The Downside Ghosts Series Books 1-3: Unholy Ghosts, Unholy Magic, City of Ghosts. Stacia Kane
she’d never really noticed that before, but then she’d never been in the Restricted section this late at night, when the great library was a cavern of silent secrets between thick dusty covers.
Her skin prickled as she grabbed the largest book, one of her favorites. If it couldn’t be found in Tobin’s Spirit Guide it probably couldn’t be found anywhere. The heft of the book comforted her as it always had, but even it could not hide the fact that she’d thought she heard another sound.
A rustle, like breeze blowing a sheaf of paper or, she thought with a vague sense of nausea, the sound made by the pages of Tyson’s horrible book when Terrible’s fingers brushed against it.
She stopped and stood rock-still, with the weight of the Spirit Guide starting to make her wrist ache. Looking toward the windows did nothing to help. That damned glass may as well have been a mirror; all she saw was her own pale face staring back at her.
Her muscles creaked as she stood there, letting the seconds stretch into minutes, her ears straining for another sound, but the silence continued for so long she started to doubt herself. She hadn’t slept in days, not really. She was so wired she imagined her pupils were the size of pinpricks and her fingers felt grimy no matter how many times she washed her hands. Of course she was hearing things. It was probably Brownian Motion, or her own brain sizzling as the speed burned away at the cells.
Had she heard a noise, really?
She was being ridiculous. No, not in being cautious. Caution was the only way to stay alive. But in thinking she’d somehow been followed here by the unknown Church employees who’d imprisoned Slipknot’s soul. Tyson didn’t even own a phone. The idea that he’d somehow managed to get himself back together and notify whomever it was, that they’d managed to track her down here when she’d told no one where she was going, was stretching things a bit.
Thus convinced, she sat down, grabbed her note pad, and started checking the Guide’s index. Eraduac, Eramuel, Erbereous, Eredmiam … Ereshdiran. Page one hundred fifty-three.
She pulled off the cap of her pen with her teeth as she used her left hand to flip through the pages. Ugh. The line drawing was crude, but it captured the thin, cruel face and the hooked nose. It even managed to suggest the bloody teeth.
Her pen scratched across the paper as she made notes, her skin growing colder with every word. She was going to have to call Doyle, to agree to go with him to see the Grand Elder. This wasn’t something she could handle on her own—or rather, it wasn’t something she wanted to handle on her own.
Who the fuck had summoned him, and why? What possible reason could there be to invade dreams, to invest that much power into something as banal as sleeping patterns? If they wanted to put homeowners to sleep so they could break in, they could get a Hand of Glory like hers, or perform some other sort of spell. How many homes could they invade in one night? And the damned thing simply wasn’t safe, there was no real way to—
This time the noise was definite. A click, like the step of a hard-bottom shoe on the wood floor. She might not have heard it if she hadn’t paused in her writing, but she had, and so she did. Someone was in the library, and whoever it was had not come simply to do some research. No one called her name, no one noticed the lights on in the Restricted Room and asked who was there. Instead there was only silence, clogging her ears, pressing in around her until she felt her body would collapse under the weight of it.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she casually flipped a few pages in the book, her muscles aching from the strain of keeping her movements slow and even, as though she hadn’t heard anything. Two exits led from the library: the main one she’d used earlier, and the second one she’d used the other day when she overheard the Grand Elder and Bruce talking by the elevators.
Talking about the fear infecting the ghosts, about their unusual behavior. Looked like she had an answer for that, at least. Ereshdiran. The presence of an entity like him would drive normal ghosts crazy.
She’d take the amulet to the Grand Elder, tell him what was happening—No. She couldn’t, not without admitting she’d been out at Chester Airport, that a body had been found and not reported. The amulet explained clearly to anyone who could read it exactly what powered the spell.
So would setting Slipknot’s soul free end it and send Ereshdiran back where he belonged? Or would he start feeding on her, as she’d worried originally? Her blood had fed the amulet … and it had left its little calling cards burrowing into her skin, hadn’t it, in exchange?
Her fingers ached. She looked over and realized her knuckles were white around her pen, and that perhaps this was not the best time to start pondering the ins and outs of ritual but, instead, would be a good time to get the fuck out of the library before whoever was out there decided to make his or her presence known.
The side exit would probably be best. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought the sounds came from the direction of the main entrance.
Okay. Smoothly she grabbed her bag and set it on the table, slipping her pen and pad back into it while pretending she was simply looking for something. She wouldn’t be able to turn the lights in the Restricted Room off without advertising the fact that she was leaving and losing the element of surprise. The Element of Surprise had always struck her as a really good name for a band. This probably wasn’t the time for thoughts like that either, but her mind seemed to be working triple-time and she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
So. Casual, busy, unaware. She set her bag on the floor next to her, wrapping the strap around her wrist under the table. With her left hand she flipped forward in the Guide, hoping to disguise what she’d been looking at.
Another footstep sounded, closer this time. Her entire body ached, her muscles so tense she was surprised blood still flowed through them. They were coming—he, she, it, what ever was coming, and she couldn’t see them but she might as well have had a neon arrow over her head, and she needed to move. She’d been so stupid. So careless, and so stupid.
Her legs shook. Go! What the fuck are you waiting for, get up and go! Go!
Carefully she slid her chair back, keeping her gaze focused on the book in front of her, as if she was just trying to get more comfortable. They were watching, she knew, she couldn’t see them but all the same she saw them, big shapes in black with no faces, their heavy boots moving across the floor toward her, their arms outstretched to grab her, to choke her, to slide a blade into her throat—
Go!
This time she obeyed, ducking down and slipping off the chair. If luck was with her—what a joke, luck was never with her—they might think she was looking for something, scratching an itch.
Of course, they might also think the perfect time to attack her was when she wasn’t looking. Crablike she scuttled across the floor, keeping her head down. The fifteen feet or so to the door had never seemed like such a great distance; now she felt like an insect running across a hockey rink in full view of a crowd.
She reached the door and stood, not breaking her stride but speeding up, and knew immediately that her gamble had not paid off. The other feet, the other person, was running, too, their heels making loud clicking thumps across the floor as they headed for her.
Chess yanked her knife out of her pocket as she ran, but she didn’t think she’d have a chance to use it. It just made her feel better, sharper somehow, as if she herself could become steel. She ran as fast as she could, not seeing anything but the vague outline of the side door in front of her.
She burst through it and almost fell. The rickety stairs clanged and rattled beneath her as she raced down them, her bag thumping against her legs and threatening to trip her with every step.
Halfway down she heard the door above her open with enough force to make the staircase shake. She didn’t dare look up. She had to keep going, once she got around the next curve she could probably jump the rest of the way …
This she did. The impact sent pain shooting up her legs and she knew her pursuer would unfortunately follow her lead, but