The Twilight Prisoner (9 page)

Jack stopped flying and hovered in the air. “I saw him.”

“Saw who?” said Cora absently.

“Austin.”

“I knew that was him before!” Cora scanned the sidewalk below. “Where?”

“He flew off,” said Jack. “With another ghost. But he was right there.” He pointed to the sidewalk outside the comic-book store.

Euri circled back. “What's the holdup?”

“I saw Austin.”

At the mention of Austin's name, Euri gave him a cross look. “That's impossible.”

“No, Cora's right. He's really in the underworld. Why didn't he go back?”

Cora's eyes narrowed as she began to chew on an imaginary piece of gum. “Maybe he didn't want to,” she said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“His brother. He's never mentioned him before. Maybe it's because he's dead? Maybe Austin figured out where we were when he saw Euri, and ran off to find him?”

Cora's theory made more sense than Jack wanted to admit. He had done the same thing on his last visit— stayed to search for his mom.

“That's ridiculous,” said Euri. “You probably saw someone else. But you can't worry about him now, anyway. You need to worry about yourselves.”

“Euri's right,” said Jack. “We need to find Viele first. Then we can worry about Austin.”

“I just know that's what happened,” Cora said with a sigh.

As they flew toward Dr. Lyons's building, Jack tried not to think about Austin. Instead, he told Cora everything he knew about Dr. Lyons, though he omitted the story of his last visit and how Dr. Lyons had given him the recipe for the ghost-repellent pouch. “I hope he'll be able to help us,” said Cora when he was done.

“I'm sure he will,” said Jack as they shot up to the twenty-third floor, Euri racing ahead of them. “Is he there?” he called up to Euri as she landed on the ledge outside Dr. Lyons's window.

Euri stuck out her hand, palm-down, in a stop signal and then put her finger to her lips. Jack knew instantly something was wrong.

“What is . . . ?” Cora asked.

“Shhh,” said Jack.

Quietly, they joined Euri on the ledge and peered through the window into the run-down, candlelit office. Dr. Lyons was sitting at his desk, one hand on his Ouija board, just as Jack had hoped he would be. But sitting across from him was a squat, muscular guard.

“Who are you?” Dr. Lyons asked out loud as he spelled out the sentence with his indicator.

“Y-O-U-R L-O-N-G L-O-S-T F-A-T-H-E-R,”
the guard spelled back.

“But my father is still alive,” said Dr. Lyons.

“Damn,” said the guard.

Another guard with a face that reminded Jack of a bulldog's leafed through Dr. Lyons's books. “You're not supposed to be doing that,” he said. “If Inspector Kennedy ...”

“Why didn't we get to patrol one of the streams?” the squat guard interrupted. “Catch the Living Avenger trying to escape—end up in the paper.”

But just as the words were out of his mouth, a third, wiry guard blew through the door. “Someone's coming!”

All three guards vanished, one down through the floor and two up through the ceiling. A woman in a bell-shaped dress and carrying a parasol floated through the door next to a man with a bowler hat and mustache. Jack recognized the ghosts from his last visit to Dr. Lyons's office. He wished there was a way he could warn them about the guards, but every few moments, he noticed the top of a guard's head, peeking up through the floor or down through the ceiling, then darting back.

“Are you sure we should have come back?” the man asked in a tense whisper. “After what happened last time ...”

“I'm still not certain that was the Living Avenger,” the woman stated definitively. “That thing could have been a ghost who had just died, so it looked alive.”

Jack scowled, annoyed at being called a “thing.”

The man in the bowler hat gave his companion a skeptical look. “I know what I saw,” he said firmly.

“Anyway, Dr. Lyons has no living patients,” the woman continued. She floated over to Dr. Lyons and kissed him on one of his round cheeks. “Hello, Doctor.”

“My long-dead grandfather, maybe?” Dr. Lyons said, unaware of the greeting.

The woman, with a sweep of her skirts, floated opposite Dr. Lyons and put her hands on the Ouija board indicator as the man peered nervously around the office.
“Y-O-U-R F-R-I-E-N-D-S F-R-O-M T-H-E O-T-H-E-R S-I-D-E . . .”
the woman began to spell.

But before she could finish, the guards shot up out of the floor and down through the ceiling. The candles flickered. “Freeze!” they shouted.

“Clarabelle!” the man yelped.

But it was too late. The guards grabbed both ghosts as the Ouija board indicator toppled to the floor.

“Did I do that?” Dr. Lyons asked, picking up the indicator.

“You have been apprehended performing an illegal underworld activity,” the squat guard read to the two ghosts from a small book. “Anything you say can and will be held against you.”

“Surely this is a misdemeanor offense?” asked the now trembling ghost in the bowler hat.

A loud bark startled him as Cerberus bounded through the door followed by a hefty ghost with piercing blue eyes. The guards saluted him.

“At ease,” he said.

One of Cerberus's heads, catching sight of Jack and Cora through the window, began to bark and whine. “Heel!” the hefty ghost shouted.

“Time to go,” Euri whispered.

“I want to see what happens,” said Jack.

“And maybe they'll all leave soon,” whispered Cora. “And we can Ouija with Dr. Lyons.”

“Commissioner Kennedy,” said the squat guard to the ghost with piercing blue eyes. “We've apprehended two suspects. Caught 'em in the act.”

“Please, Commissioner,” begged the ghost in the bowler hat. “It was our first time. We didn't mean any harm!”

Kennedy looked unmoved. “That's for the courts to decide.”

Suddenly, one of Cerberus's heads let out a spine-tingling howl, and the beast began trying to charge over to the window.

Jack tensed, preparing to dive off the ledge with Cora.

“I told you we should go,” Euri whispered.

“Stop it,” Kennedy shouted at Cerberus. “We've caught them already!”

The man blanched. “The courts?”

“There's a Security Alert going on,” Kennedy explained sternly. “‘The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.' ”

The squat guard scrunched up his face. “Who said that, boss?”

Kennedy peered down at him with disdain. “Shakespeare.”

The woman in the bell-shaped dress began to weep. “Have mercy! I've had such a hard death!”

Dr. Lyons put the indicator back on the Ouija board and placed his fingers on it. “Anyone there?” he asked.

Kennedy sneered at him and then glowered at the sobbing ghost. “Tell it to the judge.” He turned to the guards. “Good work, boys. I'll call for reinforcements to take these two down to the courthouse. Continue your undercover work here.”

Jack watched as Kennedy saluted and pulled Cerberus out the door.

“They're not leaving,” said Cora, peering at the guards with obvious disappointment. “What are we going to do now?”

Dr. Lyons sighed and stood up. “Slow night,” he murmured to himself, putting on a raincoat.

Jack looked at the two ghosts. Tears were still streaming down the woman's face, and the guards had taken away her parasol. The man in the bowler hat floated quietly above Dr. Lyons's ratty couch, unable to look at her. Jack wished he could have warned them. “I hope they at least get a good lawyer,” he whispered to Euri.

“I wouldn'tworry,” said Euri. “There are lawyers who have worked at the courthouse for centuries.”

“Centuries?” said Jack with a sly grin.

“What is it?” said Cora.

“Eleanor Fletcher Bishop said Viele was always suing people. If there are lawyers who've worked there for centuries, someone must know him. Maybe they can help us track down where he is!”

Cora turned to Euri. “Can you take us to the courthouse?”

“Sure, but night court for the living doesn't close until one A. M., and night court for the dead only opens after that.”

“One A. M.!” said Cora. “Half the night will be over.” She turned to Jack. “I want to check on my mom.”

“No,” said Euri before Jack could answer.

“You haunt that guy in the tenement every night,” Cora snapped. “Why can't I haunt my mom?”

“Because you're not dead,” said Euri.

“Yet,” said Cora glumly.

“Euri's right,” Jack added softly. “It's probably better for us to—” But he didn't know what it would be better for them to do. Besides the courthouse, he was completely out of leads.

“—do something fun,” Euri finished.

Jack and Cora looked at her in surprise.

She shrugged. “It's not every night you get to do whatever you want in Manhattan.” She looked at Cora. “Especially you. I bet you can't do anything because of your mom.”

“That's not true,” Cora said halfheartedly.

“You do usually go home pretty early,” said Jack.

“Jack's plan is a good one,” said Euri. “But you can't just dwell on your mom while you wait for the court to open.” Before Cora could protest, Euri grabbed her free hand and pulled them both away from Dr. Lyons's window.

The first place Euri took them wasn't one Jack would have chosen himself: Saks Fifth Avenue, the enormous department store with fancy window displays of mannequins in designer clothes. The store was closed, but as they floated up the escalator, they passed perfectly coiffed ghosts gaping over the new offerings in the shoe department and whippet-thin spirits in sunglasses critiquing the fall line of couture clothing. “Can we try stuff on?” asked Cora.

“The dead can't change their clothes, so they just window shop,” Euri explained, casting a doleful glance at her uniform. “But you two can.”

“I'll just watch,” said Jack as they floated onto a floor filled with airy racks of ball gowns.

Euri ordered Cora into an empty dressing room while she flew around picking dresses for her to try on. A minute later, she returned with a canary yellow, diamond-encrusted gown and what looked to Jack like a purple tutu with half a dead leopard attached to the top, and a leather jacket and blue silk shirt, which she held out to Jack.

“These are for you. You definitely need a makeover.”

“No,” he protested. “I'm not trying that on.”

“Come on, Jack,” Cora yelled from the dressing room. “I'm doing it!”

“You heard her,” Euri snickered.

With a sigh, Jack retreated to the dressing room. When he emerged, Cora was sashaying around the racks in the canary yellow gown as Euri pretended to take photos of her. As much as Euri had meant to hate Cora, Jack realized that she had made a friend. He cleared his throat, and they both turned around and began to clap.

“What an improvement,” said Euri. She turned to Cora. “Now if we could just do something about his hair.”

Cora laughed and Jack felt himself blush. “Can we go now?”

A half hour later, after they had forced him into snakeskin pants, a velvet smoking jacket, and a ruffled white shirt that reminded Jack of something a pirate might wear, he finally convinced them that it was time to go somewhere else. They flew downtown to a nightclub called Webster Hall, where Euri flirted with a burly ghost bouncer and finally convinced him that Cora had been dead long enough to be admitted. They joined the throngs of the living and dead, dancing to techno beats and strobe lights on the club's six differently themed dance floors. Then, with their eardrums still pulsing, they flew to the Strand bookstore near Union Square, where they roamed the eighteen miles of musty, used books, sharing with each other the strangest titles: Euri chose Better to Never Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence, while Cora offered The Stray Shopping Carts of Eastern North America:
A Guide to Field Identification
. The entire time, Jack secretly kept an eye out for Austin but never spotted him. Finally, just before one, he glanced at his watch and nudged Euri. It was time to go to court.

At a quarter to one, they floated down in front of a tall, dingy building with narrow windows on the edge of Chinatown.

“One Hundred Centre Street,” Euri said, gesturing toward it. Although the municipal buildings around it looked dark and closed, several stories of 100 Centre Street were illuminated by fluorescent lights, and police cruisers and New York City Corrections vans idled in front of it. A few worn-out-looking living people stood in the blazing lights just outside the entrance, smoking cigarettes or talking furtively on their cell phones. A trio of ghosts huddled together whispering to each other, in front of the words
WHERE THE LAW ENDS TYRANNY BEGINS
engraved on the wall. One of them looked up and shot a suspicious glance at Cora.

“Try not to look anyone in the eye,” Euri reminded her as they floated toward the bronze-and-glass doors with the words
SOUTH ENTRANCE
embossed above them.

Cora nodded. Since leaving the Strand, Jack noticed that she had grown pensive again.

They floated through the glass door and into a brightly lit lobby where a pair of uniformed living guards sat in front of a metal detector. Across from them floated a dead guard who pointed to a sign affixed to the front of it.
IT IS A SERIOUS VIOLATION OF THE LAW TO BRING A OUIJA BOARD INTO A MUNICIPAL COURTHOUSE.

“We're clean,” said Euri.

The dead guard held out a plastic container. “Any charms, chains, channeling devices?” she droned.

Cora, carefully looking down at the ground, shook her head. Jack suddenly remembered the ghost repellent. It would probably count as a charm. He was relieved he had given it to Austin.

“We're looking for ghosts who might have worked in the court system in the 1800s,” said Euri.

“Try Room 130,” said the guard, pointing down a marble hallway.

They floated down the hallway, past banks of pay phones and into a crowded corridor. A line of living people snaked out of a door that read ARRAIGNMENT INFORMATION, while others huddled on wooden benches. They flew past them through a set of heavy wooden doors and into a large, fluorescently lit courtroom with high ceilings and recessed windows covered with maroon drapes. Jack immediately scanned the room for ghosts in nineteenth-century dress, but while it bustled with activity, it was entirely of the living variety. Defendants slumped on wooden benches in one corner of the courtroom while public defenders in cheap suits scurried around the courtroom conferring with prosecutors and police. Officers of the court milled about, handcuffs jiggling on their hips as they shushed the family members and other onlookers who sat in a gallery at the back of the room. In the front, a black-robed, double-chinned judge perched on a dais, yawning as a prosecutor read charges against three men who stood in front of him. “Where are the dead?” Jack whispered to Euri.

“It's not one o'clock yet,” she said, floating over to one of the benches in the gallery and taking a seat.

“Don't worry,” said Jack as he led Cora over to the bench. “I'm sure some ghosts will be here soon. One of them will know Viele.”

Because of the high ceilings, it was hard to hear what anyone was saying, but Jack finally made out that the three men were accused of stealing 213 pairs of sneakers. The judge released them to their families, set a court date, and then pounded his gavel. “This session of New York City criminal court has adjourned for the night,” he said. He stood up and waddled out a door Jack hadn't noticed before at the back of the courtroom. The public defenders and prosecutors gathered up their folders and left the courtroom. The onlookers filed out of the gallery.

“Is that it?” Cora asked, looking around at the empty courtroom.

Suddenly, one of the maroon drapes rustled and a court officer emerged. A rush of onlookers flew through the double doors into the gallery, some in long dresses, wailing and clutching handkerchiefs, others wearing fedora hats and carrying notebooks, one lugging an enormous camera with a round flash as large as his head. Several cops in double-breasted jackets and helmets floated through a door behind the defendant's bench, escorting half-a-dozen ghosts, some of whom covered their faces, others who looked defiantly out at the crowd. Then a noisy group of attorneys dropped down through the ceiling.

“All rise for The Honorable Judge Joseph M. Deuel,” announced the bailiff as a stout, robed man with a big, white handlebar mustache blew through the door at the back of the courtroom. Everyone respectfully floated a few feet higher as the judge took his seat. “Case 1023453,” read the bailiff. “
The People versus Mortimer Stewart and Clarabelle Stewart
.”

The ghost with the bowler hat was led from the defendant's bench to the desk in front of the judge followed by the woman with the bell-shaped skirt.

Accompanying them was a jaunty ghost with tufts of red hair sticking up from his head.

“Hey, look!” said Cora. “Those were the ghosts in Dr. Lyons's office.”

“On October fifth,” a gray-haired prosecutor somberly intoned, “Mortimer Stewart and Clarabelle Stewart flew into a well-documented hot spot of illegal paranormal activity and attempted to make contact with the living using a Ouija board. We have witnesses to the crime, two underworld security officers who have filed sworn affidavits—Exhibit A.”

“It was our first time,” Clarabelle Stewart interrupted, her face turning red.

Her attorney whispered something into her ear and then turned to the judge. “Your Honor,” he said with a flourish of his hand, “my client has never violated any underworld laws. She is working assiduously toward moving on and is not a danger to underworld society.”

“Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. “Let me remind you that we are under a Security Alert. These are dangerous times. The Living Avenger may have accomplices just like Mr. and Mrs. Stew—”

A murmur rose up from the gallery. “Silence in the court!” shouted the judge.

“Objection!” interrupted the Stewarts' red-haired attorney. “Your Honor, I ask that that be stricken from the record. There's no evidence that my clients have had any association with the Living Avenger.”

“Absolutely!” Jack couldn't help shouting out.

“Motion granted,” said Judge Deuel, stroking his mustache. “But I still find this charge quite serious. Sir and madam, you will remain in custody indefinitely.” The judge struck his gavel.

“That didn't seem fair at all,” whispered Cora.

“I wish I could have warned them,” said Jack.

“It's too late now,” Euri said. “So which lawyer do you think looks like he could have practiced when Viele was alive?”

Before the once-again weeping Clarabelle Stewart and her grim-looking husband could leave the stand, the ghost with the enormous camera leaned over the rope separating the gallery from the court and took their photo several times, the flash bursting across the room. As Jack watched him, he suddenly noticed an elderly ghost with a sweeping white beard dressed in a long waistcoat and a wide-brimmed hat. He stood beside the photographer, tipping a wooden walking stick at the judge who smiled and nodded back at him. Jack elbowed his friends. “How about that guy?”

Cora leaned forward. “He seems to be dressed like someone from the nineteenth century.”

The elderly man turned around and stared back at them. Then he tapped the photographer's shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

“Let's go over and talk to him,” said Jack.

“Hold on,” said Euri, pointing to three furtive-looking ghosts floating up to the stand. “There's another good case up.”

“Forget it. I need to get back to my mom,” said Cora. But just as she stood up, the photographer swung around and took a photo of all three of them. Then he flew out of the courtroom.

Euri jumped out of her seat and pulled Cora back down. “Great! Now he's got a photo of us.”

Cora shrugged. “So?”

The elderly man floated into the row of benches in front of them. “Hello,” he said, turning to Cora with a smile.

“Hello,” she asked eagerly. “We were just wondering. Did you work here in the nineteenth century?”

The man chuckled. “In a fashion.”

Jack had an uncomfortable feeling.

“You wouldn't happen to remember an Egbert Viele?”

“General Viele, the water engineer?” said the ghost pleasantly. “But of course. Viele was from an illustrious New York family—his mother, as you may know, was a Knickerbocker. I am from a similarly important background—the Manns of Sandusky, Ohio.” He studied their blank faces. “I guess you haven't heard of them. But we both served our glorious Union during the war. Now, why would you be looking for him?”

Cora turned to Jack. But before he could help her come up with a reason, the old ghost grinned, revealing his teeth, and leaned close to Cora. “Let me guess,” he said. “Perhaps because you're alive? And you're looking for a way out of the underworld?”

“She's not alive,” Euri insisted, shifting her eyes.

The old man raised his cane and waved over the photographer who had reappeared flapping a Polaroid. “This is Weegee, the celebrated crime photographer. And I am Colonel William D'Alton Mann, former editor of
Town Topics
, the most famous weekly magazine chronicling New York City manners and high society. I now write Mann Down, the preeminent column in
The Underworld Times
. I have many readers, including the guards, who enjoy my column a great deal. We share tips, you know.”

Jack exchanged an alarmed glance with Cora.

Weegee pointed to the photo in his hand. “You're right, Colonel, she's alive.”

“As you can see,” Colonel Mann continued, taking the photo and showing it to Euri, Cora, and Jack, “we have proof.” He nodded at Weegee. “Good work, sir. Carry on.”

As Weegee flew away to snap pictures of the next set of defendants, Jack studied his photo. Everyone in the courtroom was faded except for Cora. His own transparent face looked as dead as the rest of the ghosts. Cora noticed this and shot him a puzzled look.

“My column prints only veracities,” Colonel Mann continued, “and sometimes photos. This one of the Living Avenger will be the talk of the town—especially down at the commissioner's office.”

Jack shook his head, confused. “The Living Avenger?”

Colonel Mann twirled his cane. “So, to wit, a preview of tonight's column.” He began to speak in a deep, theatrical voice. “‘Mann Down Exclusive!! Is the Living Avenger a fan of our legal system? Why else did she show up in night court earlier this evening?'”

“She?”
Jack repeated.

“That silly spirit in Central Park had the impression you were a boy,” Mann said to Cora with an amused snort.

Jack considered revealing the truth. But having seen the photo, Colonel Mann was unlikely to believe that Jack could be the Living Avenger. He looked too dead to be the living anything.

“Hey, wait a minute!” said Euri.

But Colonel Mann ignored her. “Or maybe,” he continued, with a flourish of his cane, “‘What mysterious menace showed up at night court accompanied by two rather plain and annoying ghosts?'”

Euri looked seconds away from grabbing Colonel Mann's cane and whacking him over the head with it.

“Of course,” the colonel added in a quiet voice, “should you be able to offer your assistance to the Mann Down column, I might be able to see to it that the story is not published tonight and the photo is returned.”

“So is that how you work?” Euri muttered.

Cora's face was as red as Clarabelle Stewart's. “That's blackmail! I'm going to go tell the judge.”

Before she could walk away, Euri grabbed on to the back of her shirt. “Don't be an idiot. He'll turn you over to the guards.”

Colonel Mann yawned. “Or just back to me. Joe and I go way back. He was the lawyer for
Town Topics
.”

Euri crossed her arms over her chest. “So what do you want from us?”

“It's rather simple,” said the Colonel. “There's a woman who did me a bad turn when we were alive. She teaches a class now every night at two A. M. at the Colony Club. I want the Living Avenger to show up there and cause a scene. I'll send Weegee to take some photos. But I promise not to print any that include the Living Avenger.”

Euri narrowed her eyes. “Why should we trust you?”

Colonel Mann chuckled. “Because if you don't, I'll just print this photo of the Living Avenger at night court in tonight's edition of my column.” He pointed at Cora.

“The paper comes out at four A. M. The guards will have you locked up in seconds flat.”

“Plus,” he continued pleasantly. “I do know more about Mr. Viele—and you're right to be looking for him if you want to get this young lady back. Meet me at Delmonico's when you're done and I'll return this photo and tell you more.”