stepped back.

  “Sorry,” Charlie said.

  “It’s okay,” said the Mint One.

  Audrey bailed Charlie out by performing the same, yet somewhat more appropriate run and hug move on him.

  “So, how was dying?” Rivera asked Minty. Rivera raised an eyebrow at the Mint One’s outfit.

  “Not as relaxing as you’d think,” said Minty.

  “Charlie says you have some Yama-­stopping mojo.”

  “Yeah, about that; Anubis was less than clear what particular talent I would have, other than I would be his avatar in this world. Right now I’m thinking pants would have been a good start.”

  “Audrey?” Rivera said, looking to the nun. “Any hints?”

  “I’m Buddhist. We believe all gods are illusions and constructions of ego. As far as I know, even you guys might be illusions.”

  “That’s helpful,” Rivera said.

  “Namaste,” Audrey replied. “If that’s even your real name.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, Buddhist humor. Carry on.”

  Rivera glanced over his shoulder at the fort. “Okay, here’s what we know. We can’t see any guards or park rangers, but if they’re there, and they should be, they’ll be armed with M4 automatic rifles. There was nothing on the radio about gunfire here, so we have to assume that if Yama is in there, as the ghost says, then they either haven’t seen him, or they haven’t seen him as a threat, which means he doesn’t have the Morrigan with him, because I can’t really see them as coming off as nonthreatening.”

  “Or all the guards are dead,” said Audrey.

  “Yes, there’s that cheerful possibility,” said Rivera. “So, what do you think? Shotguns and stab-­resistant vests?”

  “Nah, this ain’t gonna be no battle, Inspector.” Minty Fresh held up a finger as if testing the wind. “Anyone else hear that?”

  There was a whirring sound, above the crash of the surf, the wind, and the traffic on the bridge, like the spooling up of an enormous jet engine. The others nodded, looked around.

  “The fuck is that?” said Minty Fresh.

  Audrey pointed up at the bridge, beyond the indirect floodlights that illuminated it and the red aircraft warning lights at the top of the towers, the bridge was beginning to glow, as if streaks of light were playing across its surfaces, someone painting it with moving lasers.

  “Y’all seeing that?”

  Charlie’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Lily: MIKE SAYS THE GHOSTS OF THE BRIDGE ARE COMING UP. GO NOW. He read the message to the others.

  “That light must be visible for twenty miles,” Audrey said. “Why isn’t traffic screeching to a halt on the bridge?”

  “Because they can’t see or hear it,” said Minty Fresh. “Same way they can’t see the glow in a soul vessel but we all can.”

  “I think we need to go now,” said Rivera. He led them across the parking lot to the steel gates of the fort. There was a single heavy door in the middle of the gates. It was wide open. Rivera stopped at the edge, looked in, went back against the wall. He could see all the way into the center courtyard of the fortress. The side they were on had been the barracks, more or less just reinforced brick buildings with rooms for quartering and feeding soldiers. The other side of the fort was an arcade, three stories of heavy arches, in which the cannons had once nested, facing out to the bay. But now the spaces were empty of cannons and resembled rows of small theatrical stages. No one was visible from the door: no guards, no rangers, no man in yellow.

  The roar of the ghosts of the bridge was less like a jet now and more like an atmosphere, like the low rumble of a huge crowd, ten thousand voices in a small room. Rivera reached down and drew the Glock from his ankle holster.

  “I’m going in first. I’ll signal when it’s clear to follow.”

  Minty Fresh said, “You got some kind of death wish?”

  “Apparently,” said Rivera.

  “Oh, you can go first,” said Minty. “But put your gun away. You don’t know there aren’t guards in there might take someone sneaking in holding a Glock personally.”

  “I’ll go,” said Charlie as he breezed by them.

  28

  The Taunting of Minty

  Daddy!” Sophie called when Charlie entered the open courtyard of the fortress. She was standing four floors above him on a concrete gun platform. Lemon Fresh stood next to her. In the arched bay on the level below them, the Morrigan stained the bricks as tattered shadows. Only one of them still stood in three dimensions, cradling an arm with no hand attached. She hissed and Charlie jumped back a little.

  “How you doin’?” said Lemon.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Charlie said.

  “I’m okay,” said Sophie. “But it’s cold and I haven’t had a snack in days.” She glared at Lemon. Her dark pigtails whipped around her face in the wind.

  “Don’t be scared, honey. Daddy is here.”

  “I’m not scared, Daddy. I just need some crunchy Cheese Newts up in this bitch.”

  Lemon looked over at Sophie, who, because s
he stood on the gun mount, was eye level with him, “Where you learn to talk like that, child?” Lemon looked down at Charlie. “What you teachin’ this child?”

  “She’s gifted,” Charlie said.

  “More important,” Lemon said, moving his right hand in a stirring motion, “why ain’t you sleeping?”

  Charlie looked around. Along the edges of the courtyard—­the arcade on Lemon’s side, and the colonnade on his side—­slept a half-­dozen rangers. Not dead or injured: they looked as if they’d simply gotten tired and decided to take a nap. One woman was curled up around her M4 rifle as if it were a body pillow. Amid the whir of the ghosts of the bridge above, Charlie could hear one fellow who was sitting against a column on his side of the courtyard, snoring softly, his face under the cover of his Smokey the Bear hat.

  “I guess I’m gifted, too,” said Charlie. He gestured for the others to join him. Minty Fresh stepped out of the shadows right behind him. Audrey was a few columns down, checking on a sleeping ranger. Rivera looked out from behind a column.

  “New meat,” snarled Nemain. “This time you’ll stay dead. I’ll suck the soul from you while you’re still bleeding.”

  “The fuck, Lemon?” said Minty Fresh. “Control your bitches.”

  Lemon shrugged—­What you gonna do? “Y’all act like I brought the ladies to the party, but they come on they own, cuz. A door open up out the Underworld, there they is. It’s y’all’s fault they here. All y’all let shit get so fucked up here they was drawn here like hoes to coke.”

  “He took my hand,” said Nemain.

  “And you said you killed him,” said Lemon. “Yet there he is, alive as a motherfucker, wearin’ some poor child’s pj’s.” With that, Lemon started to laugh, then bent over and wheezed a little bit, raising a palm to hold his place in the taunting. “Wha’chu wearin’, Minty?”

  “I’m comfortable,” said Minty. “Why don’t you send that child down here to her daddy, Lemon. You and me talk this out.”

  “Nah, she mine now,” said Lemon. He reached out to stroke Sophie’s cheek and his irises lit up like fire.

  Inspector Alphonse Rivera had been a policeman more than twenty-­five years, and in all that time, from working a patrol car, to narcotics, to homicide, he had never shot a person. He had drawn his weapon, of course, but he had never had to fire on a human being. He’d always been very good at assessing a situation and acting quickly and appropriately when he needed to, as if his mind could prepare dozens of if/then triggers that would put him in motion without hesitating. When Lemon Fresh touched Sophie’s cheek, one of those trigger’s fired. In a single motion, Rivera went to one knee, drew the Glock from his ankle holster, aimed, and fired four shots in quick succession. Everyone including the Morrigan jumped at the sound of gunfire.

  Four copper-­jacketed bullets hung in the air—­stopped—­about two inches from Lemon’s face. All could have fit in the space of a tennis ball. Rivera had never shot a person, but Nick Cavuto had been a bit of a handgun enthusiast, so the partners had spent a lot of hours together practicing at the range.

  “Hooo-­weeee,” said Lemon Fresh. He looked all around the bullets, getting a view from different angles. “This motherfucker can shoot.”

  Nemain screeched and leapt out of the arch where she had been standing across the open courtyard toward Rivera, the claws of her only remaining hand extended. Rivera fired four times again, adjusting aim with each shot, catching her in the collarbone once and in the face three times, spattering bits of black, feathery goo into the air. She landed face-­first on the concrete floor and slid several feet until she was only inches from Rivera, who held aim on her. As they watched she melted to an inky shadow and flowed backward, up the arches, until she joined her sisters as another tattered sillouette against the red bricks.

  “Well, that didn’t work,” said Nemain.

  “Told you,” said Babd.

  “When we get the souls, he’s the first to go,” said Macha.

  Rivera ejected the spent clip and snapped a full one from his jacket into the gun.

  “Sho can shoot,” said Lemon. He made a fist and the bullets hanging before him dropped out of the air with a thud and clatter. “Yo standard-­issue Negro wouldn’t stand a chance, but I am what . . . ?” He deferred with a bow to Sophie.

  “A dookie face,” she said.

  “That’s right,” said Lemon, winking at her, “a Magical Negro.” He looked to Rivera. “And because I am only interested in nonviolence and harmony among all creatures, I am going to put you to sleep rather than crush you like a motherfucking bug.” Lemon waved his palm at Rivera like a hypnotist putting a subject to sleep. Rivera adjusted his aim for the movement, but otherwise did not move. Lemon repeated the sleep gesture. Nothing. He searched the courtyard until he found Audrey, who was checking the pulse of another downed ranger, and tried the sleep gesture on her.

  “Yeah, nothing,” said Audrey.

  “What, did y’all stop at Starbuck’s on the way here? Well, I tried. Ladies, I think you gonna need to go get you some breakfast. Go get him.”

  With that, the Morrigan slithered out of their archway, up the wall, over the roof of the fortress, and away. Sophie ran to the edge of the wall to follow their progress then came back to Lemon’s side.

  “They’re silly.”

  “You don’t never be lyin’, peanut,” said Lemon.

  Charlie was caught between being horrified and relieved that his darling little girl was discussing the silliness of a trio of Celtic death goddesses with a vengeful Buddhist deity dressed like a citrus fruit.

  “Lemon, enough of this nonsense,” said Minty Fresh. “You need to send that little girl down here now. Me and you’ll work this out.”

  “Can’t do that, cuz. I need her for what I’ma do. You do know she the Big D, right?”

  Minty Fresh looked around at his companions. If Lemon didn’t know Sophie had lost her powers, he didn’t think it good strategy to tell him now.

  “There they go.” Lemon turned and looked at the bridge. Three dark streaks were making their way up the concrete pylons toward the steel cables and arches, which were glowing with the neon flow of mad ghosts.

  “They just need to move one more obstacle out of my way and we’ll all be done here. All them poor souls will be released and whatever bullshit y’all have been perpetratin’ here will be over. Everything will be copacetic. In order. Bitches just need to shred them a Ghost Thief. I expect by the time they find him, they be plenty strong enough. Going to cost some souls, bless their hearts.”

  Charlie felt his phone buzz in his pocket and checked it: Lily. “Hold that thought,” he said. “I have to take this.”

  Lily said, “Asher, I’m on the hard line with Mike Sullivan. He says the ghosts on the bridge are out of control and there’s some dark force moving on them.”

  “That’s the Morrigan.”

  “Well, stop them.”

  “They’re kind of out of range.”

  Charlie looked back over his shoulder. The dark streaks of shadows that were the Morrigan were almost to the steel arch above them. The ghosts, or the light, or the ghost light seemed to be moving toward them, as if to meet them, swarming along the arch above the fort.

  “Lemon says that they are going to shred the Ghost Thief. Tell Mike.”

  Charlie could hear Lily in the background talking on her headset. “I told him,” she said.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that was weird.”

  They all watched as the dark streaks that were the Morrigan took shape as a cloud of black birds, then morphed into their human woman forms. The Morrigan stood on the girders of the arch above them, but the dark tide of ghosts continued to swell toward them until the Morri­gan’s dark edges began to glow, then pulsate, brighter and brighter. Finally, the three of them popped like soap bubbles, bla
ck confetti or tiny feathers burst into three distinct bursts, like negative fireworks made of darkness. An elliptical lens opened in the sky beneath the bridge—­a trick of light. The Morrigan confetti fell into it and the lens closed.

  “Mike says it’s okay now,” Lily said. She disconnected.

  When Charlie turned back around, Lemon Fresh was bent over laughing again. “That shit is funny. You see that? They went sucked up and bust like balloons. Like we used to feel when yo’ mama made hush puppies, Minty. That woman could fry her some hush puppies, rest her soul.”

  “Don’t act like you planned that, Lemon,” said Minty Fresh.

  “I did plan that, cuz. Them bitches was crazy. I told you, I am here to see all them poor, lost souls released from that bridge. All them souls y’all got in jars and golf clubs and I-­don’t-­know-­what, that ain’t right. That ain’t the right way of things.”

  Audrey moved to Minty Fresh’s side. “He did save me from them. And he didn’t hurt any of these guards. He hasn’t harmed Sophie. He may just be making way for a new order, a new path. There’s always chaos when systems are realigning. Yama is a god of death, but he was made protector of Buddhism, protector of the way.”

  “That’s right, Minty, I’m protector of the way. I don’t judge, like y’all do. The Morrigan was a different thing. They all about war. Me, I’m all about love.”

  “Uh-­huh,” said Minty, unconvinced.

  “I’m going to get my daughter,” Charlie said. He started up one of the four flights of stairs on their side of the fortresses.

  “She fine right here,” said Lemon. “Once I’m done with my business, y’all can take her home.”

  “All right,” said Minty Fresh. “I’ll wait up there, then.” He started for the staircases on the side of the courtyard opposite where Charlie had gone up. Once they got to the top, they’d be closing on Lemon from either side.

  Rivera joined Audrey in the edge of the courtyard, the Glock hanging at his side. “You believe what you just said?”

  She shook out her hair. “I did when I said it.”