Praise for the Ghost Finders novels
SPIRITS FROM BEYOND
“Setting up a new mystery on the final page, Green keeps the action and laughs flowing in equal measure. Here’s hoping for many more adventures of this terrific quartet. Recommended.”
—SFRevu
“The series really picks up to that same masterful level of storytelling [Green] is known for. And he delivers with this excellent work of classic, good old ghost-hunter fun that we’ve come to love from the genre.”
—The Gatehouse
“It continually amazes me how Green can pump out such original stories . . . Worth the read.”
—Crooked Reviews
“An extremely fast-paced book with some great gallows humor, introspection, and references to both the Nightside and Secret Histories series . . . I found it intriguing and highly enjoyable with some crazy action and twisted characters.”
—The Bibliophilic Book Blog
GHOST OF A DREAM
“Green once again mixes and matches genres with gleeful abandon . . . Readers who enjoy a roller-coaster ride through a haunted house (well, theater, but I’m mixing metaphors here) will love this novel . . . A terrific continuation of the Ghost Finders’ adventures, with loads of horrors, thrills, and shocks.”
—SFRevu
GHOST OF A SMILE
“Packed with creepy thrills, Ghost of a Smile is a mighty strong follow-up in this brand-new series. Ghost hunting has never been quite this exciting. Recommended.”
—SFRevu
“[With] plenty of action and chills, this book keeps pages turning even as a feeling of dread builds. The dialogue between the three characters is snappy and humorous, as is the chemistry between them.”
—NewsandSentinel.com
“Ghost of a Smile is a lovely blend of popcorn adventure and atmospheric thriller, and good for a few hours of distraction and entertainment. That’s one of the reasons why Green’s books always leap right to the top of my reading list.”
—The Green Man Review
“[Green] gleefully tweaks the natural fear of experimentation (and the inscrutable motivations of the men behind it), bringing some real-world paranoia into his fantasy-laden playground. It’s a gamble that pays off nicely . . . With his Nightside series ending soon, the Ghost Finders books are quickly proving to be worthy replacements.”
—Sacramento Book Review
GHOST OF A CHANCE
“Thoroughly entertaining.”
—Jim Butcher, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Dresden Files
“If future novels in Green’s new Ghost Finders series are as engaging as this one, they will hold up admirably against his previous work . . . Readers will appreciate the camaraderie and snappy dialogue.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Terrific.”
—SFRevu
“It’s fast-paced, filled with nifty concepts and memorable characters, and quite enjoyable.”
—The Green Man Review
“I’m a huge fan of Simon R. Green’s Nightside novels, and he continues to impress with Ghost of a Chance. He continues to put out great stories and gives readers deeply flawed characters that you still want to root for. This book is a great start to a new series that I will keep reading.”
—Bitten by Books
Praise for the Novels of the Nightside
“A fast, fun little roller coaster of a story.”
—Jim Butcher
“If you like your noir pitch-black, then return to the Nightside.”
—University City Review
“If you’re looking for fast-paced, no-holds-barred dark urban fantasy, you need look no further: the Nightside is the place for you.”
—SFRevu
“Sam Spade meets Sirius Black . . . in the Case of the Cosmic MacGuffin . . . Crabby wit and inventively gruesome set pieces.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“A fast, intelligently written tale that is fun to read.”
—The Green Man Review
“Plenty of action packed in from London to Glastonbury . . . should definitely please fantasy action fans.”
—Booklist
Ghost Finders Novels
GHOST OF A CHANCE
GHOST OF A SMILE
GHOST OF A DREAM
SPIRITS FROM BEYOND
VOICES FROM BEYOND
Novels of the Nightside
SOMETHING FROM THE NIGHTSIDE
AGENTS OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS
NIGHTINGALE’S LAMENT
HEX AND THE CITY
PATHS NOT TAKEN
SHARPER THAN A SERPENT’S TOOTH
HELL TO PAY
THE UNNATURAL INQUIRER
JUST ANOTHER JUDGEMENT DAY
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UNCANNY
A HARD DAY’S KNIGHT
THE BRIDE WORE BLACK LEATHER
Secret Histories Novels
THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN TORC
DAEMONS ARE FOREVER
THE SPY WHO HAUNTED ME
FROM HELL WITH LOVE
FOR HEAVEN’S EYES ONLY
LIVE AND LET DROOD
CASINO INFERNALE
PROPERTY OF A LADY FAIRE
Deathstalker Novels
DEATHSTALKER
DEATHSTALKER REBELLION
DEATHSTALKER WAR
DEATHSTALKER HONOR
DEATHSTALKER DESTINY
DEATHSTALKER LEGACY
DEATHSTALKER RETURN
DEATHSTALKER CODA
Hawk and Fisher Novels
SWORDS OF HAVEN
GUARDS OF HAVEN
Also by Simon R. Green
BLUE MOON RISING
BEYOND THE BLUE MOON
ONCE IN A BLUE MOON
DRINKING MIDNIGHT WINE
Omnibus
A WALK ON THE NIGHTSIDE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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VOICES FROM BEYOND
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Simon R. Green.
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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-13973-2
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / September 2014
Cover art by Don Sipley.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Praise for Novels by Simon R. Green
Books b
y Simon R. Green
Title Page
Copyright
ONE: NOBODY HOME
TWO: JUST A WALK IN THE PARK
THREE: DEAD AIR
FOUR: TALK RADIO
FIVE: SOMETIMES THE SKY REALLY IS FALLING
SIX: IT’S MY TURN
SEVEN: TIME IS NOT ON OUR SIDE
EIGHT: SEE WHAT’S COMING
NINE: SOMETHING BEASTLY IN THE CELLAR
TEN: WHAT DO WE DO NOW?
Ghosts exist for a purpose. Unfinished business, delayed revenge, or to carry a message. Sometimes the dead can go to a lot of trouble to bring a desperate warning of some terrible thing that’s coming.
Whatever the reason, don’t blame the messenger for the message.
ONE
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
NOBODY HOME
From the outside, it looked like any other house. An everyday, semi-detached property, half-way down a side street, on a perfectly ordinary South London estate. On a perfectly ordinary evening in late autumn. Except, lights were blazing in every window. As though whoever was inside this particular house was afraid of the dark. Or something in the dark.
A Land Rover came screeching down the street at speed, sometimes on one side of the road and sometimes on the other, before finally slamming to a halt outside the house. The car rocked back and forth a few times, as though getting used to being suddenly at rest, then the engine shut down. No-one got out. The three people inside sat where they were, so they could take a good look at the house and its surroundings from a safe distance. The last of the light was going out of the evening, and the house stood half-silhouetted against a dark and lowering sky. The windows all blazed very brightly, but there was no sign of movement inside the house. The street-lamps burned orange and amber, illuminating an empty scene. It was all very quiet; nobody about. The house had the feeling of a brightly lit stage, with the action yet to begin. After a while, the Land Rover’s driver turned around in her seat to address her two companions.
“It all looks normal enough to me,” said Melody Chambers.
“I never trust normal,” said JC Chance. “It usually means the universe is trying to hide something from me. And rarely in a good way.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” said Happy Jack Palmer.
“You’ve always got a bad feeling,” said Melody, crushingly.
“And I’m always right!”
“That’s as may be,” said JC. “I still want to know what in God’s name made you choose a Land Rover as our team transport? Were they all out of tractors and combine harvesters?”
Melody heaved a deep, put-upon sigh. She was very good at it. She’d had a lot of practice. “I chose this marvellous example of reliable engineering because I got fed up with my scientific equipment always being left behind, or turning up too late to be of any use. How can I be the Ghost Finder girl science geek if I don’t have any investigative equipment to work with? So I went down to the Carnacki Institute car pool and chose this. Because it’s a real work-horse of a vehicle; and because it was the only thing they had big enough to hold all my marvellous machines.”
JC nodded slowly. “Not exactly the most inconspicuous thing to turn up in, though, is it?” he murmured. “We are supposed to do our good deeds on the quiet, with no-one’s ever knowing. On the grounds that if the general public ever finds out why the Ghost Finders exist, and what we have to do, there will be a mass panic and general pants-wetting of biblical proportions.”
Melody sniffed loudly. “I get the job done. I put ghosts in their place and kick supernatural arse, in a strictly scientific way. And look good doing it. You can worry about public perception.”
“Oh, I do,” said JC. “Really. You have no idea.”
Melody kicked open the driver’s door and got out. She glared at the semi-detached house waiting for them, as though daring it to give her any problems. The lights in every window stared unflinchingly back; with not a trace of anyone’s moving behind them. JC pushed open his door and got out of the back seat, slowly and carefully, then took his time stretching his long limbs. They made clear cracking and creaking sounds on the quiet of the empty street. When he was ready, he moved in beside Melody and studied the house dubiously.
JC was tall and lean and too handsome for his own good, or anyone else’s. Thirty years old now, and loudly protesting he didn’t give a damn, JC Chance had pale, striking features under a rock star’s mane of long, wavy, black hair. He had a prominent nose, an easy smile, and wore dark sunglasses all the time for a very good reason. He also wore a rich, ice-cream white three-piece suit of quite devastating style and elegance, along with an old school tie he stole. JC was team leader because he was the only one brave and arrogant enough to always lead from the front, striding into danger with a careless smile and far more confidence than was safe for him or his companions.
Melody Chambers was advancing into her thirties, and fighting it every step of the way. Conventionally good-looking, in a threatening sort of way, she was short and gamine thin, forever burning with raw nervous energy. She wore her auburn hair scraped back in a severe bow, couldn’t be bothered with even the most basic make-up, and scowled at the world through serious glasses with dull, functional frames. Her clothes had never even heard of style or fashion; and Melody had once shocked and scandalised an entire roomful of women by loudly declaring she didn’t give a damn about shoes. Or any kind of accessory you couldn’t use as a weapon.
“Odd . . .” JC said finally. “I know it’s evening, but there ought to be someone out and about. Hurrying home late from work, or out jogging, or simply walking the dog . . . It’s as though all the people here have sensed it’s not safe to be outside at the moment.”
“Good,” said Melody. “I hate innocent bystanders. Always getting in the way, and underfoot, and dying horribly from collateral damage.”
“Except for when you use them to hide behind,” said JC.
“Except for then,” Melody agreed. She shot the house one last warning glance then marched round to the back of the Land Rover to unload her precious equipment.
“Don’t anyone feel obliged to help me with all the hard work and heavy lifting!” she said loudly.
“Don’t worry,” said JC. “We won’t.”
He banged ruthlessly on the door to the Land Rover’s passenger seat until it finally swung open, and Happy Jack Palmer half fell out. He got his feet under him with something of an effort and pushed the car door shut with an irritated scowl. He then leaned back against the door until he recovered his balance and his thoughts. He looked vaguely up and down the street, as though hoping it might provide him with some idea as to why he was there; and then he produced a small silver pill box from inside his jacket. He popped open the lid and stirred the multi-coloured contents with a finger before selecting two dark green pills decorated with muddy yellow lightning bolts. He knocked them back, dry-swallowing with the ease of long practice, then hiccoughed loudly a few times. He straightened up, pushing himself away from the car door, and made the pill box disappear about his person. His eyes were suddenly a lot brighter, and he smiled a smile with far too many teeth in it. JC looked at him expressionlessly.
“Are you still on the mother’s little helpers? The mental medication? We haven’t even started the investigation yet.”
“It’s the only way I can cope with Melody’s driving,” said Happy.
“I heard that!” said a loud voice from the rear of the Land Rover.
“You were meant to!” Happy said coldly. He slumped a little. “God, I’m tired, JC. I’m always tired. I need something to wake me up and get me moving. Is that the house? I don’t like it. It looks like it’s staring back at me.”
He studied the house in a sullen, antagonistic way, as though daring it to come out fighting. JC left him to it and went to join Melody at the back of the Land Rover as she piled up boxes full of scientific equipment at the side of the road. She didn’t even
look at him but kept on working.
“He didn’t sleep well last night,” she said roughly. “He doesn’t like to sleep. Says it makes him feel . . . vulnerable. That things might try and get inside his head while his defences are down. And with a telepath as sensitive as him, who’s to say he’s wrong?”
“Surely he can find a pill to help him sleep?” said JC.
“He can; but his system’s already so compromised with industrial-strength chemicals, some of them only suspected by modern science, that it takes something pretty damned powerful to affect him. He’s afraid to take that kind of pill too often in case he builds up a tolerance. Then he wouldn’t have anything to turn to when he really needed it. He needs more and more pills, JC! Bigger, stronger doses, all the time. Just to function. I don’t like where this is going; but I don’t see what else I can do to help. Sex isn’t enough to distract him any more, and love isn’t enough to make him strong. Sometimes I think it’s only the job that keeps him going.”
“He hates the job,” said JC.
“I know!”
They both looked down the street, to where Happy was bouncing slowly up and down on his toes, studying the waiting semi-detached like a boxer about to enter the ring for a fight he strongly suspects is fixed.
Happy Jack Palmer was the Ghost Finder team telepath and full-time gloomy bugger. As he often said, If you could see the world as clearly as I do, you’d be clinically depressed, too. Well into his thirties now, and openly fed up with it, Happy was short and stocky and prematurely balding. He might have been attractive if he ever stopped scowling and sulking long enough. He wore grubby jeans and a T-shirt bearing the message JUST BECAUSE I’M PARANOID, IT DOESN’T MEAN I’M NOT OUT TO GET YOU, along with a battered black leather jacket whose most recent tears had been roughly stapled back together. He took so many pills he rattled when he coughed. Just enough, he said, to keep the world and all the awful things in it safely outside his head.
Melody finally finished loading the more important pieces of her machinery onto a trolley and dragged it down the street to join Happy in front of the house. JC strolled along behind her. He knew better than to offer any assistance because no-one touched Melody’s toys except her. The three Ghost Finders stood together, looking the semi-detached over carefully.