“As it pleases you,” the skull replied, speaking noticeably more slowly than a moment before. It vanished into the floor.
I held very, very still. Motion was the hardest thing for a veil to hide, and I suddenly realized that the one-shot, one-kill plan had a serious flaw in it: I had forgotten to account for Evil Bob. The spirit was powerful, intelligent, dangerous—and apparently incapable of anything resembling fear or respect. I suppose that after a few decades of working with Kemmler, the most dangerous necromancer since the fall of the Roman Empire, it was difficult to take a lesser talent seriously.
Not that regular Bob was exactly overflowing with respect and courtesy. Heh. Take that, bad guy.
In any case, I had a chance to find out more about the enemy. You can’t ever get too much dirt on these cloaked lunatics. Frequently, learning more about them exposes some kind of gaping hole in their armor, metaphorical or otherwise. I’ve never had cause to regret knowing more about an enemy before commencing a fight.
Besides. If the Grey Ghost was a part of some kind of partnership, instead of operating alone, I had to know about it. Bad-guy alliances were never good news.
The Grey Ghost stepped away from the pit. In fewer than thirty seconds, the ground rippled again and a man appeared, arising from the ground a bit at a time, as if he were walking up a stairway. The skull came with him, floating along behind, just above the level of his head.
I recognized him at once: the leader of the Fomor servitors who had come after Molly. He was still dressed in the black turtleneck, but had added a weapons belt with a holstered pistol beneath his left hand and a short sword at his right. It was one of those Japanese blades, but shorter than the full katana. Wakazashi, then, or maybe it was a ninja-to. If it was, minus points for carrying it around out in the open like that.
Oh, there was something else odd about him: His eyes had changed color. I remembered them as a clear grey. Now they were a deep, deep purple. I don’t mean purple like the dark violet eyes that lots of Bob’s romance-novel heroines always seem to have. They were purple like a bruised corpse, or like the last colors of a twilit sky.
He faced the Grey Ghost calmly and bowed from the waist, the gesture slow and fluid. “Greetings, Lady Shade, from my master, Cantrev Lord Omogh.”
“Hello. Listen,” the Grey Ghost replied, her tone sour, “what does Omogh want from me now?”
Listen bowed again, purple eyes gleaming. “My master desires to know whether or not your campaign is complete.”
The Grey Ghost’s voice came out from between clenched teeth. “Obviously not.”
Listen bowed. “He would know, then, why you have escalated your search to a seizure of a second-tier asset.” The servitor paused to glance at Morty and then back to the robed figure. “This action runs counter to your arrangement.”
The eye sockets of the skull flickered more brightly. “We could still send the Fomor the message about calling ahead.”
“No,” the Grey Ghost said severely.
“It would be simple and direct. . . .”
“No, spirit,” the Grey Ghost snarled. “I forbid it.”
The skull’s eyes flickered rapidly for a moment, agitated. Then it bowed lower and said, “As you wish.”
The Grey Ghost turned to Listen and said, “My servant believes it would be logical to murder you and send your corpse back to your master in order to express my displeasure.”
Listen bowed again. “I am one of many, easily replaced. My death would be but a brief annoyance to my lord, and, I think, a somewhat anemic symbolic gesture.”
The Grey Ghost stared at him and then said, “If you weren’t speaking the literal truth, I think I should be satisfied with letting the skull have you. But you really have no sense of self-preservation at all, do you?”
“Of course I do, Lady Shade. I would never throw away my life carelessly. It would make it impossible for me to ensure that my death is of maximum advantage to my lord.”
The Grey Ghost shook her head within the hood. “You are a fool.”
“I will not contest the statement,” Listen said. “However, Lady Shade, I must ask you for an answer to return to my lord.” He added mildly, “Whatever form that answer may take.”
“Inform him,” said the Grey Ghost, voice annoyed, “that I will do as I see fit to acquire an appropriate body.”
Whoa.
The Lady Shade was looking for a meat suit.
Which meant . . .
I shook off the line of logic to be examined later. I focused on the conversation at hand.
“You made no mention of requiring such a valuable specimen for your ends,” Listen said.
“Look at what I have to work with,” Lady Shade snarled, gesturing at the Big Hoods gathered around the pit. “Scraps that cannot support the weight of my talent. Tell Omogh that if he wishes an ally who can face the Wardens, he must be tolerant. This specimen is of the least value to his purposes, and the greatest to mine.”
Listen considered that for a moment and then nodded. “And the Rag Lady?”
“Once I am seated within a mortal form, I will deal with her,” Lady Shade said. Her voice became detectably smug. “Assuming, of course, you have not already removed her yourself. Is that a burn on your cheek, Listen? I hope it does not pain you.”
“Very kind, Lady,” Listen said with another bow. “I am in no discomfort worth noting. May I tell my lord that you will make him a gift of these fourth-tier creatures, once you are restored?”
Lady Shade seemed to consider that for a moment. She tilted her head and looked around at the Big Hoods. “Yes, I suppose so. I’ll have little need for such baubles.”
“Excellent,” Listen said. He sounded genuinely pleased.
Lady Shade shook her head again. “Is he so enamored of such minor talents?”
“A moment ago,” Listen said, “I was preparing to inform him of the potential loss of a second-tier. Now I may inform him of the probable gain of a dozen lesser acquisitions. It pleases me to draw positive gains for my lord from negative situations.”
From his place dangling over the pit, Morty said, in a slurred voice, “Tell him he ain’t getting squat. Bitch can’t have me.”
Listen lifted both eyebrows and looked at Lady Shade.
“I require his consent,” the Lady Shade said, her voice tight. “I will have it. Had you not interrupted me, I would have it already. Now dawn nears. It may be several hours after sundown before I complete the transfer.”
“Ah,” Listen said. Nothing in his tone made him sound overtly skeptical, but I got the impression that he was nonetheless. “Then with your leave, I will depart to carry word to my lord and trouble you no more.”
Evil Bob popped up into sight over Listen’s shoulder again. “Are you sure you do not wish this creature to be departed, my lady?”
“Go in peace, Listen,” Lady Shade said without so much as glancing at Evil Bob. “Inform your lord that I anticipate that we will be able to move against the Rag Lady and her allies in the fortress sometime tomorrow evening.”
Listen bowed at the waist again; then he turned and, followed by the floating skull, stepped down into the floor, vanishing from mortal reality and into the spirit world.
The moment Listen was gone, Lady Shade waved a hand, and with reedy howls of protest, the wraiths in the pit were unceremoniously scattered from it, the heavy bass beat of the beacon spell coming to an abrupt halt. The will of Lady Shade pressed against them like the current of a river, and they were driven from the chamber, carried out through the walls and the floor by an unseen force.
I could feel it myself, the force of her will, simultaneously banishing the wraiths and commanding the attention of the lemurs in the chamber. I fought to hold still before it, to let it slide away from me around my veil, to use it to help me hide rather than being revealed by it.
“Children,” she said, her tone full of contempt, “beware: The dawn approaches. To your sanctums, all.” She turned to the Big Hoods. “Mortal dears. Mother is pleased with you. Keep safe the prisoner until nightfall. His life is worth the world to me. Guard him with your own.”