Free Unclean Spirits by M. L. N. Hanover Page B

had been calling more police to his cause. Plus which, he was a supernatural beastie capable of God only knew what.
    We had Aubrey, me, Candace Dorn, and a very intelligent dog. I didn’t like our chances.
    “Okay,” Aubrey said nervously. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll just…we have to just…”
    The man reached the door and pounded on it. The house itself seemed to tremble.
    “Candace!” the man shouted. “Open the door!”
    It was the voice—the anger and power and implicit violence in it—that snapped me into action. I took Candace by the arm, shaking her until her eyes shifted to mine. Her face was pale.
    “You need to get out of here,” I said. “You and Charlie head out the back. Go to a neighbor’s or a friend’s. Anyplace it’ll take him a while to find you.”
    “That isn’t Aaron,” she said. “It’s his body, but that isn’t Aaron.”
    “I know,” I said. “Leave this part to us. Just get out. Do it now.”
    The dog nuzzled her hand, whining slightly, then jerked its muzzle toward the kitchen. Let’s go. Candace drew a long, shaking breath while the thing in her fiancé’s body hammered the door again. She nodded, pulled me into anembrace as sudden as it was brief, and then she and Charlie the dog were gone.
    “How long until Ex gets here?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.
    “Half an hour if there’s no traffic and he’s speeding,” Aubrey said. “An hour if there is and he isn’t. Did you have a plan besides getting those two out of harm’s way?”
    “Nope,” I said.
    “Then we’ll probably want to keep his attention on us until they’re clear,” he said, as if this was all perfectly sane and acceptable. I saw then how someone could love Aubrey. “Hold on a minute!” he yelled. “We’re coming!”
    The thing at the door paused, surprised (I guessed) by a man’s voice and the unhurried, casual tone Aubrey had taken. Aubrey pulled a cloth bag from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.
    “Ashes and salt,” he said. “It may help block or absorb anything it tries to do.”
    “You mean besides shoot us,” I said. The bag was heavier than I expected.
    “Besides that,” Aubrey agreed.
    “Open this fucking door and do it now!” the cop shouted.
    “Who is it?” Aubrey asked, his voice loud enough to carry through the door. “Can I see some identification, please?”
    The shots weren’t like the ones you hear on TV or in the movies. Two dry cracks, quieter than the pounding of thething’s fists, and the wood around the doorknob bloomed into splinters. The ridden policeman kicked the door open so hard it almost came off its hinges. Aubrey leaped back, diving for cover. I stepped around the corner, the cloth bag gripped tight in my hand.
    “Where is she?” the thing in the cop’s body demanded. The voice had lost any vestige of humanity now; the words were flies and saw blades. “Give her over, and I might let you live.”
    “She’s upstairs,” Aubrey lied. “Just leave me out of it.”
    It surged into the room. I hadn’t been prepared for the change. Its skin was darker than a bad bruise and tinted blue as a storm cloud; the head that canted forward from the shoulders was long-jawed and carnivorous, the eyes the yellow of cat piss. Its chest worked like a bellows, ripping the police uniform and popping the Velcro fastenings of the bulletproof vest. I wasn’t afraid of being shot anymore. I was just afraid.
    Aubrey was on his knees, struggling to stand. The creature raised a hand, points of metal or chitin glittering on its fingertips. With a sense of being in a dream, I watched myself swing forward, grab those powerful fingers, and twist from my waist. Something in its wrist popped, and it let out a yell that seemed like it would break glass.
    The impact when it slammed me against the wall drove my breath out. Its eyes were fixed on me. I saw Aubrey diving toward it, saw its leg lash out, saw Aubrey fall again. Itsgood hand was