After Dark (8 page)

“D
ON'T YOU THINK
you're overreacting here,

London?”

“No.” Emmett reached into the backseat of the Slider to retrieve his small duffel bag.

On the way back to Lydia's apartment, he had stopped off at his hotel long enough to collect the things he figured he would need tonight. A razor, a change of clothes, and the other small paraphernalia a man required for an overnight stay in a lady's home.

He would pick up the rest of his stuff in the morning when he checked out of the hotel. Assuming he did check out. There was, he assured himself, always the possibility that Lydia would lose her enthusiasm for this consulting job after she discovered what it was really like to give up her sofa and share her bathroom. Her apartment, after all, was very small.

“Well, if you're going to be stubborn about it—”

“I am,” he assured her. “Stubbornness is one of my most distinctive personality traits.”

“I believe it.” She threw him a pointed look and jerked the door handle.

He popped open his own door and got out of the car. Automatically, he examined the small, ill-lit parking lot. It was crowded tonight. Tenants' vehicles, the majority displaying worn paint and battered fenders, loomed in the shadows. A large refuse container occupied one of the spaces near the side wall. It was filled to overflowing. Empty cardboard boxes that had apparently not fit into the bin were stacked beside it.

There was an air of resignation about the Dead City View Apartments. It was as if everyone inside had abandoned all hope of upward mobility.

Everyone except Lydia. It didn't take much to figure out why she was reluctant to let go of him as a client. It wasn't just the money. He'd offered to buy his way out of the contract. He was certain that she had her own agenda, no doubt aimed at getting herself back underground and working in the catacombs. He was her ticket out of Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors.

He walked beside her to the door with the broken security lock. “I assume you've mentioned this to your landlord?”

“In the same letter in which I mentioned the broken elevator and several other problems,” she assured him.

They started up the first flight of stairs.

“I'll get the lock repaired first thing tomorrow,” he said.

She glanced at him in surprise as they turned up the second flight. “It's not your problem.”

“It is now. You could say I've got a vested interest in security in this building.”

She looked as if she wanted to object, but in the end she did not comment. Probably wanted to save her breath for the long climb to the fifth floor, he thought.

He didn't blame her. On the third landing he glanced at her. “How long has the elevator been out?”

“Couple of months. It was never what you'd call reliable, even before that.”

“No wonder you're in such good shape.”

“Thanks. I guess.” She gave him a strange look. “Staying with me means you're going to have to climb these stairs on a regular basis. I wouldn't count on Driffield getting the elevator fixed anytime soon.”

“You're not going to scare me off that easily,” he replied.

She groaned. “I was afraid of that.”

They made it to the fifth floor side by side, then headed down the dark corridor.

“Maybe I'll see about getting some new bulbs for the overhead lights in this hall too,” Emmett said.

“What are you, Mr. Fixit?”

“I've always sort of enjoyed fixing things—” Emmett broke off as he caught the telltale trace of ghost energy.

“Ah, shit.” He dropped the duffel. “Give me your key.”

“What?” She had her apartment key out, but she made no move to hand it over. “What's wrong?”

“Give it to me.” He snapped the key out of her hand and started forward. “Stay here.”

He did not wait to see if she would obey orders. It was probably a fifty-fifty proposition at best. He got the feeling she did not take direction well.

But there was no time to enforce the directive. Unstable dissonance energy shimmered in the vicinity. The odds that it was seeping out of Lydia's apartment were much too good.

He made the door, shoved the key into the lock, rezzed it with a small pulse of psi power, and twisted the knob.

A poisonous green glow spilled through the opening.

He slammed the door wide and saw the ghost.

The garbage-lid-size ball of green throbbed in the corner. In the eerie glare Emmett could see the two figures against the wall. Zane was curled into a hard, tight ball. Fuzz's hunting eyes gleamed from the shelter of his arm. Small white fangs glistened. Neither could move. The leading edge of the ghost's energy spasms was only inches from Zane's arm as he struggled to protect Fuzz.

Emmett concentrated briefly. Sought and found the violent energy pattern of the UDEM. It was uncomplicated and weak. The work of an untrained, inexperienced amateur. That did not mean it could not do some unpleasant damage if it touched Zane or Fuzz.

He resonated for a few seconds with the wildfire energy that was the essence of a ghost. When he was fully tuned to it, he sent out the dissonant psychic waves that would disrupt and destroy the harmonic resonance pattern. The amber in his watch warmed slightly.

The ghost flared, winked out, and disappeared as though it had never existed.

In the sudden darkness Zane and Fuzz were no more than shadows in the corner.

“Zane?”

“He's in the bedroom,” Zane whispered, his voice strained and hoarse. He lurched to his feet. “He's got a knife, Mr. London. He said he'd gut Fuzz if I even—”

“Get out of here. Take Fuzz. Go.”

Zane did not argue. Clutching the dust-bunny, he ran toward the open door. Fuzz's amber hunting eyes blazed in the darkness.

“Zane,” Lydia shouted from the doorway, “what happened? Are you all right?”

“Sure, Lyd.”

Metal scraped. The sound emanated from the bedroom, echoing loudly in the dark hall. Emmett remembered the window. It was five stories above the ground, but only a short distance from the roof.

It was a risk, but if the intruder was sufficiently agile and sufficiently bold, he might figure that he could wriggle out the window and scramble up to the roof.

The front door was the only other way out of the apartment.

Emmett went down the hall, listening carefully.

Another scrape, followed by a dull thud. The intruder had gotten the window open.

Emmett flattened his body against the wall beside the doorway and gathered himself to go in low and fast.

“Emmett.” Lydia's slender figure materialized at the other end of the hall, blocking some of the light. “What do you think you're doing? For God's sake, get out of there. Zane says he's got a knife.”

Without warning fresh ghost energy sizzled in the hallway, inches away from Emmett. A poisonous green glow announced the new UDEM. Smaller this time, Emmett noted. The intruder was weakening. Or maybe he was distracted with the task of trying to escape.

“Look out,” Lydia shouted.

Zane bounced up and down behind her. “Holy shit, another ghost! Watch this, Lydia.”

Emmett concentrated briefly and then swatted the new ghost with a pulse of psi energy.

“Man, that is so dissonant,” Zane crowed. The fear that had underscored his words a moment earlier had been replaced with excitement. “Did you see what Mr. London did?”

Emmett did not hang around to catch Lydia's response. This far from the ruins, it was harder to conjure a ghost than it was to banish one. The use of so much psychic energy drained the body's resources quickly.

The intruder had wasted a lot of his strength on the task of summoning the second UDEM, strength that he should have saved for crawling through the window. There would never be a better opportunity to take him.

Emmett shot through the doorway into the bedroom.

The ghost-hunter had one leg through the open window. The dark outline of his body was clearly visible against the night sky. He scrabbled wildly, trying to find leverage.

Emmett seized one booted foot and yanked hard. The hunter tumbled back into the room and landed on the carpet with a heavy thump.

The man stared up at him through the eyeholes in his stocking mask. Moonlight gleamed on the knife in his hand. Emmett circled warily, watching for an opening. The hunter rolled once and surged to his feet.

He made no move to close with Emmett.

“Stay back, you sonofabitch,” he warned. He shifted toward the door of the bedroom. “Just stay outta my way and nobody will get hurt.”

He was tightly wound, Emmett thought. Not in full control. Maybe having two of his ghosts neutralized in quick succession had made him nervous.

“What are you doing here?” Emmett moved toward him, staying just out of range of the knife. “What the hell is this all about?”

“None of your business.” The hunter made a short, brutal, slashing motion with the knife. “Get back, damn it.”

“Talk to me,” Emmett said quietly. “Or you'll end up talking to the cops and to the Guild.”

The hunter laughed, a harsh bark of sound. “The cops can't hurt me, and the Guild can't touch me.”

He was at the doorway now. He eased through it, into the hall, never taking his eyes off Emmett.

“You were the one who summoned the ghost here last night weren't you?” Emmett kept his voice casual, almost conversational. “Why the warning to Lydia?”

“Shut
up
. I'm not answering any of your stupid questions.” He risked a hasty glance over his shoulder, apparently checking to see that the path was clear.

When he turned back, Emmett had a ghost waiting for him. A big one.

Green energy pulsed in front of the intruder, filling the room with the strange light that was the hallmark of a dangerously intricate ghost.

“Oh,
shit
! No one said anything about this.” The hunter whirled and fled down the short hallway.

He collided with the small table there, staggered, righted himself, and dashed into the foyer. He was clearly in the grip of panic. He did not even bother trying to neutralize Emmett's ghost.

The problem with ghosts was that although they could be maneuvered, it was impossible to make them move quickly. The hunter could easily outrun the UDEM Emmett had summoned.

In the meantime, it was blocking Emmett's path. He zapped the energy pattern. The ghost winked out, enabling him to plunge through the doorway and out into the hall.

Ahead of him the intruder pounded toward the stairwell. Emmett gave chase.

“Let him go, Emmett,” Lydia called. “I saw the knife in his hand.”

It was not the knife that worried him, Emmett thought. It was the fact that the intruder was already at the stairwell, about to disappear down it.

A robust middle-aged woman built like a monument to the colonial settlers hauled herself out of the stairwell just as the hunter reached it. A T-shirt emblazoned with the message
DISSONANCE HAPPENS
in sequined letters heralded her ample bosom. In the weak light of the dimly lit hallway, Emmett saw the other man's start of panicky surprise. And then the unmistakable hesitation.

It hadn't taken the hunter long to realize that he had just been handed a potential hostage, Emmett thought.

“Get down,” Emmett shouted to the woman. “Hit the deck. Now!”

To his great relief, the newcomer assessed the situation with commendable speed and came to the correct conclusion. There was an audible thud as she dropped to the floor like a block of marble.

The ghost-hunter started to reach down for a fistful of the woman's jacket, belatedly realized he could not possibly haul her to her feet, and abandoned the hostage idea.

He whirled and leaped into the stairwell. The echo of his boots rang loudly as he plummeted downward.

Emmett had to vault the prone woman to reach the opening.

“What the hell's going on here?” She sat up warily. “Who are you?”

“Later.” Emmett gripped the railing to control his swift descent.

The sound of the hunter's footfalls was already receding into the distance. He would never catch him now, and he dared not risk another ghost. There was no telling who else might enter the stairwell from one of the other floors. A brush with a UDEM would not endear him to the neighbors. And then there were the awkward legalities to be considered.

He was on the second landing when he heard his quarry slam through the broken security door.

I'm going to lose him, Emmett thought.

The intruder was fast. He moved with the speed and agility of a young, athletic male. But he had not yet learned to marshal and control his psychic energies. He had freaked at the sight of the large ghost that Emmett had conjured. He obviously lacked the kind of practical experience that came only with extensive work in the field. Which put him in his late teens.

About the same age as Quinn.

Emmett glanced over the railing in time to see the masked figure dash out into the parking lot. When he reached the ground floor he heard the whine of a highly revved mag-rez engine and knew that he had lost whatever small chance he'd had. A long, six-inch-wide band of bright light appeared suddenly in the darkness, the distinctive glowing tube that marked the front grill of a Coaster.

The vehicle's passenger door slammed shut. The Coaster glided forward between the rows of parked cars, heading straight for Emmett.

He threw himself into the dark space between an ancient Lyre and a small Float. The Coaster howled as it went past, a hungry beast that had been denied its intended prey.

It did not turn back. Emmett stood between the Lyre and the Float and watched the car roar out of the small lot and into the street. A few seconds later it disappeared around the corner.

He was still standing there, thinking, when Lydia, followed by Zane, dashed out of the stairwell to join him.