Free Half-Resurrection Blues by Daniel José Older

you know, folks come by and use the library often enough. It’s not so bad.”
    A strange thought occurs to me, and then it seems even stranger that it’d never occurred to me before. “Folks come by . . . that don’t work for the Council?”
    “Of course, Carlos!” For no clear reason, Esther is chuckling. “All variations of dead come through my doors to do their research or to find a good mystery to keep them up at night. It’s not odd.”
    “Right.” My mind is moving fast now.
All variations of dead.
I wonder. I wonder . . .
    “Agent Delacruz.”
The staticky explosion of telepathy tears through my thoughts. The Council’s so damn annoying with their damn transmissions at all the wrong damn times. I cock my head at attention so Esther realizes why I’m not speaking. “
Agent
Washington
requests your presence urgently at Franklin Avenue and Bergen Street.”
Crap. So much for their no-locations policy. That’s right down the street, but still: crap. “
He says to inform you that there’s been a sighting of your
 . . .” The ghostly voice pauses and then says cautiously: “
Your naked friend.”
    “Crap.” I thank Mama Esther and start heading down the stairwell. She doesn’t have to ask to know what happened; it’s written all over my face.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    S orry ’bout the page,” Riley says. “I didn’t have time to fuck around with a messenger, and I didn’t know if you’d get the telepathy blast.” All that supernatural mind-talking stuff doesn’t work two ways for me. I can receive the messages, usually, but can’t send anything out. If I know Riley’s trying to reach me, I can get one-on- one messages, but it’s not a sure shot. And we avoid going through the Council to reach each other if we can help it, so when Riley wants to get at me, he usually sends one of the wandering lost souls that zip here and there through Brooklyn looking for something to do.
    “It’s cool,” I say. “I was around the corner at Esther’s. Whatchu got?”
    “Had soulcatcher patrols movin’ up and down the block for the past day or two. One of ’em just saw an unusual-looking character streak past, and by
streak
I do mean
streak
, and disappear into this building. He called for backup like a good little newbie, and here we are.”
    “Thing is?”
    “Thing is, then he went in after it and hasn’t been heard from since.”
    “I see.” Ghostly forms swirl around us in a controlled frenzy. The Council soulcatchers wear thick, shimmering helmets shaped more or less like horseshoe crabs without the pointy tail. Their bodies and faces are hidden beneath flowing robes. Overall, they cut an imposing image, but today their nervous energy fills the air till it’s almost hard to breathe. I wonder if the living folks around pick up on all this disturbance.
    Suddenly Dro’s beside us, panting. “What’d I miss?”
    Riley runs it down for him, and we walk to the building—an old brick four-story on Bergen between a clinic and an abandoned car lot. Behind us, the soulcatchers fall into position. I feel their swarthy ferocity carry me forward like a gust of wind. They’re ready to die the final death to help their brother. They’re furious and determined and afraid.
    I walk into the dingy hallway and draw my blade. At a signal from Riley, the soulcatchers flood around us in a torrent, burst up the stairwell and into the various apartments. They howl as they rush forward, a desperate and bone-chilling battle cry that never fails to unsettle me.
    I nod toward the basement, and Riley draws his own blade, a shimmering shadow in the dim hallway. We walk forward side by side, and I feel the long night of confusion blow off me in the fevered charge of the moment. Riley is the most ferocious motherfucker I know. Something sinister and freakish awaits us. Whatever it is threatens not just him and me, but this whole neighborhood, Mama Esther, and possibly the entire natural order of the afterlife.