an: Sorry for the wait- first week of school, and all sorts of other stuff you don't care a bit about, but here! Chapter 5- Beej meets the shady and mysterious Barnabas, and fashion advice ensues. Thank you for the reviews so much- they absolutely make my day!
By the time they came for him, only the total loss of cohesion could have revealed the mirror disk, and he wasn't planning on letting them get that close. Unfortunately, the safest place for it was also a very uncomfortable place, and he had to keep shifting when it stuck his innards. He mentally crossed off swallowing mirrors on his list of possible sideshow acts.
"Betelgeuse, what a pleasure!" A young, debonair-looking ghost opened the door, as if he were still alive. All the trappings of mortal life were an affectation —doors, windows, corporeal forms- but some ghosts had a difficult time with being dead.
Barnabas, in many ways, was an odd choice for a mafia kingpin. In life, he had been a moderately successful businessman, working in the textiles business with connections in Singapore and Peking, and had been gunned down in a drive-by in 1928 while he was on his way back from lunch, the coffee in his hands splashing across his suit just like the bullets. Betelgeuse knew very little beyond that, and even that might have been a Netherworldian legend. But he had become at first influential, and then powerful; he had a knack for getting certain individuals from the "public servant" section of the population released from servitude and into his ranks. He had even attempted to recruit Betelgeuse once, but Betelgeuse had refused. Something in his gut had told him to keep clear of this one, and it was hard to live with his gut if he ignored it. It tended to get graphically bilious when ignored.
Now Barnabas controlled a large part of the "object" market, items that were cursed or haunted and placed in the hands of breathers. He had connections with the living, although no one could prove it, and a brisk trade in exorcised souls, which is certainly where he came across Clara. All in all, not someone you would pick to marry your daughter.
"Barnabas," Betelgeuse grunted. He gestured with a finger to the pock-marked lapel. "The bullets really did hit too low." Betelgeuse grinned his best toothy grin.
"This was my favorite suit, true!" He paused. "Well now, my friend! I hear you have yourself acquired a mortal lover!" His hazel eyes took on a look of keen interest.
Betelgeuse merely gazed back at him. As far as he knew, Lydia was safe, and he wouldn't be baited. Barnabas met his gaze for a moment, and must have seen something unsettling there, because he switched tracks.
"So, it was kind of you to grace us with your presence. Betelgeuse? Or should I call you by your real name?"
"Not in front of the ladies." They both glanced up at the two burly poltergeist-types that stood behind the chair. One had a rope still around his neck like a morbid tie, and the other was missing the back of his head. "12-gauge?" Betelgeuse hazarded. The guard glared at him. It was impolite to talk about causes of death, especially among the suicides. Betelgeuse shrugged. "It was just a guess- I know nothing about handguns."
"Such a strange name for such a devil as you." Barnabas never could stand being ignored. " I never would have guessed." He beamed, teeth showing like a sawblade against pale lips, and sat down in a chair. Betelgeuse grinned without humor.
"The answer is still no, Barnabas. Like it has been the last thousand times. I'm not gonna wear your badge, or buy your Girl Scout cookies, okay? So stop beggin'. You're embarrassin' me."
Barnabas smiled even more broadly, and Betelgeuse felt his odds sinking. It had always been so easy to make Barnabas angry. But now things were different, and Betelgeuse no longer had the stronger hand. And they both knew it.
"Ah, Betelgeuse. You have made two small errors. Now we can talk as men, one to another, and I can explain exactly how you have fallen into my hands." Betelgeuse arched an elegant eyebrow, but said nothing. "One, you did not eliminate Clara. This act of complete stupidity has given me your Name. And two? Do you want to guess?"
The poltergeist gave the mobster a look of supreme disinterest. A small frown tightened Barnabas's brow. "I will tell you. Love." A snort escaped his bullet-punctured throat. "I never would have thought it possible. That you could love, and it be a mortal? Amazing. You charmed a goddess once. But now you love what can be broken. And after I destroy you, I am planning on making her my bride!"
"She doesn't really go for the "aerated lawn" look, bub. Sorry to disappoint." Betelgeuse was putting together what he knew, listening fully with only one ear. It was true that Barnabas had his Name, but he had heard it from Clara, and Clara had heard it from Lydia. Every time a Name passed on to new ownership, it lost a measure of power. If Barnabas felt he needed to use Lydia as leverage, then that meant he wasn't certain of his hold. And that also meant that Barnabas didn't have complete control of the situation- good for himself.
He was certain Lydia was still out there—Juno had to have warned her in time. Otherwise Barnabas would be gloating about it. But how long would it take for them to find her? If he knew her, and he did, she would be attempting some hare-brained rescue attempt, and would likely play right into their hands.
And then Betelgeuse would have no choice but to do what Barnabas had always wanted him to do. The same thing that Clara had wanted him for—to punch a hole in the Wall. To open a passage between Life and Afterlife, so that ghosts could walk among the living again, and be Out of the Netherworld, permanently. It would destroy him, the locus, in the process. Though if Barnabas did succeed, the Administration would figure it out and maybe even set things to rights; however, the damage would be done. He would be really really dead.