Unclean Spirits

Seven



He came up the same path I'd walked with Aubrey half an hour before, the palm of his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. The flashing lights silhouetted him and hid his face. At my side, Candace was staring out the window and murmuring a constant string of syllables equal parts prayer and vulgarity. The dog stood between her and the door, still and silent and thoroughly undoglike.



From my glimpses through the window, I guessed the man was around two hundred pounds. He had a Taser, Mace, a pistol. He had a badge. For all I knew his murmured conversation on his lapel radio had been calling more police to his cause. Plus which, he was a supernatural beastie capable of God only knew what.



We had Aubrey, me, Candace Dorn, and a very intelligent dog. I didn't like our chances.



"Okay," Aubrey said nervously. "We're going to be okay. We'll just...we have to just..."



The man reached the door and pounded on it. The house itself seemed to tremble.



"Candace!" the man shouted. "Open the door!"



It was the voice-the anger and power and implicit violence in it-that snapped me into action. I took Candace by the arm, shaking her until her eyes shifted to mine. Her face was pale.



"You need to get out of here," I said. "You and Charlie head out the back. Go to a neighbor's or a friend's. Anyplace it'll take him a while to find you."



"That isn't Aaron," she said. "It's his body, but that isn't Aaron."



"I know," I said. "Leave this part to us. Just get out. Do it now."



The dog nuzzled her hand, whining slightly, then jerked its muzzle toward the kitchen. Let's go. Candace drew a long, shaking breath while the thing in her fianc¨¦'s body hammered the door again. She nodded, pulled me into an embrace as sudden as it was brief, and then she and Charlie the dog were gone.



"How long until Ex gets here?" I asked, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.



"Half an hour if there's no traffic and he's speeding," Aubrey said. "An hour if there is and he isn't. Did you have a plan besides getting those two out of harm's way?"



"Nope," I said.



"Then we'll probably want to keep his attention on us until they're clear," he said, as if this was all perfectly sane and acceptable. I saw then how someone could love Aubrey. "Hold on a minute!" he yelled. "We're coming!"



The thing at the door paused, surprised (I guessed) by a man's voice and the unhurried, casual tone Aubrey had taken. Aubrey pulled a cloth bag from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.



"Ashes and salt," he said. "It may help block or absorb anything it tries to do."



"You mean besides shoot us," I said. The bag was heavier than I expected.



"Besides that," Aubrey agreed.



"Open this fucking door and do it now!" the cop shouted.



"Who is it?" Aubrey asked, his voice loud enough to carry through the door. "Can I see some identification, please?"



The shots weren't like the ones you hear on TV or in the movies. Two dry cracks, quieter than the pounding of the thing's fists, and the wood around the doorknob bloomed into splinters. The ridden policeman kicked the door open so hard it almost came off its hinges. Aubrey leaped back, diving for cover. I stepped around the corner, the cloth bag gripped tight in my hand.



"Where is she?" the thing in the cop's body demanded. The voice had lost any vestige of humanity now; the words were flies and saw blades. "Give her over, and I might let you live."



"She's upstairs," Aubrey lied. "Just leave me out of it."



It surged into the room. I hadn't been prepared for the change. Its skin was darker than a bad bruise and tinted blue as a storm cloud; the head that canted forward from the shoulders was long-jawed and carnivorous, the eyes the yellow of cat piss. Its chest worked like a bellows, ripping the police uniform and popping the Velcro fastenings of the bulletproof vest. I wasn't afraid of being shot anymore. I was just afraid.



Aubrey was on his knees, struggling to stand. The creature raised a hand, points of metal or chitin glittering on its fingertips. With a sense of being in a dream, I watched myself swing forward, grab those powerful fingers, and twist from my waist. Something in its wrist popped, and it let out a yell that seemed like it would break glass.



The impact when it slammed me against the wall drove my breath out. Its eyes were fixed on me. I saw Aubrey diving toward it, saw its leg lash out, saw Aubrey fall again. Its good hand was around my throat. The air was getting thin. I scratched at its eyes, my arms faster than I would have thought possible but still not fast enough. I didn't see its wounded hand cut into my side; I only felt it.



The cut was cold. My blood spilling down my ribs felt like ice water. And then something pushed in under my skin, something slick and cool and ancient beyond words. Instinctively, I knew the rider was entering me, trying to take my body as its own. I felt an answering warmth rise from the base of my spine to my heart to my throat. It felt like a fireball, and I shouted as I used it to push the invader out.



The creature stumbled back, dropping me to the ground. Its eyes were wide and uncomprehending. I thought I saw a flicker of fear before it launched itself at me again. I leaped toward it, inside its swing, and brought my fist up into the soft place under its jaw. The bag of ashes and salt burst like a water balloon. The thing choked and stumbled back. Aubrey appeared from nowhere swinging a fire poker like it was a machete. The beast raised its arms to protect its head against the assault, and for five or six seconds I thought we stood a chance.



"Jayn¨¦! Stay back!" Aubrey shouted, but I was already in motion. It caught my leg as I tried to kick it, lifting me up like a twig. My knee shifted, and I shrieked with pain. I caught a glimpse of Aubrey-red-faced, his teeth bared in rage-flailing at the thing's back with the poker. I was airborne. The plaster and lath wall gave when I hit it, but the sound of the fight was muffled now. Aubrey's yelling was distant and soft, the beast's answering howl no more than unpleasant. I tried to rise to my knees, but it didn't go as well as I'd hoped.



I opted for sitting, and when I looked up, the thing was squatting before me. It didn't look even vaguely human now. Its clothes were in ribbons, and the small glimmering badge that hung from one strip of shattered cloth seemed like an insult. The boots were strips of leather clinging to wide hooves. His belt...



I blinked, trying to gather myself. His belt was on the floor behind him. The gun was still in its holster.



"What are you?" it buzzed. I had the impression there was a light inside its mouth, like something was burning in there.



"My mother's daughter," I said blearily; I'd meant Eric when I said it. My brain was clearly getting scrambled. I dropped to my belly and kicked off from the wall, scooping up the belt, drawing the gun, and twisting back to face the thing almost before it could react. Almost, but not quite. Its fist came down on the bridge of my nose and the world turned monochrome and quiet.



I almost didn't see the dog attack.



I wavered there on the edge of consciousness, and when I came back, the beast was grabbing at the German shepherd, whose teeth were buried in its neck. I raised the gun, but Aubrey put his hand over mine, pushing the barrel away.



"Can't kill the body," he grunted. "Need the body. Aaron! Close your eyes."



I couldn't tell if the dog complied, but Aubrey staggered to his feet, a small black cylinder in his fist. There was a hissing sound, and the beast howled, scrabbling at its eyes with fingers that gouged great strips of flesh from its face. The dog leaped back, whining, and my own eyes started to water. Mace. I really didn't think that was going to stop it. I raised the gun again, but Aubrey had his arms spread wide, like he was gathering in the air itself. I saw his ribs flex as he breathed in, and I realized his shirt had been ripped apart somewhere in the violence. When he shouted, it wasn't a human sound. It rang like a bell, like there was music in it, like there was an angel speaking my name in a voice so low it deafened.



The beast twisted, shuddered, and sat. Its skin grew pale, its head thin, its face human. Aaron the fianc¨¦ lay on the splinters of a couch, his body slack. Aubrey staggered and fell to his knees.



I crawled over, putting my hand on Aubrey's thigh. He was trembling.



"Is it dead?" I managed to croak.



"Bound," he said. "Sleeping. Should be okay until Ex gets here."



"Good trick."



"Eric showed me."



"Could have tried it a little earlier, though," I said.



"Yeah, I was thinking that myself," he said, then smiled. There was blood on his teeth. I smiled back, and the dog came to us, licking Aubrey's face nervously. I wanted to sleep, but instead I staggered to my feet and closed the blinds and the front door. The place was a ruin. Couch, coffee table, overstuffed chairs-all of them were broken. The walls were shattered in three places, and the glass shutters guarding the fireplace were shards clinging to strips of warped copper. I walked back to the kitchen, almost surprised to see it intact. I washed my hands until the shaking got too bad, and then I just stood there, leaning against the counter.



"You're hurt," Aubrey said from the doorway.



"No. I'm..." I looked down at my blood-soaked side. "Oh. Hey, yeah. I'm hurt."



I laughed, and the pain shot out from my side to the base of my skull. Somehow that seemed hilarious, and I sank to the floor in a feedback loop of laughter and pain. I watched Aubrey's feet come across the tile floor, felt his hands lift me up to sitting. When he pulled off my shirt, I didn't stop him. I felt wrung out and quiet now. Through the door to the ruined front room, I saw the dog sitting, its eyes fixed, I assumed, on the newly human body resting in the wreckage. Aubrey's left eye was swelling shut, and I could see a bruise darkening at his collarbone. His hands shook. He touched a warm cloth to my side and I winced.



"I'm sorry," he said.



"It's okay," I said.



"No, I mean I'm sorry I brought you here. This was way more than I expected. It was stupid of me."



"It's okay," I repeated.



"You could have been killed." I was a little surprised by the distress in his voice. Maybe I shouldn't have been. I took his hand in mine and drew his eyes up to meet my own.



"What would have happened to her if we hadn't come?" I asked. Aubrey nodded as if accepting my point, but when he tried to look away, I squeezed his hand. "Really. What?"



"I don't know," he said. "In the short term, I don't know. It would have tried to protect itself while it grew to maturity. Then probably it would have taken her over too."



"The rider," I said.



"Or its daughter organism, yeah," Aubrey said. "This is how they breed. Or...well. I think it is. This is all coming from the parasitology filter. Ex would probably couch it in terms of souls and salvation."



"I'll take your filter, thanks. This is what Eric wanted you for," I said. "To understand how parasites breed. And to stop them. And we did, right? So go us. Nice job."



"I think this is going to need stitches," he said.



I looked down at the ruined flesh where the rider's claws had cut me. When I got dizzy, I looked away.



"Yeah," I said. "I think you're right."



The dog yipped once and rose to its feet. I heard the front door swing open then closed, and Ex came in, his pale eyes wide. Aubrey raised a hand in greeting, and Ex mirrored the gesture with an autonomic air.



"Turned out it was a little hairier than we thought," I said. "Who knew?"



"The guy out front has a rider," Aubrey said. "Probably jaette or haugtrold. The original soul's in the dog. The house belongs to Candace Dorn. The horse is her fianc¨¦, Aaron. He's a cop. Since there isn't a SWAT team outside right now, I'm guessing the rider did something to keep the law away while he killed us."



"And I need to go to a hospital, get stitched up," I said. I thought I sounded very calm.



"Right," Ex said, then a moment later, "Okay. I'm on it."



And that, more or less, was that. Aubrey got me a loose blouse from Candace's closet to preserve my modesty on the drive. I pressed a towel to my side and tried not to bleed on his minivan. On the way to the emergency room, we concocted a story that we'd been out on a date and got jumped by three muggers. Since it was Boulder, I suggested making them a band of roving neocons, and Aubrey laughed. By the time we staggered into the ER and plopped down to tell our story to the intake nurse, I almost felt human again. Parts of my body ached that I hadn't known existed, the doctor who looked me over called for about eight different X-rays to see how many of my bones were broken, and the blouse we took from Candace wound up balled into the biohazard can.



When they asked about my health insurance, I took the money out of my pocket. Nine thousand nine hundred and change after pizza and beer. It was enough to cover treatment and a night's observation. Barely. Even though he was falling down exhausted, Aubrey took point talking to the cops while I drifted in and out of consciousness. The hard, narrow hospital bed was the most comfortable place I'd ever been. Monitors strapped to my chest and arm let out low pongs and chimes.



When I let my eyes close, my watch said it was one in the morning. When I opened them a minute later, the morning sun was pouring in the windows, heating up the walls. Chogyi Jake was curled in the chair at the foot of my bed, a paper coffee cup forgotten in his dozing hand. My body ached badly, just lying there. But I was all right. I'd lived through it.



The sun tracked its slow way up the sky, and I let my mind wander. It was Sunday. Somewhere out there, far to the east, my mother and father were going to church in their starched clothes, ready to watch their preacher sweat and exclaim and witness to the power of a god I didn't believe in. West, in Arizona, a new semester would have started at ASU. The dorms and apartments would be filled with men and women sleeping off Saturday night, just the way I had done this time last year.



Closer by, Randolph Coin-or the thing inside him-had already started leading its seven-year swarm into a dance that would take more bodies away from people like Aaron the German shepherd and Candace Dorn and give them over to these unclean spirits. At Eric's house, Midian was probably frying up steak and eggs, with Aubrey and Ex either at his side drinking coffee or sleeping off the night's exhaustion. Chogyi Jake murmured something and shifted his weight without spilling his coffee. I smiled at the man's sleep-peaceful face and let myself sink back down into my amazingly expensive, thin, uncomfortable pillow. I had expected to greet this particular morning with a sense of despair and isolation, and instead I felt at home in my life for the first time I could remember.



It was Sunday, the fifth of August, and it was my birthday. I was twenty-three.