Ghost Story

Chapter Thirty-three

“That was my first fight,” I said quietly to my godmother. “I’d never used magic to hurt anything before.” I rubbed my hand over my head. “If I hadn’t cut class that day . . . I don’t know. I might never have become what I did.”

“Is that the lesson you took from the memory?” Lea asked, her smile spreading. “You were clearly being prepared to be an enforcer.”

“It seems that way,” I hedged, trying to read her expression. “But Justin never actually tried to get me to hurt anyone.”

“Why would he wish you to be armed against him before he was certain of your loyalty?” Lea asked. “He would have. It was inevitable.”

“Probably,” I said. “But there’s no way we can know, really. It’s a long way from breaking boards in practice to breaking bones in life.”

“Quite. Because convincing a young mortal to believe that it is right and proper to use magic for violence is a delicate process and one that cannot be rushed.”

I grunted and leaned my head back against the wall of my grave.

“All the wishing in the world will not change the past, my godson,” Lea said. “You would like to believe that perhaps Justin had hidden good intentions of some sort. That what happened between you was some kind of misunderstanding. But you understood him perfectly.”

“Yeah. Probably. I’d forgotten how much it hurt—that’s all,” I said quietly. “I’d forgotten how much I loved him. How much I wanted him to be proud of me.”

“Children are vulnerable,” Lea said. “They are easily deceived and notoriously subject to such delusions. You are no longer a child.” She leaned forward slightly and said, with slight emphasis, “I am bound to answer two more questions. Will you ask them now?”

“Yes,” I said. “Give me a moment to consider them.”

“As you wish,” Lea said.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to clear my thoughts. Asking questions of inhuman entities can be a tricky and dangerous business—with the fae more than most. You almost never got direct answers from one of the lords of Faerie, the Sidhe. Asking them direct questions, especially questions touching on information relevant to a conflict of some sort, was likely to elicit obscure and maliciously misleading answers. I was on good terms with my godmother, as human-Sidhe relationships went, but that was no reason not to cover my bases.

So I thought over recent events for a while and looked for the blank spots, but I kept getting distracted by the memories of that night in the convenience store. They chewed at me and refused to be pushed aside—especially the conversation with He Who Walks Behind.

“Priorities,” I said out loud. “This is about priorities.”

“Oh?” Lea asked.

I nodded. “I could ask you a lot of questions about my past—and you’d answer them.”

“That is true.”

“Or I could ask you about what is happening right now in the city. I could find out how I could best help Murphy.”

Lea nodded.

“But I was sent back here to find my killer,” I said. “I’m supposed to be hunting down whoever killed me, and yet I’ve been doing a whole lot of everything but that.”

“In point of fact,” Lea said, “you’ve been doing little else.”

I blinked.

She gave me an enigmatic, feline smile.

“Oh, you bitch.” I sighed. “You just love doing that to me.”

Lea demurely lowered her gaze. She fluttered her eyelashes twice.

I scowled at her and folded my arms over my chest. Lea had been involved in my life since I was born, and probably before that. She could tell me any number of things I’d been quietly dying to know since I was old enough to ask questions at all. She was up on all the current events, too. All of the high Sidhe are fanatic gatherers of information, and my godmother was no exception. Of course, they tended to guard their knowledge as ferociously as a dragon guards its gold—and they parted with it almost as reluctantly.

The Sidhe aren’t dummies. Information is a great deal more valuable than gold, any day of the week.

So I circled back to my earlier question. Where did my priorities lie? What was more important to me: Digging up secrets from the shadowy bits of my past? Getting the information I needed to move on to my future? Or helping my friends and loved ones right now?

Yeah. No-brainer.

“What can you tell me about the Corpsetaker, her resources, and her goals?” I asked.

Lea considered the answer for a moment before nodding to herself. “The creature you ask about is motivated purely by self-interest. After the body she possessed was killed by a brash, impulsive, and dangerous young wizard, her spirit remained behind. It took a score of moons for her to gather enough coherence to act, and even then she had precious little power to exert upon the mortal world.

“She was limited to speaking with the few mortals who can perceive such things. So she found them and began to manipulate them, guiding them together into the group you have already encountered. Her goal was to assemble her followers, spiritual and material, and then to abduct a body of appropriate strength.”

“Clarification,” I interjected. “You mean a body with magical capability?”

“With significant capability,” Lea replied, stressing the phrase. “When Corpsetaker’s spirit still dwelt upon the mortal coil, even bodies with latent talent were hospitable enough for her to exercise her full power. But thanks to you, and like you, my dear godson, she has passed beyond the threshold between life and death. Now she requires a body with a much greater inherent talent in order to use her gifts once she is inside it.”

I tapped my lips with a fingertip, thinking. “So you’re saying Mort is a major talent.”

“In certain respects, he is more potent than you were, Godson. And he is a great deal more practical—he avoided the notice of the White Council almost entirely and hid his abilities from them quite neatly. The Corpsetaker wants him. She doubtless intends to make some use of the city’s dead and establish herself as the city’s dominant practitioner.”

I blinked. “Why? I mean . . . she’s just going to attract attention from the Council if she does that, and she’s still on their Wanted Dead or Alive but Mostly Dead list.”

“Not if she looks like the little ectomancer,” Lea countered. “She will simply be a concealed talent unveiling itself in a time of dire need.”

“But why risk it in the first place? Why Chicago?”

Lea frowned, golden red brows drawing together. “I do not know. But the Fomor are dangerous folk with whom to make bargains.”

I lifted my eyebrows. Considering the source, that was really saying something.

“In my judgment,” she continued, “the only reason Corpsetaker would deal with the Fomor would be to establish her presence here—probably as a loosely attached vassal of their nobility.”

I found myself scowling. “Well. She isn’t going to do it. This is my town.”

My godmother let out another silver-chime laugh. “Is it? Even now?”

“Course,” I said. I rubbed at my jaw. “What happens if she gets Morty?”

Lea looked momentarily baffled. “She wins?”

I waved a hand. “No, no. How do I get her back out of him?”

Her eyelids lowered slightly. “You have already utilized the only method I know.”

“So I gotta get her before she gets to Morty,” I said quietly.

“If you wish to save his life, yes.”

“And from the sound of the conversation with Creepy Servitor Guy, I’d better break up the Corpsetaker-Fomor team before it gathers any momentum.”

“It would seem to be wise,” Lea said.

“Why the Fomor?” I asked. “I mean, I barely know who they are. Why are they all over Chicago now? Who are they?”

“Once, they were the enemies of my people, Winter and Summer alike,” she said, lifting her chin as her emerald eyes grew distant. “We banished them to the sea. Now they are the exiles of myth and legend, the outcasts of the gods and demons of every land bordering the sea. Defeated giants, fallen gods, dark reflections of beings of light. They are many races and none, joined together beneath the banner of the Fomor in a common cause.”

“Revenge,” I guessed.

“Quite. It is a goal best served by gathering power, an activity that has been made attractive by the fall of the Red Court. And I have been more than generous with my answer to your question.”

“You have. I am grateful, Godmother.”

She smiled at me. “Such a charming child, betimes. Two questions have been answered. Your third?”

I thought some more. Somehow, I doubted that asking Say, who killed me? would yield any comprehensible results.

On the other hand, what the hell? You never know until you try.

“Say,” I asked, “who killed me?”