Christopher Moore - Secondhand Souls

Charlie said, “It’s okay, they’ll let me in.”

“Why would they let you in?”

Charlie pulled Mike Sullivan’s bridge authority ID and held it up. “Because I’m an employee. They need me to find another job in the park that gets me off the bridge, so even if they call in, someone will vouch. Everyone knows Mike Sullivan’s story. I’ll say I wanted to check it out when there were no tourists.”

“They’ll never let us in with our weapons,” said Rivera.

“Anubis said weapons won’t do us any good. They won’t touch him.”

“Well, I’m not sure what good we can do here, then.”

“We have to be here. He has my daughter. She’s just a little kid.”

“Actually, she’s probably not.”

“What’s that mean, ‘she’s probably not’?”

“Why would this thing—this deity, go back and kidnap a little kid? What use is a random little kid to him? We would have taken a break if he hadn’t taken her.”

“I never thought about that. You think he still thinks she’s the Luminatus?”

“He knows more about this stuff than I do, and he took her.”

“She is in the advanced reading group.”

“Well, there you go,” said Rivera.

Charlie’s phone buzzed. Message from Audrey. HE’S ALIVE.

Rivera pulled into the tourist parking area, which was still a good half mile from the fort. The remainder of the road had heavy vehicle barriers that rose out of the concrete to limit traffic to pedestrians and bicycles; however, currently, the barriers were down. Rivera killed the lights and drove to the parking lot adjacent to the fort. He stopped the car at the far edge of the parking lot and turned off the engine. There were a few vehicles near the fort, but they looked official, light trucks and SUVs with national park insignias.

Fort Point was a Civil War — era fortress with four-foot-thick brick and concrete walls, and gun ports designed for a battery of cannons to defend the entire entrance to the San Francisco Bay. Even though the fort had lost its strategic value by the 1930s, the Golden Gate Bridge had been designed specifically so the fort would be preserved as an example of military architecture. The entrance from the city side of the bridge was a great, structural steel arch that went directly over the top of the fort, rather than the more practical straight pylons that could have been built if the fort had been removed.

As they climbed out of the car, Charlie’s phone buzzed again. Audrey’s message: ON OUR WAY TO FORT PT.

Charlie said, “They’re on their way. Maybe twenty minutes out.”

“We should wait,” said Rivera as he popped the trunk. “This Yama probably doesn’t know we know he’s here. We shouldn’t blow our surprise when Fresh is the only one who has any way to fight him.” Rivera put his Beretta and holster in the trunk. “I’m keeping the Glock on my ankle. If the guards notice it, I’ll say I forgot I had it on.”

“I have my sword cane,” said Charlie. “As far as they know, I just fell off the bridge. They’re not going to take away my walking stick.”

“If it makes you feel better,” said Rivera.

The wind covered the sound of the car trunk closing, but also whipped their trouser cuffs around their legs. Strangely enough, Rivera’s hair stayed perfect.

“It’s freezing out here,” Charlie said.

“We should wait in the car,” Rivera said.

They climbed back in the Ford. Charlie texted Audrey that they would wait for them in the parking lot. He hoped that she wasn’t texting while driving, because that would be dangerous. No, she was smart, she’d hand her phone to the newly resurrected Egyptian demigod of death rather than do anything careless.

The light shining down from the bridge plus a three-quarter moon gave them light to see the entire southern side of the fort. No one was visible. Not even at the main gate.

“Where are the guards?” Rivera asked. “The park rangers?”

“You know I never actually worked on the bridge, right? Mike Sullivan did. I didn’t even know there were guards here until you told me.”

“When Fresh gets here, you and Audrey need to stay here.”

“No.”

“Charlie, where are the guards? You don’t know that they haven’t been shredded by the Morrigan and are lying in pieces inside.”

“No,” said Charlie.

“Fresh and I will get Sophie.”

“My daughter is in there, Inspector. Plus, do you think I’ve done battle with sewer harpies, been poisoned and died, been resurrected and lived as a meat puppet, then had someone throw himself off the Golden Gate Bridge to give me his body so I could sit in the fucking car?”

Rivera considered it, ticked off Charlie’s points in his head, considered his lack of concern for his own safety, then said, “Okay.”

“Okay,” said Charlie.

They sat in silence until Rivera spotted headlights in his mirror and watched them go out even as the car continued on. “Good girl, Audrey,” he said.

When Minty Fresh climbed out of the Honda, Charlie ran to him and threw his arms around the big man’s waist. Minty held his arms out to his sides and looked from Audrey to Rivera with the humiliated but resolved look of a dog enduring a bath until Charlie finally let go and stepped back.

“Sorry,” Charlie said.

“It’s okay,” said the Mint One.

Audrey bailed Charlie out by performing the same, yet somewhat more appropriate run and hug move on him.

“So, how was dying?” Rivera asked Minty. Rivera raised an eyebrow at the Mint One’s outfit.

“Not as relaxing as you’d think,” said Minty.

“Charlie says you have some Yama-stopping mojo.”

“Yeah, about that; Anubis was less than clear what particular talent I would have, other than I would be his avatar in this world. Right now I’m thinking pants would have been a good start.”

“Audrey?” Rivera said, looking to the nun. “Any hints?”

“I’m Buddhist. We believe all gods are illusions and constructions of ego. As far as I know, even you guys might be illusions.”

“That’s helpful,” Rivera said.

“ Namaste, ” Audrey replied. “If that’s even your real name.”

“What?”

“Sorry, Buddhist humor. Carry on.”

Rivera glanced over his shoulder at the fort. “Okay, here’s what we know. We can’t see any guards or park rangers, but if they’re there, and they should be, they’ll be armed with M4 automatic rifles. There was nothing on the radio about gunfire here, so we have to assume that if Yama is in there, as the ghost says, then they either haven’t seen him, or they haven’t seen him as a threat, which means he doesn’t have the Morrigan with him, because I can’t really see them as coming off as nonthreatening.”

“Or all the guards are dead,” said Audrey.

“Yes, there’s that cheerful possibility,” said Rivera. “So, what do you think? Shotguns and stab-resistant vests?”

“Nah, this ain’t gonna be no battle, Inspector.” Minty Fresh held up a finger as if testing the wind. “Anyone else hear that?”

There was a whirring sound, above the crash of the surf, the wind, and the traffic on the bridge, like the spooling up of an enormous jet engine. The others nodded, looked around.

“The fuck is that?” said Minty Fresh.

Audrey pointed up at the bridge, beyond the indirect floodlights that illuminated it and the red aircraft warning lights at the top of the towers, the bridge was beginning to glow, as if streaks of light were playing across its surfaces, someone painting it with moving lasers.

“Y’all seeing that?”

Charlie’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Lily: MIKE SAYS THE GHOSTS OF THE BRIDGE ARE COMING UP. GO NOW. He read the message to the others.