Unclean Spirits

Ten



When dawn finally came, I was surprised that it woke me. I hadn't expected to sleep again that night. The others were all moving a little slower too, the weight of Coin's presence still lingering in the backs of our minds. As the day grew bright and hot, the sun commanding the profound blue sky, the oppressive sense of threat faded a little. It didn't ever quite go away. We got on with the work at hand.



I'd never really thought about fighting supernatural evil as a lifestyle choice. Still, I was surprised that it felt so much like planning a crime. The range Ex had in mind was less a formal police-style building with individual runs and paper targets than an open field down a dirt track halfway between Denver and Colorado Springs. Aubrey's minivan looked out of place in the wide, rough terrain.



We were just setting up the targets-bales of hay with Robin Hood-esque bull's-eyes strapped to them-when Eric's voice spoke again.



"Hey. You've got a call."



Aubrey and Ex both looked over at me as I dug the cell phone out of my pocket. The number on the ID was familiar. Candace Dorn again.



"I wish you'd change that ringtone," Ex said as I answered it.



"Hello?" I said, putting my free hand against my other ear and walking to the back of the minivan.



"Hi," Candace said. "I'm sorry I didn't call back earlier. Is this Jayn¨¦?"



"Yeah. It's me. Is everything okay? I'm really sorry about your living room, by the way. I didn't mean to trash the place."



"I don't care about it," she said. "Really. It's fine. Everything's fine. Aaron is back from the hospital, and he's going to be fine."



I hadn't realized he'd been in, though in retrospect it made sense. Dog bites, the haugtrold cutting its own face, whatever damage Aubrey and I had managed to inflict. I glanced over at Ex as he laid out the rifles and two boxes of less arcane ammunition on a blue tarp. I wondered what exactly the exorcism process entailed.



"Good," I said. "I'm glad to hear that. And Charlie?"



"Charlie's doing all right too. I think he's a little confused by the whole thing. Needy. Dogs, you know."



I didn't, but I made appropriate social noises. There was a pause on the line, the kind of silence where no one is bringing up the difficult issue. I would have taken the lead if I'd known what was up.



"I was..." Candace said, and then stopped. When she started again, she sounded grim. "My friend. The one who gave me your number. He said that I should have talked about this all before. He's right, I know that. It was just with Charlie and Aaron and all the rest, I was focused on the situation at hand."



"Sure, of course," I said, not knowing what she meant. There was another pause on the line. "Candace. If there's something we should be talking about, we should maybe talk about it? What's up?"



"I needed to talk to you about the price," she said. I could tell from the way she said it that she was past uneasy and into scared.



It was the first time the thought had even crossed my mind. Eric's money had to have come from somewhere; that was true. And since this was what he did, I suppose it followed that whatever he'd charged for his work had to have been pretty astronomical. I didn't know what to say. From the little empire that I'd inherited, I had to think the money had been huge. On the other hand, I hadn't talked to the lawyer about it. Maybe the money had come from someplace else. Maybe Eric had some sort of sliding scale. I was caught flat-footed, and I felt stupid for not knowing the answer.



But then, the question wasn't really what Eric would have done so much as what I was going to do. That made it easier.



"Don't worry about it," I said. "It's on the house."



Whatever Candace had expected to hear, it wasn't that.



"Are you...do you mean that?"



"Look, I'm actually kind of new at this," I said. "My uncle was the expert. You didn't get the high-powered guy, and I got some on-the-job training I needed anyway. Besides. We trashed your place."



There was a sound I couldn't make out. Ex, still over at the tarp, gestured to me impatiently. I held up my hand in a "one minute" gesture before I realized that what I was hearing was Candace in tears.



"I owe you," she said. "If you ever need anything, please call me. You saved my life. You saved me."



"I was glad we could help. Seriously. Look, Candace, I've got to go. But you tell Aaron to get well soon, okay? Take care."



I dropped the call and shoved the cell back into my pocket. Ex frowned down at the rifles as I came back. Aubrey raised an eyebrow, asking wordlessly what the call had been.



"Follow-up," I said. "Nothing important. What did I miss?"



For the next hour, Ex talked us through the workings of the rifles. It wasn't as complex as I'd expected in theory, but the practice was tricky. I knew that the gun would kick when I fired, but I underestimated how much my sore shoulder would object. The first four shots I tried missed the target completely. The fifth got on the paper, but outside the concentric rings of the bull's-eye. Ex walked me through the whole process, his voice serious and low. I got better until I started getting worse, and he decided I'd had enough and turned his attention to Aubrey.



It turned out Aubrey had a much better eye for the thing than I did. His second shot hit the paper target. His fourth was in the center circle. I tried to figure out what he was doing differently, but as I watched him, my mind kept wandering. The afternoon was sweltering hot, and we drank through our bottles of water long before we fired the last round. I tried a couple parting shorts and kicked out bits of hay from the bales, but nothing better than that.



I had the sense that Ex was confused that my uncanny ability to fight didn't translate to being able to hit the broad side of a barn with firearms. I felt a little ashamed of my lack of talent, but he tried to keep my confidence up.



"It doesn't really matter how good a hit you get on Coin," he said as we broke down the rifles and folded up the tarp. "We aren't trying to kill him with the shot. Graze his pinky finger, and as long as it breaks skin, we're fine."



"It's going to be hard," Aubrey said. "I mean, this was fun, but looking at a real person is going to be different."



"He's not a real person, though," I said. "He's just a rider in a stolen body."



"It's still going to be hard," Ex said. His voice didn't leave room for discussion.



I didn't realize how hot and tired I was until we had loaded everything back into the minivan and turned back toward civilization. The first blast of air-conditioning was like standing in front of an open refrigerator, and I think I must have sighed, because Aubrey glanced over at me and grinned. Then his smile faded.



"Jayn¨¦," he said. "Look, if you want to postpone...well, postpone tonight. I absolutely understand."



"No," I said, surprised by how much I meant it. "I really don't."



We spent the ride into Denver listening to the radio. Twice, I turned to look into the backseat. Ex was staring out the window, his face etched in a frown. We hit the tech center on the south side of the city right around rush hour, and the traffic slowed to a crawl. Long rows of red brake lights beaded I-25 like a Christmas tree. I propped my legs on the dashboard and looked out as the buildings slid slowly by.



A small knot of tension was building in my gut. I wanted to get back to the house, get out of my sweat-soaked clothes and into something clean. I wanted to go out with Aubrey and drink and dance and show the world that I wasn't scared. I wanted Saturday to be over, and the thing that lived inside Randolph Coin's body defeated. The traffic moved languidly, shifting forward, pausing, then shifting again. My mind moved between unease at the still not quite faded memory of the monstrous eye looking down at me and a deep, slow-rising desire that came from the immediate, distracting presence of Aubrey's body and breath. We reached our exit, and Aubrey pulled us off the highway and onto surface streets that easily went twice as fast.



He pulled into the carport that we'd left empty specifically to allow the transfer of firearms without alarming the neighbors. Chogyi Jake met us at the door and helped Ex with the equipment while I headed to the back to fulfill the first of my fantasies.



I was glad I'd donated most of yesterday's purchases. The debate over the handful of outfits I had kept was painful enough. If I'd had the full wardrobe, I would have melted down completely. I settled on a red skirt with a white scoop top that showed off a little cleavage without screaming slut. A little lipstick and eyeliner. Nice leather shoes with a heel low enough I could still run in them if something happened. I considered taking Eric's cell phone, but decided against it for the small, petty reason that it was too bulky for the purse I wanted to carry and I sure as hell wasn't taking my leather backpack on a date. Besides, Aubrey would have his cell.



I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and told myself I looked beautiful. I didn't look like a high school kid trying on her older sister's outfits. I didn't look desperate. I didn't look out of my depth.



I tried putting my hair up, just to see if it helped. I decided it made me seem like I was trying too hard, so I left it down. I hoped that the others wouldn't be around, and that Aubrey and I could head out without any comments. While I was at it, I might as well have asked for a pony.



"Well, now," Midian said. "Our little girl cleans up pretty nice."



"You don't have to sound surprised," I said, willing myself not to blush.



Aubrey, sitting on the couch, looked much better than I did. While I'd been dithering, he'd clearly run home, transformed, and come back the best version of himself. His honey-colored hair was just ruffled enough to look at ease. His clothes were half a notch more formal than mine-slacks, jacket, and a deep blue shirt that worked for his complexion. And when he saw me, his eyes went a little wider, which was exactly what I needed just then.



"You shouldn't go," Ex said. He was leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed. "Both of you. After what happened last night, you should see this isn't the time for fun and games-"



"Save your breath, preacher," Midian said. "They made up their minds. Besides, Coin's just looking. He didn't find us."



"Leaving the warded house is a mistake," Ex said.



"It's their mistake to make," Midian said. "And your subtext's starting to show."



Ex turned a venomous gaze on Midian, but the cursed man either didn't notice or didn't care. Chogyi Jake appeared from the kitchen and nodded silently with his usual beatific smile.



"You kids have a good time, now," Midian said. "Play safe, and don't come back early. I'm going to teach these boys a little bit about how you play poker. If you get back before I've cleaned them out, I'll be disappointed."



"We'll do what we can," Aubrey said, and then, directly to Ex, "We'll be careful." Ex grunted and turned away. Aubrey offered me his arm. It was the cheesiest thing a guy had ever done with me. I liked it.



The summer sun was just pushing its way down to the western horizon, the light turning bloody in the pollution and heat. Far to the east, the sky was dipped in indigo, a few stars struggling to find themselves in the gloom. Aubrey held my hand as I got into his car, and then we were off.



"I know this Cuban place," he said.



"Anything," I said. "You're driving."



"Jayn¨¦?"



"Yeah?"



"Thanks for not postponing," he said.



"Welcome," I replied, smiling to myself.



Growing up at home, boyfriends had been clandestine by nature. There wasn't any going out without a chaperone. There were church group parties, there were occasional get-togethers with girls from school, and very, very rarely I would go out of town for a track meet or a speech competition. My first kiss had been at the state qualifiers my sophomore year with a guy I'd met that night and never saw again. The next year, I'd arranged a plan with three of my friends that let me slip out to a movie with a guy from French class when my parents thought I was at one of their houses. I did it four times before we got caught, and I was grounded for a month. My mother had wept for days, and my father made me go talk to the pastor at our church about the sin of lust, a conversation that neither the pastor nor I enjoyed.



When I opted for a secular college, my father lost all perspective. In fairness, I'd known he would and that expectation had been part of what made the decision easy for me. He made it clear that I would do as he said, or I wouldn't be welcome in his house. I called the bluff. I can still remember the look in his eyes when I left. It was like he was watching someone he loved walk off a cliff.



When I got to ASU, I didn't have any idea how to deal with men. I didn't have any experience or any friends. All I could do was fake it and hope. My first lover had been a graduate student who was the teacher's assistant in my biology class. I found out later he'd been going through the roll in alphabetical order, and made it through the early Ns before the end of the semester.



His name was Gianni, and he'd had a gentle touch and a quick smile. He'd been an attentive lover. When he left, I was glad to have known him and profoundly less than devastated that he was gone. My second lover was named Cary. His jacket was back at the house. We hadn't ended so gracefully.



The restaurant looked like a frame house, pale blue siding with yellow pastel trim. Aubrey parked on the street and we walked across the low, well-cut lawn like we were going to a friend's house. His hand brushed mine as we walked through the door, and I took it. We sat at a small table, and I let him order wine for us both. I smiled at him across the table and he smiled back.



Gianni, Cary, Aubrey. It seemed like I had a thing for guys whose names ended in a vowel sound. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought before I said it or anything equally asinine out loud.



I ordered the black tiger shrimp. Aubrey got something called ropa vieja. I sipped the wine, feeling the warmth of the alcohol in my throat. Aubrey smiled. I smiled back. We didn't say anything.



"This feels a little awkward, doesn't it?" I said.



Aubrey shook his head, denying it, and then said, "Well. A little, maybe. First dates."



"I guess," I said. "Not just that, though. I feel like I'm looking over my shoulder all the time. Like they are going to be there."



"Tell you what," Aubrey said, "you keep watch behind me, I'll keep watch behind you."



The anxiety in my belly softened a little.



"Sounds like a plan," I said. "Is it always like this? When you and Eric were working on things before, was it always this..."



I raised my hands, trying to make a gesture that would express what I couldn't find words for.



"No," Aubrey said. "This is the most intense thing I've ever done. It's intimidating. I keep wanting to call Eric and ask him what to do, and then I remember that he's..."



"Yeah," I said. "I know what you mean."



"I'm sorry," he said. "That's not very good first-date chatter, is it?"



"It's weird," I said.



"In all kinds of ways," Aubrey said. "Apart from all the rest of it, I keep trying to wrap my head around the idea that you're the girl Eric talked about. You aren't what I expected."



"How so?" I asked. "I mean, what kinds of things did he say about me?"



Aubrey thought about that for a second.



"He wasn't wrong about any of it. It's just the person he was talking about was a kid, and you aren't. He said you were smart. Mouthy. That his brother was about the worst match for you as a father that he could imagine," Aubrey said. "I didn't get the feeling that they particularly got along, Eric and your dad."



"Cats. Dogs," I said. "Our family has had its Jerry Springer moments."



"I heard a little bit about that. There was some static when you stopped believing in God."



"It didn't start out that way," I said. "It's where it ended up. Maybe it's where it had to end up."



"How'd it start, then?"



"I stopped believing in hell," I said. "I kept thinking about it, and I just couldn't make it square up. My dad and the pastor and everyone, they kept talking about a god that loves people and wants us to be well and happy, and then they'd talk about all the terrible things that would happen to me forever if I pissed him off. It just didn't make sense, you know? Why would someone that loves you make it so that you could be tortured forever just because you didn't do what he said? So I figured they were wrong. I figured that there wasn't really a hell, because God loved us and he wouldn't do that to us."



"How old were you?"



"About twelve, I think," I said. "I tried to explain it to my dad, but he didn't think much of it. Eventually, I figured out that I shouldn't talk about it. But then I started thinking about other things that didn't make sense. I looked at the world, and it just seemed...I don't know...bigger than what they were telling me. And somewhere in there, I woke up and thought, you know, if Jesus died for my sins, that's not really something I asked him to do."



Aubrey laughed. It was a warm sound, and I relaxed a little, just hearing it.



"It sounds like you didn't lose faith in God as much as in your church," Aubrey said.



"When you stop believing in someone who's been telling you stories, you stop believing in the stories too," I said. "I wanted to believe, just for tactical reasons. It would have made my life a lot easier. But there you go."



The food came, and it was better than I'd expected. It turned out ropa vieja meant "old clothes" but was really shredded beef with some genuinely wonderful spices. We talked a lot about my family and Eric and behavior-changing brain cysts, which should have been gross but was actually really interesting. The background fear faded if it never quite went away. I had flan for desert. Aubrey just drank coffee.



"So," he said when I put down my fork, "you think Midian's cleaned them out yet?"



"Probably not yet," I said.



He smiled.



"Yeah," he said. "Me neither."



We went to a nightclub in an old church that played well-mixed techno. Despite my expectations, the Goth contingent was in the minority. Most of the people seemed like young-professional types and college students. I danced for a while, Aubrey near me, but not so close that we were really dancing together. Then the floor began to get crowded, the bodies of strangers pushing us closer. My anxiety about the Invisible College and Coin and the nightmare was all still there, but instead of spoiling the night, it made things sharper. More real. I could see how someone could wind up addicted to danger.



I took a break, drank a martini, and went back out determined to put the uncertainty behind me. When we started dancing again, I took Aubrey's arms and put them around me. He went awkward and unsure for maybe two minutes, and then we were leaning into each other. The music didn't stop, and I didn't want it to.



The high Gothic vault above us glittered with mirror balls and glowed with blue and orange lights just bright enough to give us our shadows. Stained-glass windows looked down on us. Aubrey's body was warm under my hands, and his face had a seriousness that suited it even more than his smiles. He was a good dancer once he relaxed, and it turned out so was I.



I had a second martini, and then another drink that I couldn't quite identify. When I started feeling light-headed, I went up to the rooftop deck for some air. The city lay spread out before me in the darkness, glittering black and orange. The night had cooled down to comfortable, the breeze warm against my skin like Denver itself exhaling gently against me. I heard Aubrey come up behind me; I could already recognize his footsteps. When he put his hand on my shoulder, I leaned back against him.



"It's beautiful," he said.



"Yeah."



"You are too."



I turned, lifting my mouth to his. He tasted like good whiskey and fresh coffee. He smelled like musk and spice. I rested my head against him and tried to catch my breath.



"You know," I said softly, "you never did show me your apartment."



It was a small place near the university. A low counter separated the kitchen from a living room hardly wide enough to hold the couch. The bedroom was smaller than either, a queen-size bed pressed into a corner to leave a path. But the floors were wood and had been polished until they glowed, and every spare surface was piled with books and unlit candles. When we got there, he started to say something, but I stopped him for fear of losing the moment.



There had been times I'd seen a naked man and thought it was exciting or funny or weird. Lying on Aubrey's half-made bed and seeing him lit only by the soft light that filtered in from the street was the first time I'd thought a man was beautiful. My body had a warm, relaxed feeling, the bruises and cracked ribs only a seasoning on a rising tide of pleasure. Aubrey's skin against mine was rough and sweet and perfect. His fingers were gentle, and even with stitches holding my side together, I felt beautiful. I came once before he was in me. He had a three-pack of condoms in his bedside table in an unopened box. We went through two of them.



In the aftermath, sweat drying on my back and neck, my body still twitching, I listened to his breath as he fought against sleep. The clock at the bedside said it was a little after three in the morning. I was awake and as alert as I'd ever been. I slid out from under the bunched sheet and paused in the doorway to look at Aubrey stretched out, naked and spent, his eyes closed, one arm raised over his head. He looked strong and vulnerable both. He didn't know who I was. Not really. There were only stories that Eric had told him, a few shared days, and the fact that when I'd needed someone, I'd called him.



And when I'd called him, he'd been there. It was about as much as I knew of him too. So maybe it was enough.



My clothes were in knots on the floor, and I didn't bother trying to untangle them. I took myself to his bathroom, had a quick shower, and wrapped myself in his robe-soft green terry cloth that smelled like him. When I went to the kitchen, I didn't turn on the lights for fear of waking him. Between the shower and the deepest part of the night, it was cool enough that a cup of tea sounded good. I boiled some water, found a cup and a box of tea bags by the light of the gas flame, and took myself out to the couch while the tea steeped.



Aubrey's computer was an old laptop perched on the couch's armrest. I booted it up, found wireless service, and pulled up Firefox. I figured that if there was something in his work that had caught Eric's attention, it would be good for me to know. Besides which, I wanted to be able to talk to Aubrey about the things that were important to him without sounding like an idiot. I Googled Toxoplasma gondii and his name.



That's how I found out about his wife.