pzb.lostsouls-第63节
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of finding Ann by logic and luck。 But what chance did Ghost have； who knew these streets not at all； who had only his intuition and blind faith to guide him？
At first it seemed that there was too much magic here； that it could only cloud intuition and distract faith。 On every street er was another story； in the elegant shade of each courtyard another hovering spirit。 Some of them were greedy and reached out to his sensitive mind； whispering e in； e into me； listen to my tale。 The buildings and sidewalks themselves seemed to have a susurrant； subliminal voice。
But soon Ghost realized that he was trying too hard。 If he relaxed； he could listen to these sounds with only part of his mind； like a radio playing far away。 If he didn't think about it so hard； his feet would lead him the right way。
He passed a group of kids wearing black clothes； black lipstick and eyeliner。 Silver crosses； daggers； razor blades dangled from their wrists and earlobes。 They passed a joint among themselves； from hand to thin hand。 Deathers： kids who loved the night； loved the bands whose music spoke of dark beauty and fragile mortality。 Vampires were their dream e true； their ideal to aspire to。 Bela Lugosi might be dead； but the deathers would keep him alive in their hearts forever。 At the Sacred Yew one night； Ghost had seen a boy showing off his new tattoo： two tiny scarlet fang marks on the white flesh of his throat。
The kids could dream of vampires all they liked； but their faces bore the undeniable stamp of humanity。 It was in theft imperfections： pimples； scars； the beginnings of laugh…lines。 The real vampires had a uniform sort of beauty； ageless and cold。 Ghost thought of Zillah's face； only imperceptibly older than Nothing's； and then only because of the smirking mouth and the dramatic； wanton eyes。
Would Nothing catch up with Zillah and the others？ Would he reach that same indefinable age and just stop？ Ghost wondered how it would feel to know that you weren't going to age anymore； weren't going to change anymore； that your skin would never grow creased and delicate； your hair would not turn brittle white； your hands would stay smooth and strong。 He shivered。 He wouldn't like it； looking in the mirror every day and seeing the same face； with none of the sorrow and laughter of life reflected there。
Ghost's heart twitched at the thought of Nothing being one of those blanks。 The other three had faces like stylized masks； smooth and white； with only drunken madness blazing out of their eyes。 Even Christian's face was blank； though a faint frigid sorrow gleamed in his eyes。 But Nothing。。。 Nothing's face was so young； the ers of his mouth so tender； his eyes full of wondrous pain。 All that should not be wiped away by immortality。
But Ghost was here to save Ann； not Nothing。 Still； he could not stop hurting for Nothing； no more than he could stop his heart beating； But 。 。 。 Help the ones you love； his grandmother had told him； help them when you can； and after that； mind your business。 Your gift doesn't give you the right to go rearranging other people's lives for them。 You might see their souls； but they won't always want you to be their mirror。
Yes； he could see Nothing's soul。 It was in those haunted eyes； and in the shadows under them…fatigue； drink and chemicals； yesterday's makeup。 Nothing was a lost soul because he wanted to be。 It was what he had always wanted； it was his birthright。
But Ann had been bewitched。 Done in by the light of chartreuse eyes； by loneliness； by the opium of Zillah's spit and the poison juices of whatever grew inside her。
And what was that？ All along； Ghost had been thinking of the baby as a dark lump of blood； the seed of Ann's death。 And it was。 But it was also Nothing's brother or sister； and Nothing was not evil。 Only lost； as surely lost as Ann's child would soon be。
Ghost imagined himself trapped in the womb； his soft bones crumbling； the poison searing his raw new skin away。 The poison he and Steve had asked Arkady to make。 Had ended up giving Arkady twenty dollars to make。
Ghost leaned against a wall and closed his eyes。 There were a million sides to everything。 Most people were able to block out some of them。 Ghost sometimes thought he saw them all…not that it helped。
〃e in and kiss me。。。〃 whispered a voice that seemed to emanate from within the wall。
He jumped and opened his eyes。 Voices from nowhere made him more nervous than usual these days； but this hadn't sounded like the voice in the closet： it was faint and dry； almost too tiny to hear； like the voice of an insect。
When the voice didn't speak again； Ghost looked around and found himself lost。 He didn't even seem to be in the French Quarter anymore。 To his back were forbidding； scorched…looking apartment towers。 A wide； busy avenue stretched in front of him； a small gate opened in the wall to his left。 He slipped through the gate and entered the city of the dead。
Ghost had heard about the cemeteries of New Orleans。 The groundwater here was so high that the coffins had to be entombed above ground。 There was no real earth to bury them in； if you tried to dig a hole； it would quickly turn into a pit of oozing mud。 A heavy rain could float coffins and corpses to the surface。 But nothing he'd heard had prepared him for the blinding whitewashed landscape of Saint Louis Number One； possibly the oldest cemetery in the city； certainly the gaudiest and most haphazardly arranged。
There were coffins bricked into the walls； layer upon layer。 That was the first thing Ghost noticed。 Some of the brickwork had collapsed； and he could see ashy shadows within the wall； the occasional glint of sunlight on bone； brick； or broken glass。 No wonder there were voices in these walls。 At his feet a maze of narrow pathways stretched away into the necropolis。
Farther in； he was amazed at how tightly packed together the tombs were。 In some places he had to turn sideways and squeeze between them。 High peaked vaults loomed over the path。 Tall iron crosses jabbed into the sky； bristled along the tops of the intricate ironwork fences that bordered several plots。 Almost all the tombs were white…made of moon…pale marble； silvery granite； or whitewashed brick…and the sunlight upon them dazzled Ghost's eyes。
Against all the whiteness a thousand bits of color swarmed。 There were flowers everywhere； plaster Virgins and saints with gaily painted robes； colored…glass tumblers full of rainwater； copper and silver coins embedded in cement。 Some of the ironwork fences around the graves fluttered with ribbons； others were hung with rosaries or Mardi Gras beads。
Ghost passed a tomb chalked with hundreds of red X's in groups of three。 He stopped and looked at it for a long moment。 At first it gave him no feeling at all； it might have been empty。 Then suddenly he knew what he was supposed to do。 Chips of brick and nubs of red chalk were scattered near the base of the tomb。 Ghost picked one up； turned three times around； and carefully inscribed his own three X's on the door of the tomb。 〃I wish I knew where Ann was；〃 he said。 His lips barely moved； but even the softest whisper seemed to bounce off the tombs and echo along the empty paths。
Then he closed his eyes and listened with all his heart。 When the presence came into his head； he was ready for it。
It was a greedy spirit； and an arrogant one。 In fact； it reminded him of no one so much as Arkady Raventon…but without Arkady's weak flesh； without his craven lust。 This was a spirit like a flaming ebony arrow。 Look behind you； it said。 That was all。 Then it was gone。 Ghost stepped backward and almost hit his head on the overhanging doorway of another tomb。
Then； very slowly； he turned his head and looked behind him。
Nothing there but gleaming white walls and flowers trembling in the breeze。
Feeling stupid； obscurely tricked； Ghost headed back the way he had e。 But after a couple of minutes he realized he was no longer on the same path。 That made him feel even more stupid； because the tomb with the red X's had been less than twenty feet inside the gate。 He was sure of it。 How could he have gotten turned around？ This path led deeper into the cemetery。
Soon there were tombs on all sides of him； and he had no idea which path led toward the gate。 The tombs in the center of the cemetery must be taller； that was why they seemed to tower above him； soaring up into the bright cloudless sky。 Over the edge of the far wall reared the dark mass of the apartment blocks 。 。 。 the projects； he realized。 It was probably dangerous to be in here alone。 The night before； when they were walking down the dark street that led back to Arkady's； Steve had talked morosely about the crime in New Orleans。 Little kids would run up and shoot you in the head； then rifle through your pockets。 At least that was what Steve said。
The path twisted deeper in。 Now the sky was a bristling forest of iron crosses。 Granite peaks wavered overhead； seemed to bow over the path。 The tombs pressed closer。 Ghost wedged himself between two of them。 For one horrible moment he was stuck。 Soft brick crumbled away。 Something wriggled against his back。 He felt his shirt rip。
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