Unholy Ghosts by Stacia Kane Page A

she had feet to scratch and uppers to snort.
“What frightens the dead?” he muttered, shaking his head. “What could scare the dead?”
    Chapter Six

    “So henceforth it shall be called Triumph City, because it is the seat of the triumph of Truth, and here we shall make our glorious home.”
    —The Grand Elder, dedication speech,
December 1, 1997 (After Truth)

    The symbols on the amulet weren’t in any of the standard books, which didn’t surprise her. If they’d been there she would have recognized them. But it never hurt to look, so she did, going through every alphabet, finding only one match.
Etosh .
The word was only mentioned because it connected to another symbol in an example, though. No meaning was given. Dead end.
The Restricted Room would probably have more for her, but Goody Glass was manning the desk today, and Goody Glass hated her. The feeling was mutual. Chess didn’t want to ask the nosy old Goody, with her pinched nose and hairy chin, to let her into the room. Too many questions would be asked.
So instead she headed for the cabinets on the far wall, doing a double take when the back of a familiar-looking head appeared. Not Doyle after all but Randall Duncan, another Debunker. If she’d been paying better attention she wouldn’t have confused them; Doyle’s hair was soft, shiny, and well taken care of, whereas Randy’s straggled down his back, a sign that he simply couldn’t be bothered to have it cut.
He stopped as if he felt her eyes on him, his face breaking into a sunny smile.
“Hey, Chess! I looked for you earlier, but I didn’t see you.”
With anyone else she might have asked why, but with Randy she didn’t need to. He’d tell her. Subtlety was not his strong suit.
“Everything good, Randy?”
He nodded. “Heard about the Sanfords. Tough luck.”
“Yeah. Just got a new case, though. Looks like a good one. I could sure use it.”
He nodded. “Couldn’t we all? Or at least, most of us. Guess Doyle doesn’t anymore.”
She rolled her eyes to indicate agreement, and wished he’d go away. Paying attention to him was a waste of time. She wanted to check those files and couldn’t with him standing there.
“Speaking of Doyle…I—I have to tell you something. Something I don’t think you’re going to like, about him. There’s been a rumor about you two. You should know about that, what people are saying.”
“Yeah, Randy, I know. Where’d you hear that?”
He shrugged. “I overheard one of the Goodys asking Doyle about it. He denied it, but, well, I just don’t want to see you get hurt, you know? Doyle’s kind of a user.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m okay, Randy, don’t worry.”
He peered at her from under his thick eyebrows, then nodded. “Okay. Well, if you ever need anything, you know, even just to talk, you can always call me. Really.”
She nodded, just as if that was something she would ever do. “Thanks, I might.”
He patted her arm and left, throwing a little wave over his shoulder before disappearing into the stacks. So one of the Goodys—she bet it was freaking Goody Tremmell, thinking just because she handled case assignments she got to judge the Debunkers, too—thought she’d poke her sharp nose in, huh? No wonder everyone in the complex knew about it. Great.
She shook her head and slid the file drawer out.
C…Ce…Ch . Chester Airport did indeed have a file, a fairly thick one. She grabbed it and took it back to her table.
The airport had opened in 1941, and stayed open for fifty years, never expanding or becoming more than just a small local airfield. There were pictures in the file, surprising ones considering the wreckage she’d seen the night before. It had been a clean little building, sitting tidily in front of the runways like a kid on a church pew.
Old newspaper clippings crinkled against her fingers. Chester had had its share of accidents and fatalities, too. Twenty-three she could see, just in the last ten years it had been open. Of course, more