Unleashed

THREE

I DIDN’T TELL CAMPBELL WHAT I HAD SEEN-mostly I tell her everything, but this was something I needed to think about for a while. She didn’t stay the night, even though it was late and a long drive back to her cabin up at Soda Springs. I dropped her off at Victor’s, where she could check on him and pick up her car.

I had no idea what it was I’d seen, but one thing was for sure-it couldn’t have been Sherwood. She and I had been together for almost a year, and although it had ended, it hadn’t ended badly. We remained friends, and once we stopped trying to be a couple, we became good friends. But then she’d been murdered, killed right before my eyes by another practitioner, and there was nothing I could have done to stop it.

That practitioner was now dead himself. I had killed him, but that hadn’t helped Sherwood any. And although I’ve come across my share of odd things and supernatural creatures in my time, I’ve never seen a ghost and I never expect to. A lot of my beliefs have been tested in the last couple of years, but one thing I still do know: human, animal, or other, dead is dead and spirits of the departed do not return and walk this earth again.

But not surprisingly, that apparition by the energy pool had got to me. I didn’t get much sleep that night, and the only thing that kept me from a complete meltdown was the knowledge that Eli would be back from his conference in the morning.

I’d been to a few of his lectures over the years. So I’ve seen him in his element and he’s impressive. As an African American, he automatically stands out among the pale scholarly types that typically frequent history conferences. Plus, he’s six feet four and two hundred fifty pounds or so, as befits a former football lineman. When he steps up to the lectern he dwarfs it. When he hunches over the microphone to speak, you half expect the lectern to collapse under the strain. Couple that with a professorial beard, wire-rimmed glasses, and a deep, mellifluous speaking voice, and he dominates any room without trying.

Eli’s been my best friend and mentor for years, and not much throws him. He’d know what was going on here, or at least have an idea; that much I was sure of. At least I hoped he would.

I woke up early and had my usual breakfast of multiple cups of coffee, adding a toaster waffle to soothe my nerves. Lou, as usual, turned up his nose at breakfast kibble, so I relented and made him a toaster waffle of his own. I know that’s not good for a dog, but he isn’t really a dog, is he, now? Besides, if I held firm, he’d just duck out the dog door and disappear until he found a breakfast more to his liking. God knows what he’d find-for such a picky eater he’s not picky at all once he’s out on the street.

Eli was just on his way to Victor’s house when I called him. By time I got there he was already upstairs, taking a close look at Victor’s leg. Timothy was trying to get a look as well, hovering and trying not to get in the way. He was worried, but Eli didn’t seem to be.

It had been several days since I’d last seen Eli, and he looked different. When you see someone almost every single day, you don’t notice changes. They happen in such small increments that they’re invisible to the everyday eye. But even a week’s absence will give you a fresh perspective. He must have lost close to twenty pounds in the last few months, and although no one would ever call him svelte, he was looking good. He probably hadn’t been this fit since his college football playing days, although I hadn’t known him then.

He’d trimmed his usually scraggly beard as well, and had replaced his old wire-rimmed glasses with a more modern set of frames. He’d told me that he’d finally reached the stage of life where he realized he had to take care of himself. I took him at his word. I’m sure it was mere coincidence that for the first time in years he now had a woman in his life. Eleanor was her name, and although she wasn’t a practitioner, she was a powerful woman. She’d have to be to get Eli to change his ways.

Eli finally straightened up from where Victor lay on the couch with a grunt of approval. Victor’s leg already looked normal, except for some swelling and redness.

“I can’t leave you two alone for even a few days,” Eli complained. His relief at finding Victor in such good condition allowed his grumpiness to come out.

“That creature was faster than I expected,” said Victor. “Next time I’ll be ready.”

“That creature isn’t the only thing we have to worry about,” I said. Victor gave a theatrical sigh.

“What now?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s connected and I don’t like the sound of it, not at all.”

They were both familiar with Rolf, though neither had ever met him. I told them his story, the swirling circle of color and energy I’d seen, the fact that something else had come out of that circle, and the disappearance of the being he called Richard Cory.

“Interesting,” said Eli, understating things as usual. Victor nodded his agreement.

“Yes, but that’s the least interesting part,” I said. “I saw something there, and when I went back for a better look, I saw something that couldn’t be. And it was no trick of the mind, either. Lou saw it, too.”

“And?” Victor prompted, after I’d waited long enough for the maximum dramatic effect.

“It was Sherwood. I saw her as clearly as I see you now.”

I’m not sure what reaction I was expecting from the two of them. Victor would try his best to remain impassive and politely interested, as always, but Eli surely would be astounded. But the reaction I got was totally unexpected. The two of them instantly looked over at each other, then immediately looked away as if they shared a guilty secret they didn’t want me to know.

“What?” I said. They looked at each other again.

“Are you sure about what you saw?” asked Eli, pretending nothing was going on. I wasn’t buying it.

“What was that look?” I said.

He paused for a moment, thinking if there was a way to finesse it, then decided there wasn’t.

“Victor and I have been doing some research,” he said. He paused, started to say something, stopped, and finally came out with it. “We’re not sure that Sherwood’s actually dead.”

I could say I was stunned, but that wouldn’t be quite right. It was more like being totally blank. I heard the words, I understood what they meant, but at the same time they made no sense at all, as if Eli were talking gibberish.

“What?” I said, unable to muster anything else.

“We’re not sure that Sherwood is dead,” he repeated.

This time it sunk in, but it was the most preposterous thing I’d ever heard.

“What do you mean? You were there. You saw it. Christoph incinerated her before our eyes.”

Eli took off his glasses and cleaned them with the corner of his shirt. At any other time seeing Eli at a loss for words would have been a rare treat, but not now. Victor hauled himself off the couch and stood awkwardly, favoring his bad leg.

“Not exactly,” he said. “Christoph had those gems, remember, and that gave him an unholy amount of power. He threw a blast of energy at her, and it looked like she just melted away. But there wasn’t any body. There wasn’t even the slightest trace of any remains. Just a scorched spot on the grass from the energy burst.”

I thought back to the charred circle on the grass, and her hand reaching out to me in a last desperate attempt.

“What else could have happened?” I asked. “She was there, she caught fire, and she was vaporized. With that much energy, there wouldn’t be much left.”

“Ahh,” said Eli, recovering his voice, “but that’s just it. There should have been something. But there wasn’t. Nothing at all. Not a trace. I looked. So it’s possible her body wasn’t destroyed. She could have been transported to somewhere else, instead.”

“You mean like another dimension?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so, not precisely. But something like that, perhaps. I came across a couple of very similar accounts in some of my more arcane manuscripts, and it could be. In some accounts, the people involved eventually returned, but unfortunately the accounts are silent on where those people went or how they got back. So yes, it could be. But the problem is, I currently have no idea of how to find her or where she might be or how to get her back-if that’s indeed what happened.”

“And just when were you planning to tell me this?” I was seriously pissed, not just at Eli for keeping something so important from me, but for also sharing it with Victor and not me. It felt like a betrayal. Eli was supposed to be my best friend, as well as a mentor.

“Maybe I should have said something, but there didn’t seem much point in mentioning it. It was just a theory, after all, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it even if it were true. I didn’t see any reason to upset you. But now that you actually saw her, or some version of her, I think it’s a different story.”

I walked over to the front window that overlooks Ocean Beach and the Pacific and stared out at the passing gulls. I saw his point, sort of-Sherwood and I had been very close at one time, more than close for almost a year. But still, it was disturbing. I’m no kid anymore, and there was no excuse for treating me like a child who needs to be protected against false hope. Eli walked over and stood silently beside me. He didn’t say anything, which was his way of apologizing. I decided to let it drop. For now.

“I don’t understand,” I finally said. “If this is true, why did she appear now, after all this time-if it really was her.”

“That energy sink,” said Eli. “It’s already brought something uncanny out of God knows where, and it might have attracted her in some way. That, and the fact you were present there-she’s probably more connected to you than anyone else, so your presence could have been the trigger. Your psyche might have been strengthened and enhanced just by your being so close to the pool-on the magical plane, that is. And it must have called to her, and the energy provided a bridge to wherever she is-not enough for her to cross over, but enough so that she could at least make a tenuous contact with our world again.”

“Should I go back there again?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. It sounds like the energy there is too powerful-whatever comes out of that place is twisted and distorted. Think of the fake Ifrit. If she really is somewhere, still alive in some sense, we might well be able to drag her back. But then, we might not like what returned.”

That sent a chill right through me.

“So what now? Forget it ever happened?”

“No, we can hardly do that. In fact, were going to have to close down that portal eventually-it seems to be a vehicle for some uncanny things to enter our world. I’m surprised there haven’t been more.”

“Maybe there have been,” said Timothy. “Maybe you guys just haven’t run across them all yet.” Another cheerful thought.

“But what about Sherwood?” I asked.

“She managed to establish some sort of contact with you, employing the channel opened by the energy pool. Now that the contact has been made, you should be able to reestablish it away from the pool.”

“Well, that sounds simple enough. How, exactly, if I might ask?”

“One thing I can think of would be to use your emotional connection. Go to somewhere that had a special significance for both of you, for example. Try to re-create how you felt, then try to remember her being there with you.”

I thought about it for a minute, but couldn’t come up with anything. I’m not much for special places, and neither had Sherwood been. Our relationship had developed gradually, in part simply from spending so much time together working for Victor, so there wasn’t even a first-date type of thing to use. There was another first, of course, but I don’t think my bedroom would qualify as a special magic place.

“I can’t think of anywhere,” I said.

“You’re such a romantic,” said Victor.

“Well,” Eli said after a moment, “there has to be somewhere, doesn’t there? You’ve known her forever, and you practically lived together that one year. At least there must have been a place in this world she had a special connection to, even if it didn’t directly involve you.”

“Or if you have no special place, then somewhere like a graveyard would be best, of course,” Victor said. “The veil between worlds. That sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” I said, not sure if it was sarcasm on his part. “Preferably at midnight, on a dank and foggy night with a chill wind swirling through the headstones.” Then I stopped, memory flooding back. “The Columbarium.”

“What’s the Columbarium?” Timothy asked.

Eli looked at him in surprise. “How long have you lived here, anyway?”

He shrugged. “There are a lot of things I haven’t heard of. I’m a computer guy, remember? I have no other life.” Eli shook his head in resignation.

“A columbarium is a building or vault that is used as a storage place for the ashes of the dead. So it’s a cemetery of sorts, and the Columbarium in San Francisco is one famous example. It’s over in the Richmond, close to Golden Gate Park.”

“I went there once with Sherwood,” I said. “Her parents are both there. They were killed in an auto accident, remember? Their cremains are in one of the little niches.”

“Perfect,” said Eli.

“But what do I do once I’m there? Will Sherwood will be popping up out of a corner to embrace me warmly?”

Eli gazed at me with a fond tolerance. He knew me, and knew that when I get flip and dismissive it’s because I’m either upset or worried.

“Who knows?” he said. “But if there’s anywhere you might reestablish the connection, I think there’s a very good chance it would be there. It’s got all the requirements. Another thing that will help is if you could bring a keep-sake with you-something that will help connect her to both you and the here and now. You must have something she gave you, some object, something special.”

I didn’t have to think about very hard about that one. I had just the thing.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll give it a try.”

ON THE WAY HOME I STOPPED BY MY FAVORITE taqueria to pick up a burrito. At Twentieth and Mission there’s never any parking, but for once there was an open meter right in front, so I sprang for a couple of quarters.

I ordered a carne asada burrito to go. The burritos there are enormous, more than enough for me even sharing with Lou. He would have preferred an entire one to himself, but a few lunches like that and he’d be waddling instead of prancing down the street.

A few customers ahead of me picked up their orders and left. El Farolito was always busy at night, but afternoons could be slow. The only people left in the place were a trio sitting at one of the small Formica-topped tables along the side wall.

I watched them idly as I waited for my burrito, as one sometimes does in restaurants. An older couple, in their late fifties I would guess, and a young woman, probably their daughter. The couple had that indefinable air of out-of-towners, something that included the clothes they wore, the way they sat, and the curious glances they cast at everything around them. Natives, by the time they’ve reached that age, are blasé even about things they shouldn’t be.

On the other hand, the daughter clearly was a city resident. Again, it’s something hard to quantify, but you can always tell if someone belongs. She had short black hair, and when she turned her back I could see the top of a colored tattoo peeking out just below the neck of her red top.

So they were parents visiting their daughter, and she was showing them around the city. I gave her points for taking them to a Mission taqueria instead of Fisherman’s Wharf, and bonus points for choosing El Farolito over classier and less tasty establishments.

Her parents were scarfing down their burritos with the gusto of intrepid explorers bravely indulging in some exotic cuisine. The daughter looked up and caught me staring at her, which was embarrassing because she was quite attractive, and the natural assumption would be that I was scoping out her obvious charms. Which was true, but not really.

I gave her my well-practiced open and nonthreatening smile, the one that says friendly interest but nothing more, and certainly nothing creepy. She stared back at me with a totally flat affect, giving me nothing. It was beginning to make me nervous when she made a decision and smiled back, jerking her head over at her parents and doing just the hint of an eye roll. It wasn’t mean; in fact, it was done with fond affection, like a mother with unruly kids at the ice cream parlor. A real smile replaced my practiced one; I couldn’t help it. And she saw that, too, and her own smile widened.

So far, I had established a deeper relationship with this woman than I’d had with any woman in the past year, with one notable and sad exception. Too bad I was unlikely to ever see her again.

Then her mother, who had been tearing into her burrito, stopped. She sat quietly for a moment before rising slowly to her feet and standing there, immobile and silent. He husband stopped talking to her and a look of concern appeared on his face. He jumped up and took her arm.

“Lily? Are you all right?” She didn’t answer, just stood there hunched over slightly.

Shit, I thought. That woman is choking.

The husband realized it about the same time I did and started pounding her on the back, which never does any good. I took a quick peek at the door to see if perhaps a paramedic team might have decided to stop by for a bite, but no such luck.

I didn’t have a handy spell available to dislodge a fat burrito from a narrow throat, but I had once taken a class in the Heimlich maneuver at Victor’s insistence. That was ages ago, though, and I’d never had to use it. It looked like that long drought was about to come to an end.

I moved toward their table, not running, but close to it. The husband saw me coming, and God knows what he thought. He might have been leery of being in the Mission anyway, and now his wife was choking and a stranger was rushing toward them with unknown intentions.

I’m six feet tall, I hadn’t shaved, I was wearing old disreputable clothes, and my dark hair was shaggy and unkempt. I must have looked threatening to him, like what he imagined a Mission gang member to look like, although the typical gang member is more often a baby-faced sixteen-year-old with a semiautomatic. But he didn’t hesitate. He jumped in front of me, interposing his body between me and his wife, and stood ready to defend her. His daughter grabbed him and pulled him aside.

“It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay,” she said. I hoped she was right.

I slipped behind the mother and put my arms around her. She didn’t resist; she at least knew what I was up to. I took a moment to review what I’d learned. Find the xiphoid process. Check. Go two fingers below that. Check. Be careful not to be too rough; older bones are fragile and you can break ribs. Check. Make a fist, cover with your other hand, and give a sharp upward thrust. Nothing to it.

Except when I did, nothing happened. No rush of air, no wheezing gasp, no flying food. Nothing. I pushed down the beginnings of panic and thrust again, harder this time. Still nothing. I forgot about being careful and gave three more thrusts, each harder than the last, ribs be damned. On the third squeeze, a large chunk of burrito flew out her mouth and halfway across the restaurant aisle. She took a huge whooping gasp of air as I released her, and then it was over.

I backed off as the other two sat her down, making sure she was all right. She waved them off.

“I’m fine,” she said, when she caught her breath. “Really.” She looked up at me. “Thank you, young man. I thought for a moment I’d never see Cincinnati again.”

“Glad I could help,” I said.

The daughter came up to me and held out her hand. Up close, she was even more attractive, though she looked shaken at the moment.

“I’m Morgan,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Mason,” I said, taking her hand. “Well, at least we’ll have quite a story to tell our children.”

Now that the crisis was past, I immediately reverted back to my default flip demeanor. Not an admirable quality, but I’m working on it. She looked at me with that same flat affect and I thought I’d gone too far, but then she smiled again.

“How do you know I’m not married?” she said. “Or gay? Or both?”

“We could still have kids.” She moved back a step and looked me over.

“Possibly,” she said, after a significant pause. “But I’d have to see how you clean up. Do you have a job?”

“I’m a musician,” I said.

“Oh.”

“No,” I protested, “a real one. I get paid. Most of the time.” She continued to look at me skeptically. “In fact, I’m playing tonight at the Glow Worm.”

I wasn’t sure if she would have heard of the club, since it’s mostly for jazz aficionados, but she raised her eyebrows in appreciation.

“Oh, you play jazz,” she said.

The way she said it didn’t give a clue if she thought that was a plus or a minus, but at least she’d heard of the place and knew it featured jazz, which was something.

“I’m a guitar player-it’s a trio gig. You should come by. Seven thirty for the first set.”

“Maybe I will,” she said.

Meanwhile, her father was looking at her with exasperation and disbelief. After all, her mother had almost choked to death, and here she was, flirting with a stranger, one bare minute later. He started to say something, but his wife put her hand on his arm and shook her head.

I retrieved my burrito and gave them all a wave as I left. I don’t usually hit on nonpractitioners, no matter how attractive; it always turns out to be more trouble than it’s worth unless you’re talking a one-night stand, and that’s something I haven’t done in a couple of years.

But there had been an instant connection, even before the choking incident. If not for that, I would have just quietly departed, but this was a special circumstance. Surely I deserved some reward for saving a life.

Lou had his nose pressed impatiently against the window of the van. I’d been in there longer than I expected and the meter had run out. I was lucky there wasn’t a ticket waiting for me. He looked at me expectantly when I climbed behind the wheel, but I made him wait until we got home. My van may be old and battered, but I still didn’t want scraps of burrito strewn all over the seats.

“I just saved someone’s life,” I told him. “What have you done today?”

He stared fixedly at the paper sack with the burrito and ignored me.

At home, I ate my burrito slowly, pondering what Eli had said. Lou finished his portion in ten seconds and then expected more, but he gave up when it became clear I wasn’t holding anything back.

By the time I finished my lunch it was close on three. Still plenty of time to get out to the Columbarium. I dawdled around for a while, reluctant to go. I wanted to know what that apparition of Sherwood signified, and yes, I had to know if there was a chance she was still alive; but still, the whole idea was creepy and unsettling. But I had to try. That wasn’t even a question.

That thing she’d given to me, that special token with meaning, rested in the drawer of the nightstand next to my bed. Next to it was another token, a talisman Campbell had given me-a figure of ancient ivory and wood, a two-legged figure with the head of a wolf. The wolf was my totem, and twice now, that totem had called up help from God knows where and saved my hide.

But it had gone dead. Before, it had been alive, powerful, and a bit disturbing. Now it was inert, no more magically alive than any other antique curio in a dusty shop. I didn’t know if it would ever operate again-it had been my security blanket, always there in the most dire of straits. Maybe I’d used it once too often.

I shoved the wolf figure back into a corner of the drawer and picked up Sherwood’s gift, tossing it from hand to hand, contemplating. It was the only thing I had to remember her by-a figure of a guitar player made from one continuous strand of thick wire that she’d bought at a street fair one day, simple but clever. It reminded me of how it had been back then, when we were newly in love and took delight in the silliest of things.

I put it in my pocket, checked the Columbarium address on the Web to make sure I remembered it right, and five minutes later was on my way to the Richmond District.

The Columbarium sits at the end of a dead-end street, a large, neoclassical domed building, surprisingly light and airy. I parked a few blocks away and walked over, Lou by my side. It might have been more appropriate for my purposes if it had been dank and foggy, but the afternoon was bright and sunny, with a light breeze ruffling my hair.

Off to one side of the main building was a small court-yard with a fountain. Next to it, an immaculately groomed lawn, but behind the lawn was an untended field, overgrown with weeds. In back of the field were bushes of forsythia, bursting with color, but they, too, hadn’t been tended to in quite some time. Maybe the contrast between the manicured lawn and the neglected field was some sort of philosophical statement about life and death, or maybe they were just short on money.

I circled the outside until I reached the entrance. There wasn’t a person in sight, so I gestured to Lou and we walked in. I’m almost positive dogs are not welcome in a shrine to the dead, but with no one around who was to complain? Certainly not the departed. And he’d come in handy if another apparition appeared.

Inside, it was deserted as well. Daylight streamed through the mandala of the glass dome at the top, throwing flickers of sunlight over the tessellated floor where tiled spokes radiated out from the middle, with marble columns surrounding the center. Boxes of Kleenex had been discreetly placed in small recesses next to each column. Large stained-glass windows glowed brightly, mostly depicting fierce winged angels.

Along every wall, recesses filled with urns or chests faced inward, like nothing so much as a room of safe-deposit boxes in a bank. I strolled by, reading the names: Saunders, Markey, Von Ronn, Hisieh, Silver, Yu. Several levels were visible, circular tiers like a wedding cake.

Sherwood’s parents were in a niche somewhere up above, but I couldn’t remember exactly where. From on high, hidden speakers poured out an old Jeff Buckley song, echoing eerily throughout the space. Someone had set the player on repeat so the song played over and over, but it wasn’t annoying. After a while it was like Buddhist chanting, an integral part of the space, eternal and unchanging.

I had thought this time the place might feel odd, a bit creepy even, considering why I was there, but no. With the sun shining in and the music playing, it was light and pleasant. Peaceful, but not the quiet and weighty peacefulness of the graveyard-more like the quiet of a screened porch on a fine and lazy summer’s day in the country, where the owners of the house had unexpectedly stepped out for a moment.

It was all quite lovely, but it wasn’t getting me any closer to my goal. I found the stairs that led to the next level. More niches, some with personal items that clearly had meant something-a harmonica, a pair of reading glasses, ballet shoes, an antique dentist drill. It was surprisingly affecting-not sad, just touching.

Photographs were everywhere. Many showed young men, arms linked around friends, smiling at the camera. Others watched as dogs frolicked happily on the grass. Faces were licked; wagging tails were stopped midmo tion, frozen in time forever. The men had all died young, disproportionally so for a place of the dead. I wondered about it until I noticed the ending dates, almost all in the early eighties. That was when the AIDS epidemic had raged through San Francisco, cutting short thousands of young lives. I gazed at these shrines, filled with memen toes. And thought of all the wasted potential, all the pain, all the sorrow of those left behind. I found myself in the odd position of missing people I had never known.

Up I went, circling around until I reached the top level, where a side room caught my attention. A small window of stained glass was set in the ceiling, no more than two feet from the top of my head. Sunlight streamed in, casting a cheery glow over the room. Glass cases had replaced the usual niches, filled to overflowing with keepsakes. It was more reminiscent of an ancient curio shop than it was a final resting place.

Lou wandered around the room, respectfully subdued, sniffing at the glass cases. This wouldn’t be a bad room for a final resting place, I thought. Light. Airy. Downright… pleasant. Although if things continued on as they had the last couple of years, it seemed unlikely I was going to be blessed with a peaceful end.

I watched Lou carefully for any signs he’d noticed ghostly activity, but he was relaxed and content to wander aimlessly. I took out the wire figure of the guitar player I’d brought and tried to concentrate on Sherwood, remembering when she’d given it to me, how she’d looked, how I’d felt when we were still close in that special way. Nothing.

The room was so peaceful I was loath to leave, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I beckoned to Lou and returned to the ground floor. The music was still echoing through the air, and through sheer repetition it had finally lost its nostalgic charm and taken on a melancholy aspect. I stood in the center of the main floor for one last look, then headed toward the door to the outside.

I’d almost made it to the door when I noticed Lou wasn’t following. He had stayed at the center of the room and was staring at the back stained-glass window with an air of puzzlement. I walked back to see what he was looking at.

“What is it?” I asked.

Lou glanced over his shoulder briefly before turning his attention back to the window. The form of an angel, wings outstretched, filled almost the entirety of the stained glass. As random clouds outside passed over the sun, the angel alternately glowed and dimmed, pulsing with an internal life. The slight smile on the angel’s face changed subtly each time the light varied, first soft and compassionate, then gently mocking, then sad, then almost cruel. The figure grew brighter as I watched, and at the same time the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

Uh-oh. I’d wanted some indication of paranormal activity, but now that it was here it was making me nervous. I’d been hoping for a warm presence, or maybe a set of instructions appearing in bright glowing letters on a dusty wall. The angel in front of me was taking on a sinister aspect, awesome in the old sense of the word, not cool, but worthy of fear and dread.

The figure of the angel grew until it filled the room, so bright I could barely look at it. Its face began to seem familiar, idealized yet more personal than before. I could almost put a name to it, like a well-known but seldom-seen acquaintance. I closed my eyes for a second to get some relief from the blinding light, and when I opened them again I was staring into the eyes of Sherwood.

Her face grew brighter still, until all I could see was radiant light. I was adrift in a formless void, an impossibly bright fog without shape or form. The only sound was a faint susurration like wind or surf. I stood there for a while, at a loss. Then I heard the softest whisper of a tune, barely audible above the background noise. It was hard to locate-the sound came from all directions at once. I stood quietly, hoping it would increase in volume enough to provide a direction, but no luck. I could hardly start walking off into the featureless void; God only knew if I’d be able to find my way back. Where the hell was Lou, now that I really needed him?

A sharp nose poking into the back of my knee answered that question. I should have known. Another poke, more insistent. I bent down and grabbed hold of his collar, and the second I did, he started moving off in what I assumed was a direction. This wasn’t going to work, though. Since he’s only a foot tall, the only way I could keep hold of the collar and walk was to bend over almost double and shuffle along like a very old man.

“Lou!” I said, letting go of the collar. “Go ahead. Bark, so I can follow.”

I had expected my voice to sound muffled, like it would have been in thick fog, but it was surprisingly clear. Lou gave a short bark and moved off. A few seconds later I heard a strong bark up ahead, and as I moved in that direction another bark, farther on.

We did this bark-and-follow routine for a while, until the formless light began to ease, and I could see dim outlines of a landscape. At the same time, the song I’d been hearing grew louder until I could make out the words and tune.

It was an old Irish ballad Sherwood had dug up from somewhere, one of her favorite tunes. I’d even worked out a simple guitar arrangement for her so she could accompany herself when she sang. And it was her voice singing; I’d heard her sing it often enough so there was no doubt. The haunting tune echoed over the emerging landscape, or maybe it was echoing in my head.

Won’t you come from out that shadow,

Will you turn your back on grief?

You can lie down here beside me

If that brings some small relief.

I could hear it clearly enough now to follow the sound. As I walked, the landscape solidified, slipping into focus. I was on a high moor, with rocky crags and gorse and heather stretching out to a distant horizon in every direction. A chill wind was gusting, whipping around my ears and blowing through my hair, which had grown longer than usual of late. Wisps of fog drifted over the ground, blotting out some features and suddenly revealing others. I could smell the odor of plant and peat, smoky and clean at the same time.

Lou trotted along beside me, unflappable as ever. To him, this sort of experience wasn’t that different from a trip to the burrito store. But this wasn’t a real place. There were a lot of reasons it couldn’t be, but I didn’t need to be clever about it. There was one obvious clue, large enough even for me to get it. Everything was in black and white.

It wasn’t a problem with my vision. Lou still had his tan chest patch and tan paws and those tan marks over his eyes. But everything else was like a black-and-white movie, The Hound of the Baskervilles, maybe. Or even better, Wuthering Heights. The minute I thought of that I knew it made sense. Why, I had no idea, but it was no coincidence. Wuthering Heights had been Sherwood’s favorite movie, the one with Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon. A strange, romantic choice for someone otherwise so practical, but there it was.

She’d made me watch it once, bringing over a DVD, and surprisingly, I liked it. But when I made a comment about what an asshole Heathcliff basically was, she looked at me sadly and said, “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s about passion, you see.”

Lou gave another short bark and pointed his nose toward the top of a nearby crag. A figure stood there, motionless, back toward me, long hair blowing in the wind. It stared out over the moor as I climbed toward it, oblivious to my approach. The slope was steep enough to get me out of breath, whether it was real or not. As I got close, I heard the last refrain of the ballad:

May your heart be freed from sorrow.

May the heartbreak finally cease.

May you wake in joy tomorrow.

May you sleep tonight in peace.

By now I was close enough to recognize Sherwood, even with her back toward me. She stared out over the film-set moor, hair swirling in the breeze. She was Cathy, waiting for Heathcliff to return. The only anachronistic detail was the familiar purple highlights in her dark hair. She, like Lou, was not part of this black-and-white world.

“Sherwood,” I said quietly.

She broke off her song but didn’t answer. For a long moment she was silent, then slowly turned her head in my direction. Her face was calm, but her affect was flat, as if she weren’t fully engaged with the world. Her light gray eyes, usually gleaming with animation, were now cool and reflective. I had to look twice before I could convince myself it was really her.

“Mason?” she said.

I moved closer.

“It’s me.”

She stared right through me as if I weren’t there.

“Mason?” she asked again.

I reached out to touch her arm but stopped at the last moment as Lou gave a soft warning growl. There was something uncanny about her, a noli-me-tangere quality. I withdrew my hand, took a step back, and spoke again.

“Sherwood. Where are we?” Again, the long pause.

“Come get me,” she said, ignoring my question.

“How?”

“You can’t.” She turned her head away from me and I could barely make out her words. “When I go. He must call me. When I go. You can’t.” This was making no sense at all.

“Who must call you?” I asked. “Eli? Victor?” She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, except for “when I go” once again.

I reached out for her again, ignoring Lou’s warning. I couldn’t just stand there trading cryptic remarks. But when I grabbed hold of her arm it was as if I’d seized an ungrounded power line. A bolt of energy shot through me. I was knocked to the ground, blinded, and it felt like every nerve was exploding out of my body. I lay there stunned for a second, until I heard the strains of familiar music echoing through the air. When I cautiously opened my eyes I was back in the Columbarium, lying on the floor. An elderly black man leaning on a cane was standing over me, face filled with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I got shakily to my feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I told him. “Just a dizzy spell. I get them sometimes.”

“You sure?”

“I’m okay,” I said.

“Well, good.” He nodded gravely. “I’m the caretaker here.” Lou was standing quietly next to me, and he gestured at him with the cane. “Sorry, but you can’t have that dog in here. It’s not allowed.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.” He looked at me like he knew I was lying and he knew I knew he knew.

“I was just leaving,” I assured him. “Come on, Lou.”

I walked out the door to the outside, a bit shakily. The world outside was bright with color, blues skies and green trees, a far cry from the black-and-white moor I’d been on only minutes before. I hadn’t a clue of what it had meant, but at least I’d have some time to mull it over, with Eli and Victor to help.

As we got up to the van, Lou stopped stock-still and began to growl. Not his warning growl; this was a snarl of pure hatred. Before I could even think, forty pounds of teeth and claws and strength streaked out from behind the van and launched itself at us.