I’d just finished washing my face and hands, trying to get what felt like a greasy film off them, when a fine mist floated up from the drain on a cold silver glow. It resolved itself into a face, wavering in front of the mirror like a mirage made out of steam. It was vague and indistinct, not almost solid the way I usually see ghosts. I blinked at it, but it didn’t go away. “Is it safe?”
a tremulous voice demanded.
“Uh,” I said stupidly. There really was no good answer. On a few memorable occasions in the past, I’d encountered spirits who weren’t yet aware that they were dead. And no one ever appreciated being brought up to speed.
The misty eyes started moving around the bathroom. They detached from the rest of the head to float off, poking into things. One slipped under the door, and I winced, only too aware of what was coming. A few seconds later, the mouth opened in shock, but no words came out
“I know it’s bad,” I babbled, “but you’re going to a better place.”
The sightless head turned in my direction. “I’m a demon,” it snarled. “I don’t think so.”
Okay, he had a point. The other eye returned from looking out the window and settled in the middle of his forehead. It gave him a weird Cyclops vibe, but under the circumstances, I didn’t think that worth pointing out. “Who did this?”
“Don’t you know?” I asked, surprised.
“I was asleep!” he said, sounding outraged. “I heard someone break in, got halfway out of bed, and then the lights went out.” Permanently, I thought but didn’t say. The eye focused on my face, really seeing me, for the first time. “And who the hell are you?”
“Just visiting,” I said, edging toward the door.
“Not so fast.” The face reappeared in my path. The wandering eye caught up with the other one and there was some jostling around while they fought each other for forehead space. When they finally settled, he looked at me accusingly. “You can see me!”
“I’m clairvoyant.”
“Good. Then tell me who did this. Someone is gonna pay!”
I had a sudden idea. “Maybe we can work something out,” I offered.
“Whaddya mean?”
“I need to know about the Codex,” I said tenuously.
“Which one?” he demanded, suddenly businesslike.
“There’s more than one?”
“A codex is a compilation of knowledge, babe. Which one are we talking about here?’
I swallowed. “The Codex Merlini. The lost volume.”
His gaze sharpened. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. Do you know anything?”
“Possibly.”
I sighed. “I’m Cassie Palmer,” I admitted, and the ghostly eyes visibly brightened.
“Okay, then.” Saleh’s voice turned brisk. “The Codex was lost centuries ago, but that isn’t the main problem. Even if you find it, you won’t be able to read it.”
“It’s in code?”
“Better. Codes can be deciphered, sooner or later, no matter how good. He was a little more creative than that.”
“He? You mean, there really was a Merlin?”
“No, they called it the Codex Merlini because it was written by a guy named Ralph,” Saleh said impatiently. “You know that old story about Merlin getting younger every year, instead of older?” I nodded. “Well, the storytellers got it mixed up.”
“Meaning what?”