Avenue without pausing, and I don’t want to show fear or hesitation, so I do the same. A tractor-trailer plows right through me, all climaxing shushes of rainwater and grinding engines; I cringe even though I know better, open my spirit heart to accept whatever traumatic death awaits, but of course nothing happens. The truck is not one of those objects that can reach out of the physical world and into the spirit one, and as long as I’m not putting out that special effort to manifest myself onto some real-life object, it’s like we never touched.
I saunter-float along behind Sarco, marveling at the many mysteries this phantom sorcerer holds. My life, my death: I do want to know. I can’t pretend I don’t. I want to know everything. About my life, my death, the Council, what would drive a man to throw so many lives to the wind. I won’t like him, or the answers I’ll get, probably, but I have to know. I’m done with not knowing. Then I’ll realize it’s all bullshit and walk away content. And then I’ll fuck his operation up. But first I have to know.
I shudder as we pass Mama Esther’s. The block is sleeping, oblivious to the terrible ticking clock that has been born in their midst. Oblivious to the fury of the ngks. I wonder, briefly, where those young lovers from back when have gone to. I wonder if Mama Esther’s up there stewing in her confusion, or perhaps plotting some elaborate scheme to set things right. I’ve seen more of the real Mama Esther in this past week than I had in the whole time living at her place. And then it hits me: this area’s probably crawling with soulcatchers.
I make a hissing noise at Sarco to let him know, but he’s already ground to a halt and is waving at me to do the same. We hover just above the pavement for a minute, panting and taking in rain. Nothing moves on the block besides the windblown oaks. The streetlights show ugly orange splotches of the never-ending drizzle. And there’s the soulcatcher: a tall fellow, all cloaked and helmeted, hunched forward and strutting toward us.
“Back!” Sarco hisses into my mind. I hurl my body behind a building and wait. The soulcatcher bristles with the knowledge that someone is lurking. I can feel his sudden focus from around the corner. And then it dawns on me that I’m hiding from one of my own soldiers. I know why and how I got here, but still, the thought is jarring. If he stumbles on us, there’ll be a horrible moment of recognition and then . . . Sarco will probably kill him.
We wait for a few minutes, breathing heavy breaths into the night, and then the soulcatcher wanders off. “Come. Quickly.” We dash across the street, long spirit legs carrying us through the rain, and then move fast down Franklin Ave. and hook a right on Eastern Parkway. And then I realize where we’re going.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
You’re taking me to the entrada.”
“The entrada is only a means to an end, Carlos.”
“You’re taking me to Hell.”
Sarco smiles for the first time since we left my place, a gaping empty grin across his static-laced visage. It’s better when he’s just serious-looking, actually. “There’re things you must see there.”
“Why? What’s this about?”
“It’s about me having a chance to explain myself. I told you, I need your help. And I know your mind is already poisoned against me. Fine. Just see things as I do for a moment and then do what you will.”
The park is all darkness tonight. Those lamps and their dim haze are a joke. We enter, and immediately I feel that pulsing of supernatural park life. It’s even stronger now that I’m fully spirit, as if I’ve somehow tapped into a vast, swarming network of otherworldly creatures and undead souls. Every move I make sends a tremble along the weblines, and the park fluctuates and exhales on the whims of all its haunted guests.
And then we’re standing in front of that hovering emptiness in the shadows of the trees. I realize that Sarco’s staticky void is probably made up of something quite similar to the entrada; he becomes almost invisible standing in front of it. And then he’s gone. And I know he wants me to follow. I’m full of dread—an unnatural feeling for me until pretty recently. Everything in me wants to turn around and float back through Brooklyn to where