Bob fell into step beside me after I'd put in a half-mile of sidewalk between myself and the house.
Well, that was a bit of an overstatement. As a spirit, the thing that called itself Bob couldn't actually walk. It sort of hovered, forming a vaguely human shape composed of flickering motes of blue light, topped by a skull. The light seemed to fill out a crisp, military uniform, though I couldn't really tell what sort of army unit it was attempting to ape.
We'd probably make an odd pair if there was anyone around to pay attention. At this time of night, the people who were looking wouldn't care. Few would have the inclination to believe it was something supernatural. They would either chalk it up to a trick of the light or perhaps a child running past with a sparkler. It was still late summer after all, and fireworks still went off occasionally, even though we'd left July firmly behind us.
"Might want to lose the uniform," I said offhandedly as we turned the corner. We still had several blocks to go until we reached our destination. "You're putting off a sort of Red Skull vibe in that getup."
Bob turned his phantom head, the white light in the sockets blazing a little brighter when he considered me.
"This is no time for mortal absurdities, Carpenter. Or do you wish to let all our hard work fall by the wayside? I do not have to assist you in this endeavor."
I wiped the smirk off my face fast. I'd lucked into finding Bob a month ago when I'd begun my first shaky experiments. My first, naive hope was that I could find Molly's ghost and get the full account of what had happened to her. But even trying to see specters that didn't want to be seen was exhausting, and there were more than you could shake a wizard's staff at in Chicago. I'd given that plan up quickly and moved on to the more likely route for finding answers.
I needed to find her body.
Bob had found me mere days after my outing and, having been a practitioner of a sort in life, he told me, he could assist me if I requested it. But the spirit was a demanding taskmaster, sneering at the steep learning curve it had taken me to get here, to the most basic proficiency in order to work this spell.
"Alright, consider the comment revoked. You look great. Spiffy, even."
"Spiffy," Bob said, the barest hint of amusement tracing the words. It was the most animation I'd seen in him for a long time. Bob tends to be a stolid, laconic sort most of the time.
We lapsed into tense silence the rest of the way down the street. Tension crackled in the air between us. Maybe I was imagining it, but somehow I thought Bob was just as eager to pull off our little plan as I was. At the moment my feelings were doing an odd, stomach-turning promenade, swinging wildly between fear, anticipation, and that purely illicit thrill that one could get when doing something wrong. I knew that my parents won't want me out this late, especially not to do magic without supervision, in the company of a ghost.
I was pretty sure my mother would rather I actually be doing illegal pyrotechnics.
Dean Playground Park was a decent walk from the house, but that was for the best. By the time I reached it, it would be closed and no children would be playing there. Every car that passed made me jump. I half-convinced myself that my father would turn up out of the blue, spot me, and drag me back home.
When I reached the park, the gates had been closed for the day. Not a deterrent, the way it might once have been. I'd gotten good at scaling chain link fences of late, to put all the parts in place for this little endeavor.
It took me about two minutes to get up and over the one that closed off Dean Playground. I dropped to the ground, wincing as the impact jarred my ankle. I'd have to be careful leaving, so I didn't break it. Mom would never believe I'd tripped and fallen on my way home. Clumsy the teen years might have made me, but not that clumsy.
Bob just floated through the chain-link like it wasn't even there. The jerk.
The park was surrounded by apartment buildings, two-way highways, and street lights. There were also traffic cameras monitoring the streets around the park. I'd been careful to avoid them and had dressed for the occasion so as not to be easily identified. I pulled the gray sweatshirt around my face nervously. I doubted I'd run into anyone I knew here, especially not at this hour, but I didn't want to risk it.
"Tell me your oafish antics have not upset the contents of the pack." Bob's voice whipped out fast and acerbic as I straightened.
"We're both fine," I groused. "Thanks so much for your concern."
The sarcasm was either lost on Bob, or he chose to graciously ignore my blabbermouth. I was betting it was the latter. Bob had probably been a miserly Scrooge type in life and had not developed a sense of humor post-mortem. But he was a smart guy, and I didn't think he'd miss me mocking him.
Bob scanned the playground with incredulity on his bleached skull face. I wasn't sure how he managed it since there were exactly zero muscles to bunch and flex to make the expression of mild disgust, but he conveyed it anyway.
"This...concourse, is your ideal location for this?"
I nodded, letting the backpack fall down to the crook of my elbow. "The second victim from the case files was dumped here. Diana Lewis. This guy seems to have the same pattern. Two victims in fall or early winter, and then another two before winter leaves Chicago. All of them from different neighborhoods at this point. Molly's case predates Diana's, and I think she was the first the killer went for in Bucktown. They haven't found a second body around here, in any case. So it's the best place to start, I think."
Bob shrugged one uniformed shoulder, the motes of light settling into an almost indolent posture. "Very well. Begin preparations. I will do the work required on my end."
And with that Bob flew off into the night, off to ask favors of the local fair folk. He'd bribed several into helping us on this little mission. You'd be amazed what a taco spread can buy you with the demi-fae. They were on standby now, on the promise of more Taco Bell to come. I'd have to trust that everything would be in position when the magic finally started flying. I scanned the playground, considering. Where was the best place to attempt this? My eyes roved over the jungle gym, the slide, the swings, and the pony rides. There was plenty of sidewalk that could serve my purpose. When my eyes roved over the splash pad, I knew I had my answer.
It hadn't been used recently, which was both odd and encouraging. Odd, because in August of all times, it should have been in use. Summers in the midwest were often sticky and humid. The opportunity to spend an afternoon beneath the cool spray would appeal to most kids. Encouraging, because it meant that I could use the concrete beneath it for the spell I'd been memorizing for the last several weeks. And when I was through, I could turn on the splash pad and wash all evidence away.
Despite Bob's grueling lectures on the subject, I still didn't know much about magic, besides the one trick I'd managed to learn. I'd picked up tidbits here and there from Harry's brain or whatever he'd been willing to share in casual conversation. I knew that water would disrupt magic. If the splash pad was active, I'd have a better chance of keeping a snowman alive in the summer heat than casting in it.
I had most of the parts for the spell in place when Bob returned, examined my work and gave a long-suffering sigh.
"It will do," he announced. "Now invite me in, boy."
I hesitated. Apparently, my magic makes me somewhat sensitive to the dead. I wasn't an ectomancer. Death magic wasn't my gift, per se. But I was good at sensing pain, and most ghosts tied to this world and the Nevernever were in a lot of pain. A part of my sensitive nature already, or something I'd become particularly attuned to after these past two years? Who knew? It was a chicken and the egg scenario, so far as I was concerned.
What I did know was that I didn't have the magical stamina to pull this off. Not without something truly gruesome or unseemly, like human sacrifice or an orgy. The energy had to come from somewhere, and Bob was the best choice.
But flashbacks of every demonic possession movie I'd ever seen bombarded me in the same instant, and my resolve wavered. How much did I know about Bob, really? We hadn't even known each other for long enough to be considered friendly. A ghost had to be different from a demon, right?
"Only for a minute," I said finally. "Then you get out and we go home, right?"
"Of course," the skull head said in the closest thing to a purr that I'd ever heard. I didn't believe it for a second.
"Your word, or it's a no-go. One minute, no more."
The skull tsked impatiently, once again demonstrating its impressive range of aural motion without all those pesky things like a mouth, cheek, or a tongue.
"Yes, yes. I give you my word, Carpenter. Now be a good boy. Say 'ah.'"
Despite the summer heat, goosebumps strained every inch of the skin on my arms. I have a bad feeling about this. But what else was I supposed to do? Just give up, when I knew I had the power to prove my suspicions once and for all?
No. I had to take the risk.
So I opened my mouth. Bob dissolved into a cloud of sparks and surged forward, sweet-sickly power dancing across my tongue and then spiraling down my throat like a pixie stick from hell. My chest felt like it had frozen solid, a cold so intense it felt like fire wrapping around my lungs, slowing my heart to a dull, trudging beat.
Terror locked my arms into rigid lines, but I couldn't move away from my little circle and the assorted items arrayed around it. This felt wrong. So, so wrong. Bob's power ran under my skin, and wherever it touched living flesh, searing agony rippled in its wake. Death was not meant to touch life in such an intimate fashion. The pain licked along my insides, making me wish after only a few seconds that I really was dead.
Bob must have moved my hands to give the signal because the kick drum that I'd propped in the underside of the rarely used metal slide began to play. A dewdrop faerie barely bigger than one of my sister's Polly Pocket dolls must have been jumping up and down on the mechanism. A dozen of them were doing the same all over Chicago. I'd spent a month's allowance getting the stupid things bought and set up for this ritual.
The slow, thudding beat echoed through the park and into the night. Through the pulse of blood in my ears, it sounded like a distant war drum, heralding nothing but trouble. Bob spoke words I couldn't make out through the haze of pain and fear, and then magic, foreign and agonizing surged through my body, slamming into the ground.
I felt it reaching down, down, down, past the thick slabs of asphalt and concrete to the soil below. The power spiderwebbed when it hit the earth, spreading like a phantom fire through the root network, a quick pulse of feedback shivering through my hand when the power alighted on something dead.
There were a few pings at first. Then a dozen, then more. Hundreds, possibly thousands. I could feel them down there. Bodies of all shapes and sizes, human, and animal, rotting corpse or mere bones. Death was everywhere, and I was touching it all. Forget Chicago's massive graveyards. Chicago itself was a graveyard, teeming with the dead.
The power spread far and fast so that by the time I reached the end of my count, my hands were shaking so hard it felt like a localized seizure.
"More," Bob's voice cried exultantly. "More, give me more."
"No," I said firmly. The only thing that kept me from outright panic was the careful count I'd kept in my head. One minute was all we'd negotiated.
Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.
"Foolish, boy," he snarled, and my voice sounded like an alien rasp as he spoke. "This is power. Unimaginable power. Power you can use in any way you see fit. Don't you know what I am giving you?"
"A massive case of the heebie-jeebies," I snarled. "Three, two, one. Get out!"
With a furious snarl of sound, Bob was forced from my body. He went spilling from my mouth, taking the burning cold and his power with him, streaking like a comet away from me.
I didn't even bother trying to clean up. I left things as they were, only bothering to turn on the splash pad so it destroyed everything there. The chalk circle, the photos, the relics. All of it would wash away. Then I ran. I ran the many blocks home and banged into the house out of breath.
On any other day, I thought people might have noticed that I was sweaty and jumpy enough to win a game of hopscotch. But sometime during my absence, dad's flight home had been announced. Everyone was at the kitchen, peeling back the wrappings on their cupcakes, participating in one of the few birthday rituals that made mom feel any sense of catharsis where Molly was concerned.
No one questioned me when I locked myself in the shower. I scrubbed myself raw, trying to rid myself of the alien sense of Bob's power, and the shame that I'd let my own desires blind me to the fact that, whatever he was, Bob was very clearly not someone to trust.
By the time I emerged, activity in the house was winding down. Mom was getting Harry ready for bed, while Matthew helped usher the rest of the kids into an orderly retreat to the bedrooms. I should have been helping. I should have just stayed home, ate my damn cupcake, and been grateful for what I had.
And now? Well, I didn't know what has happened now. I wanted to believe that the constraints our deal put on Bob had stopped anything too unsavory from happening, but I just didn't know. It was a relief to crawl into bed and close my eyes, blotting out the miserable night for just a little while. Tomorrow we'd have school and I can pretend this was all horrible fever dream.
But when I woke the following morning, I knew immediately that something was off. There was no hectic swirl of activity going on around the stairs, the bathroom, the kitchen, as everyone got ready for school. Instead, I found most of them clustered around the couch, still in pajamas.
A relieved exhale escaped me when I spotted dad in the middle of a pile of moppets. He looked tired, and he, too, was in pajamas. I didn't think he'd even combed his hair because it was tufted in some places. Mom was tucked into his side, her head resting in the hollow of his throat. It seemed like I was the last to wake up.
"What's going on?" I said slowly as I approached the back of the couch. "Why aren't we getting ready for school."
"Somethin' bad happened," Hope said, pointing a skinny little finger at the TV set.
A blonde reporter stood in front of the gates to the Graceland Cemetery, mic in hand, barely concealing the madcap glint in her eyes. She was enjoying whatever was going on, though she'd never admit it. The news had to be bad to make her so happy. Human interest and feel-good stories didn't make careers.
"The mayor has declared a state of public emergency until the source of the current crisis can be unearthed. As it stands, there is no explanation for the animal carcasses that litter Chicago's streets, nor any answers for traumatized families who've found their loved one's graves broken into, and the bodies within disgorged. Officials cannot confirm or deny the allegations of terrorism being slung around..."
I backed away from the couch, clutching my middle to keep from dry heaving. Animal corpses everywhere. Reanimated human corpses crawling from their graves, traumatizing the families who'd come to see them. I screwed up. I screwed up big time.
But who could I turn to? Telling mom my reasons would only freak her out. Dad looked ready to keel over from exhaustion. I couldn't place the burden of this on his shoulders either. Which only left one person I thought might have some Hail Mary pass that could get me out of this mess.
Harry Dresden.