I throw on a glamour and just like last night, a little speck of light appears in the air and opens into a molten gate that oozes into the street. Then the weird singing starts and the ghost mob blasts into Little Cairo looking for action.

The shade of a teenage metalhead girl in a leather jacket covered in chains and silver studs grabs a pigeon that was dumb enough to peck through gutter trash. Metalhead Susie rips the bird’s head off. But instead of blood coming out, bright sparks like electric fireflies fill the air. The dead gather around the flies, swallowing them or kissing them before tossing them into the air, where they blend with the overhead stars. When the fireflies are all gone, Susie tosses the bird’s headless carcass into the air and it flies away like it’s just another night in Birdtown.

I have no idea what any of this means. It’s no hoodoo I’ve ever seen. After last night, I hang way back in the shadows and let the spook parade stream by on its way to bounce off Abbot’s barrier again. Soon, I see Chris Stein. He does the strange little trembling act he did last night and wanders right back to the house he ripped up earlier. By the time he reaches the place the street is filled with the sounds of shades merrily tearing apart one pyramid, obelisk, and Sphinx after another.

Stein takes his time getting to the royal tomb and just before he goes inside, I walk right out into the open, where the streetlamps light me up.

I’m behind him now, and from my pocket I take out the note Stein had in his hand the night he died and say, “Forever yours. Forever mine.”

He freezes. Doesn’t move. I say it again.

“Forever yours. Forever mine.”

He turns and takes half a step in my direction, like he’s not sure what to do. So, I go to him.

“Forever yours. Forever mine.”

I hold the note out at arm’s length in front of me. Stein is doing the trembling thing again when I get to him. Still, he reaches out and takes the note.

For a minute he just stares at the crumpled paper. When he looks up at me, there are tears running down his spectral face. I actually feel a little sorry for the murderous fuck. He pulls the note to his chest and holds it here. His whole body and demeanor change. He’s no longer rigid. No longer giving off crazy murder vibes. I was right. The paper is some kind of Dear John letter. When the tears stop flowing, he actually smiles a little. But just for a second.

He goes rigid again. Convulses once, then twice. Stein moves his hands out from his sides as a cut slowly crosses his midsection. When it’s sliced him cleanly in half, a brightness leaks out from the wound, like he swallowed a spotlight. He grimaces. Grabs his stomach. Stumbles. But he doesn’t let go of the note.

It’s then that I notice how all sound on the street has stopped. No poltergeist crashes or bangs. When I look around, I see that’s because every goddamn ghost in Little Cairo is in a circle around us that stretches from the edge of one side of the street to the other. When I look back at Stein, he’s just a couple of feet in front of me.

He says, “Forever yours. Forever mine.” And reaches for me.

I’m fast, but so is the dead man. He doesn’t get hold of me, but he almost tears one of the sleeves off my coat. Okay. No fucking around this time.

I manifest my Gladius, my angelic flaming sword, and he backs away as the circle of ghosts closes in on us. I rush the spook line and hack my way through. As I swing the Gladius around me, ghosts blip out of existence before they can get hold of me. That’s good to know. Angelic fire works on them. Now, if there just weren’t a few hundred of the dead fucks in every direction, I might be able to kill them all. Right now though, I just want to get closer to the light, where there are good shadows.

None of the dead set follow me. They’re too chicken. I hold my sword above my head and shout, “Warriors! Come out to play!” but none of them get the joke. These dead bores are as movie-deficient as Abbot.

Feeling a little cocky, I’m just about to the streetlight when the first overhead electrical cable falls. It lands in the street a few feet from me, dancing and hissing like a spark-spewing cobra. Then another falls. And another. The streetlight goes out.

Fuck.

I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but it’s time to try something else.

I grab a piece of parchment from my pocket. It’s covered in runes, geometric designs, and weird glyphs in ink made from red vitriol and mercury—and it’s supposed to send every one of these ill-tempered assholes straight to Hell.

I shout some Latin I don’t understand and touch the edge of the parchment to the Gladius, setting it on fire. Keep chanting the Latin until the parchment is nothing but ashes.

Something shoots past my ear. It happens again. And then my face is on fire. I double up, suddenly in pain and bleeding everywhere. It’s like a hundred invisible knives cutting me at once. When something almost takes my right eye, I figure it out.

Broken glass. It’s flying at me from every direction, from every house with a cracked window and every car with a shattered windshield. In a few seconds, my coat is in shreds and I’m bleeding from a hundred places. Plus, I have to hop over the hissing electrical lines like I’m doing goddamn Riverdance.

And the ghosts aren’t going anywhere.

So much for Vidocq’s useless goddamn spell. Lesson learned: never trust books.

All the streetlights on the block are out and the glass keeps flying. Holding one hand up to shield my eyes, I spot a Porsche sitting in the driveway next to me. I run to it and slam the Gladius through the rear end. The gas tank goes up in a beautiful rolling oran

ge Michael Bay explosion. The spooks don’t like that and the whole fucking mob rushes me.

Too late, Beetlejuice.

I jump through a jittery shadow and stumble out a couple of doors down from Bamboo House of Dolls. A few of the regulars outside smoking start to say hello but shut up when they see me covered in blood and glass. It’s the same thing inside. I walk to the far end of the bar and the last three stools are suddenly vacant. Before I can sit down Carlos jabs a finger in my direction.

Tags: Richard Kadrey Sandman Slim Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net