I forced a smile. “Nothing but the best for you.”
The two of us stepped forward, looking up at the dark gates of the churchyard. The ironwork rose up at least fifteen feet. Jagged spikes peaked each of the bars that formed the barrier.
“Up and over?” Jane suggested.
I shook my head. “I’m thinking we find a better way in. These are high enough and pointy enough that I’m not comfortable with the idea of trying to climb over them. At least not without giving myself an interesting piercing in the process.”
“Might be hot,” Jane said, giving me a wicked grin.
I gave an uncomfortable one back. “Or disfiguring.”
Rather than get into the finer points of damaging my junk, I shut my mouth, crossed the sidewalk, and edged along the outside of the graveyard until I came to an entrance around the next block that was closer to the main building of Trinity Church itself. The gates there were already pushed open with a person-sized gap in them. Without hesitation, I slid my way through into the cold darkness of the graveyard.
Jane grabbed my hand through the bars of the gate. “You’re going in with just your bat?” she asked.
I nodded.
She wrinkled her nose and looked uncomfortable. “I know I’m relatively new to this whole doing-good thing,” she said, “and I’m not part of your precious Other Division, but shouldn’t this be a job for Things That Go Bump in the Night? Aren’t they the ghost guys?”
I smiled and grabbed her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin in contrast against the late-March chill.
“I’m not just Other Division,” I said, squeezing it. “I’m also part of the Fraternal Order of Goodness. Both of those more than qualify me to check this out. Improvisation is our middle name.”
“Actually,” Jane said, “wouldn’t that make ‘Order’ your middle name?”
“Shush,” I said. I pushed the gate closed between us. “Technically, this was a direct request from the Inspectre.
That means I’m not supposed to involve other divisions. Just wait here, okay?”
Jane looked worried. “You know, the feminist in me really wants to smack you for that, but the rest of me is a little bit too terrified to care. Just be careful, all right?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, hoping to reassure her. “I’m just going to scope things out. Hell, I’d rather you come with me, if it wasn’t for all the paperwork. You saw all the Other Division and joint-venture paperwork I had to do for the monster attack last night.”
Jane nodded, but the look of concern in her eyes told me she was putting up a brave front. I was learning that getting closer to someone meant there was more freaking out to be had when danger crossed either of our paths.
“I’ll wait right here,” she said with conviction in her voice. She gave me a thumbs-up. “You know, to avoid all that paperwork.”
I turned away after giving her a final smile and concentrated on the graveyard. Despite the lights of New York City rising up all around us, most of the graveyard was hidden in the shadow of the church and all I could make out in the darkness was a flurry of activity about fifty feet away from me. A cool wind cut into me as I moved among the headstones with cautious steps, using my bat as a walking stick to help guide me. Moving closer to whatever was going on, my eyes began to adjust to the low light, and I almost wish they hadn’t. The ghostly activity I had seen from outside the graveyard was far more terrifying now that I was closer to it, the apparitions and specters looking far more solid up close. Numerous haunts in varying states of decay filled the center of the graveyard, all of them swarming around a lone shadowy figure pressed up against the side of one of the mausoleums. It looked like we had a live one. Who was this civilian and why wasn’t he running? The lifeless, rotting faces of the long-dead filled the air, and it was more than enough to get me shivering.
As spooked as I felt, I forced myself to put on a brave front. If there was one thing that those four sessions of Cool with Ghouls had taught me, it was that bold talk was a convincing substitute for actual bravado when it came to dealing with the formerly living.
I took a deep breath and tapped my bat on one of the sturdier-looking headstones. It rang out with a metallic clank that ground against the stone.
“Everybody back off the civilian,” I said with anger in my voice. “The cleanup crew is here.”
New patterns arose from the cloud of ghostly figures and a new energy seemed to fill the area. “Him,” a collective voice rang out from them.
I turned to look over at Jane back outside the gates. “They know me!” I said. I could barely contain my excitement. Pride swelled in my chest despite my case of frayed nerves. Clearly word had been getting out about me over the last few months since we nabbed cultist Cyrus Mandalay and shut down his paranormal freak show.
“This is a good thing… how?” Jane said, killing my short-lived sense of pride in an instant.
The cloudy swarm of ghosts turned toward me and started moving in my direction en masse. I stepped back, despite all the Arcana talismans and charms Jane had given me as presents. I was wearing enough of them to blend in at a Grateful Dead show. Jane might be convinced of their power to ward off most of these ghosts, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way if they worked or not. I backpedaled fast, but the floating apparitions were faster.
I waited for the sensation of one of them passing through me to hit, but it didn’t come. Three of the spirits rushed me, but something stopped them just short of touching the leather of my coat. Their inability to get closer frustrated them and although I was thankful for the protection, it made me feel a bit like the Bubble Boy.
“Ha!” I said, trying to avoid a fit of nervous laughter.
The agitation in the spirits grew more apparent as they continued to try to lunge toward me, but it was having no effect. Frustrated, two of the apparitions dashed off across the graveyard heading toward the church. Before following them, I snuck a peek over my shoulder to check on the civilian, but I couldn’t see the shadowy figure anywhere. I turned back to focus on my two apparitions.
“Hey,” I shouted after them, “I’m not done with you!”
And apparently they weren’t done with me, either. They rushed toward the church, both spirits diving forward through the air into two of the stone figures decorating the side of the church. Gargoyles. There was the sound of grinding stone that vibrated in my bones as the creatures came to life, a loud rocky crack filling the air as they tore free from the wall. They landed on the ground and stood themselves up. Their wingspan was twice as wide as my six-foot frame and they stood several feet taller than me. The gargoyles’ eyes were filled with a hellish red glow.
“No fair!” I shouted at the gargoyles.
My words had no effect. It did nothing to slow their pace as they started across the graveyard, their thick stone legs leaving several of the ancient grave markers toppled over in their wake as they advanced on me.
Still, as imposing as they were, I actually preferred them in this form than as ghosts. Solid creatures could be beaten on. I readied myself, hefting my bat up into swinging position. I only hoped that years of acid rain in New York City had taken its toll on the stonework to soften them up a bit for me. Either my bat would give or they would.
The creatures were huge, but their sheer weight slowed them considerably. I was able to run up on one of them, taking a few shots, then circling out of its reach while it swiped at me. With each swing I gave it my all, and with each swing I connected. Chips and shards of stone flew off the creatures, but they kept on advancing.
At this rate it would take me a solid week of fighting them to make any headway. There had to be another way. Backing away, I put as many gravestones between myself and them as I could. As impressive as they were in size, they had a hard time maneuvering around the sturdier gravestones. This didn’t matter much as they pushed their way past, crumbling most of them eventually, but it did slow them up a bit. That was something I could use to my advantage, if the ten minutes I had spent reading the departmental memo “Fight Training 301: The Bigger They Are” had taught me anything.