Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,78

would explain how cogent the remnant was. Clear goals gave spirits strength and focus, the same as the living.

Oosterhouse, hands linked behind his back, strolled to the desk. Carson stepped forward like he could stop him, but it took him out of my reach, even psychically. Numskull. Not only could he not touch Oosterhouse, now he couldn’t see him.

The shade bent to look at the figurine. “Ah yes,” he said, with a note of pride and nostalgia. “I found this on an expedition on the west bank of the Nile, across from Thebes. Now they call it the Valley of the Kings. What exciting days those were. Hot, tedious, dangerous. Half killing ourselves to find a tomb, only to discover it already plundered in antiquity. I may not have found much gold, but ah, the riches of knowledge …”

He seemed prepared to go on about the riches of knowledge for some time. Interrupting him was difficult, because as a spirit, he didn’t have to stop for breath.

“Ask him about the Oosterhouse Jackal,” said Carson.

Oosterhouse stilled, then turned. “Ask me yourself, young man.” He sounded very professorial just then, as if Carson had interrupted a class lecture. “I can hear you. But I’m not sure what it is you speak of. Perhaps a better-constructed question is in order.”

I didn’t want to relay that, so I moved closer to Carson to loop him back in, letting him see and hear Oosterhouse again. “What about the Brotherhood of the Black Jackal?” I asked, watching him closely for flickers in his emotions. His start of recognition at the name was small but obvious. “What can you tell us about them?”

He paused, as if to collect his thoughts. “I have not heard that name in quite some time. I believe we are in the twenty-first century now?” He shook his head and chuckled. “A new millennium. It seems incredible, yet also incredibly short, when one considers that our excavations uncovered tombs buried beneath the sands of multiple millennia—”

“About the Brotherhood?” Carson prompted.

Oosterhouse flared with disapproval. He changed subjects, but without acknowledging Carson. “My areas of inquiry concerned the occult aspects of ancient burial rituals. I tutored a number of students who gave themselves that name as a novelty. I believe they disbanded when I, ahem, left my teaching position to return to the field.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Possibly someone has revived the name as a schoolboy prank.”

“It’s no prank,” Carson said. “They’re willing to kill and kidnap people to get your artifact. Clearly they want something more than novelty.”

Oosterhouse grew sober. “That is regrettable. But now I understand. I’ve slept for some time, unremembered. But recently something has called me awake. I thought it might be you, dear girl, and your gift.” He gave me an oddly fond smile, as if my ability to hear and see him tied us together somehow. “But if someone is searching for the Jackal, that would also explain my waking.”

“Can you help us?” I asked the professor. “I don’t even know what the Jackal is.”

“Ah. Well.” He clasped his hands behind his back again and rocked on his heels. “This is the pinnacle of my research into the alternative funerary practices of a splinter cult of the late Middle Kingdom near Thebes. The Jackal is a very powerful thing. It is capable of channeling unlimited energy—”

“Unlimited?” I asked. “I thought there was no such thing.”

It was my turn to get the professorial frown. Oosterhouse did not like to be interrupted when he was lecturing.

“I think I am in a better position to understand the minuscule difference between infinity and almost infinity, my dear girl.” Then he gave a wistful sigh. “I had such plans. What great things I could have accomplished with such power.”

He seemed to fade with the sigh, and I thought at first that emotion dimmed his image. But his shade was weakening, the details hazing together in the pale dawn light. He might be well defined, but he was nowhere close to unlimited.

“Dr. Oosterhouse.” I rushed to pull him back from his memories. “Do you know where the Jackal is? It’s vital we get to it before the Brotherhood does. A girl’s life is at stake.” When he seemed to dither, I appealed to his pride. “You wanted to use it to do good. You’re the only person who understands how dangerous this thing could be in the wrong hands.”

“You mistake my hesitation, my dear.” His fading shade gave me a Santa Claus smile.