Staying Dead - Laura Anne Gilman [119]
Only who was to say what the ghost would do once they—she and Frants—were gone? Had the Council thought that far ahead? About what it might do if it figured out that a Council mage had been the one to cast the spell in the first place? The Council might have purged that mage’s name from their ranks, but the knowledge of it happening survived; that was the thing about memory dumps, someone had to remember it had been done, and why. So there was still a trail to the Council.
But while she was congratulating herself on being so clever, if a little late, the ghost had gathered power in again. To Wren, safely grounded, it felt as though a stiff breeze had started from within the office. The dark-haired woman, however, was thrown against the wall behind them, slamming hard and crumpling without ever moving to defend herself. Frants, on the other hand, grabbed on to what was left of a desk and refused to budge.
The ghost raised one arm, fist clenched, and gestured at Frants, who snarled back at him in defiance. Another window shattered, clearing a man-sized hole, and Wren reacted before she could think about it.
“No!” she screamed, pushing her unwilling body directly at the ghost. She half-expected to impact something, but instead went into a forward roll right through him. It was like flying through severe turbulence, jolting her physically and sending her adrenaline levels skyrocketing even faster. She landed and turned almost in one motion, only then discovering that her action had put her directly between the ghost and his intended prey.
“Oh shit,” she said again.
“Hold it still!” Frants ordered, his bravado quickly dissolving back into the arrogance of a man who was raised to give orders. Client or no, this guy was really begging to get hurt. Unfortunately, dead client meant no payments at all. Sergei would be pissed.
Trying to remember anything she had ever learned about deflecting hostile current, or anything else that might save her ass, Wren had the sudden visual of Sergei trying to explain some weird-shit sculpture thing. What was he saying?
The artist meant it to show how we all take from those around us, every moment of the day. All humanity is one life form, broken up into smaller mobile parts.
All one form. All one energy. All current comes from the same source….
And the ghost hadn’t been substantial long, his current might still react to the spell she had cast to track it.
“Bone within casing
Bone long removed from its skin
In sympathy, connect!”
Even without the talisman in her possession, the spell worked well enough that she could slowly siphon off some of the ghost’s stolen energy, using the connection between her current and the spell, and the spell and his current. It was hard, damned hard, but she could feel it working. More current flowed, and her gut felt warm and tight, as though she’d just consumed a particularly rich meal. She was going to pay for this overload tomorrow, assuming she didn’t get killed first. There was only so much a human body could contain before it burst, and she was dangerously close to that now. But it was the only safe place to put the energy: shielded, he wouldn’t be able to get to her to retrieve it.
At least, that was the theory.
The ghost faltered then, eyes narrowing, tried to pull back the current. It was the weirdest tug-of-war she’d ever been involved in, nothing like the lessons Neezer had put her through—
“Energy without will is just energy. Power you can’t use isn’t power at all. Now, can you feel the current when I do this?”
She had yelped as the static charge passed from his fingers to hers, a thousand times worse than anything she had felt before. “That hurt!” she had cried out, indignant.
John had shaken his head. “Of course it did, Jenny-wren. It doesn’t like