The stairwell smelled like marijuana, stale urine, and very old blood. Lenny had taught students from this kind of neighborhood back in Houston, and Albuquerque before that, and San Diego before that. Hard-eyed children who wore loose pants to hide the knives they brought to school and long sleeves to hide the bruises they got at home. There are poor neighborhoods, and then there are bad ones. This was a bad one. He could smell it rising up out of the stained concrete floors. The air there had gone dark and sour long before a murderer like Sebastian moved in.

There were ghosts in the walls, and some of them were Sebastian's fault. A few of them reached out, but Lenny could not stop for them. He kept following the enormous back drifting down the hallway in front of him, even though he was not sure why. Sebastian's steps were silent. Lenny's shuffled. The one told the other once to be quiet, and he could not, but it did not matter, because there was no one near to hear them. The doors were closed and bolted.

Then they were inside, and that door was closed and bolted, too. Sebastian locked it. Three deadbolts. Two chains. Lenny's brain wandered. He wondered whether this could possibly be where Sebastian saw his clients. It did not look like a professional's office. It barely looked like an apartment. There was a couch and a chair and a table with a few tattered paperbacks – all Westerns, oddly enough – some eight-tracks, and a half-full coffee mug, white cream coagulated on the surface. That was the extent of the furniture. The kitchen off the main room looked as though it had been converted into storage. Lenny felt as though something was missing, but he could not put his finger on exactly what.

Somewhere on the next floor up, or maybe the next floor down, a boom box was spewing profanity.

A huge hand closed over his shoulder and steered him toward the chair. The wood creaked when the backs of his thighs hit it, and something popped inside his head. He could remember the stairs and the hall, but before that... nothing. There was a gaping hole between the hotel bar and this tenement complex. He could not even recall what the outside of the building looked like. They had been sitting at the table, finishing a last drink, and then... Then nothing. Nothing until this place.

The overheads flickered on, highlighting horrible green wallpaper, peeling around the baseboards. Sebastian crossed in front of him and sat on the end of the couch, leaning back with a half-smile on his face. Lenny had sort of begun to expect that if Sebastian smiled again, it would be an unspeakably creepy expression, but it was not. Sebastian had a nice smile. It was even a little bit apologetic.

"So," Sebastian whispered eagerly. Lenny almost could not hear him under the boom box. "So, what's it like?"

The complete about-face threw Lenny off. He probably would not have made it far, but it did look like he had an opportunity to get the hell out of there. There was one window, taped over with aluminum foil to keep out the Texas heat. He had never been good at moving quickly, but he could probably have gone out that way. It would hurt, but it was a way out, and he would heal, and even crazy murderers do not necessarily want to go flying into the street in the middle of the night. Lenny was not fast, but he could probably drag himself to a convenience store or something by the time Sebastian made it down the stairs.

But he did not throw himself out the window. He could not be sure whether that was his decision or Sebastian's.

He fidgeted instead. "What's what like?"

Sebastian sat forward with his elbows on his knees, dislodging a paperback from the table. "Being both. I've never even heard of that. Didn't know it was possible."

"It's p-possible. It's just not a very g-g-good idea."

Sebastian's laugh filled the apartment. He had a good laugh, just like he had a good smile. It was hard not to laugh with him, but Lenny still remembered those words: no one to miss you. The window beckoned, but he did not try to leave. It was hard to be sure, with everything happening so fast, and that laugh ringing in his head, and those eyes drilling into him, but he was beginning to suspect that he had been kidnapped.

"So," Sebastian repeated. "What's it like? Not a good idea, sure, but you seem to be doing okay for yourself."

"Easier to b-blend in, I g-guess." Maybe Sebastian was just curious. One thing about immortality is that it often leads to mind-crushing boredom. Hobbies are a good way to fight that, but hobbies can easily turn into obsessions. Maybe his was learning. No matter how old you get, there is always something new to learn. If Lenny told him what he wanted to know, maybe he would leave him alone.

Sebastian tilted his head, politely expectant.

Lenny went on.

"Can't k-kill. But I've never felt the need to, so it's all g-good. I think it messed up some stuff when I changed. My hearing's okay, but it's not real g-good. I've got b-b-bad balance. Some other stuff, too. I g-guess it was like drugs interacting. Neither thing really works the way it's supposed t-to, any more."

"Is it true that mediums can control dead things? Including the undead?"

"Media. It's media, not mediums. And 'c-control' is too strong. More like influence, and only in ways that help."

He stopped, not sure why he had said that. Most people do not like hearing that someone has any kind of influence over them, even if that someone would never use it and could never do any damage even if he did. Lenny did not want to come across as any kind of threat, partly because he did not consider himself a threat, and partly because he did not feel like being pummeled for being perceived as one. But on the other hand, Sebastian had his own brand of influence going on, the kind that could pull information out of people like scarves out of a magician's sleeve. Lenny swallowed hard.

"Heh. I'd like to see you try. I heard you can't change a medium. Obviously wrong, but..."

"Not against their will."

He grinned, and this time, the expression was ugly. "I guess it follows that you wanted it, then."

Lenny nodded. He was not about to talk about Kate. He was not about to explain. Sebastian would not like his reasons, and he would not like her reasons, and Lenny did not like the line of thought that always brought him back to wondering whether he or Kate had ever had any choice, those years ago.

Something moved behind Sebastian, the shape of a man almost too faint even for Lenny to see. He was not a proper spirit, just an echo, and the echo had been fading for a long time. It was one of Sebastian's ghosts, someone whose memory had been imprinted into the building by a violent death at the same time the rest of him went Wherever he was ultimately going to end up. Lenny managed to tear his eyes away from Sebastian for a fraction of a second, trying to get a better look at the memory standing behind him. It was harder than it should have been. He half expected some kind of dramatic warning, even though it had never worked that way, but the memory just stood there, his legs disappearing into the middle of the couch. He watched Lenny over the top of Sebastian's head.

When Lenny looked back down again, Sebastian's mahogany eyes were narrowed with speculation, the same sort of look someone might give a dime in a mud puddle, not quite sure whether it is worth the effort of picking it up, even if he needs an extra ten cents. He glanced back toward the ghost, squinted through it, and looked back at Lenny. He was wondering whether he could use him.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong, and there were more ghosts filling Lenny's peripheral vision, other memories and a few real spirits. One of them whispered I'm sorry like a mantra, over and over just beneath the buzz of the electric lights. They knew something Lenny did not.

"Listen, I'm g-g-gonna have t-to g-g-go p-pack. I have a b-bus to c-c-c-..."

"Have a drink, before you go."

"What?"

"Just one. Look, I..." The apologetic smile returned. It was tragic. "If I gave you my phone number, would you... sometime... Do you think you might...?"

"Oh. Uh, sure." Lenny nodded, trying very hard not to look relieved. It was hard not to feel bad for Sebastian, whatever his problems might have been. "Look, I'm d-down this way, sometimes. Not much, but sometimes. I c-c-could come see you. Some weekend, maybe?"

He probably would, too, even though he did not want to. Sebastian needed help, and that is what media are for.

Sebastian smiled again, hopeful, that moment of ugliness gone, and got up to go to the kitchen. Lenny did not watch him; he was too busy feeling like he had dodged a serious bullet. There was the pop and hiss of two bottles of beer opening, a pause, and one of them found its way into Lenny's hand. Sweat beaded on the glass and dripped down onto his khakis.

"You're scared," Sebastian said as he sat back down. "I'm sorry about that. I just..."

He did not have any words to explain, just shrugged. Lenny got the picture. He had no social skills, and his method for making friends was mildly terrifying. At least his taste in beer was good. Lenny sipped reluctantly. He had already had enough, but turning down a peace offering might be dangerous.

"It's okay. No hard feelings. I'm mostly just c-confused."

Sebastian's expression did not change, but the smile became fixed, expectant. The ghosts in the corners of the room began to disperse, as though the show was already over. "I just can't figure out your angle," he continued. "You're on my turf, in my bar, playing like you want to be my friend. Pretty subtle, I'll grant you. You actually had me going, for a while. Come back on weekends, my ass. And here you are, sticking around like you hadn't even thought about running. I honestly can't tell whether you're for real or not."

Lenny wanted to point out that Sebastian was the one who threatened him, brought him there by force and was poking around in his head where he absolutely did not belong. He wanted to point out that, even though Sebastian scared the crap out of him, he could make himself overlook all that, because that is what a medium does. He did not get the chance.

Lenny did not even see him move. Sebastian must have had centuries on him to go so fast. One second, Lenny was trying to excuse himself, watching the ghosts to see whether they could give him a hint; the next, Sebastian was standing in front of him with his hand closed over Lenny's jaw, not so tight it hurt, but too tight for him to move without breaking himself.

Lenny scrambled. His hand shot up reflexively to grasp Sebastian's wrist, and Sebastian squeezed. Something in Lenny's face cracked loudly, making him gag. Sebastian hissed like an animal and spit something at him in Spanish too fast and too old for Lenny to understand. His crazy eyes were wide and eager.

Sebastian pulled Lenny up close to his face, still talking. Most of Lenny's brain was taken up with figuring how to get the hell away, but part of him realized that Sebastian was not talking to him; he was talking to himself, low and fast. Lenny could hear the power in his voice, even if he could not understand the words. Sebastian was convincing himself of something, weaving back the same spell he had used on Lenny. Something in his eyes changed when he made up his mind, went a little crazier, if that was possible.

Sebastian dropped his victim. Lenny stepped back, tripped over the chair, and fell hard. His face throbbed, and he could taste stale, dead blood. His blood. He got one arm underneath himself and began to push himself up when something like a fighter jet whistled overhead and came down on the back of his neck, flattening him again. Something pounded steadily inside his head, vaguely reminiscent of a heartbeat. It took him a moment to realize that someone was at the door.

Sebastian dragged him upright and bent to whisper in his ear.

"Relax," he said, and Lenny did.

Sebastian threw Lenny over his shoulder like a rag doll, carried him through the apartment and dumped him on the floor in the bedroom. Lenny could not see anything but the awful, green wallpaper. He heard a door open, felt a vicious impact against his ribs, and was enfolded in darkness.

The closet smelled better than the rest of the building. It smelled like cedar chips, like Sebastian. Lenny heard his footsteps, the front door, a woman's voice. Sebastian sounded happy to see her, which most likely meant that, even if Lenny called for help, she would not be one to give it. He tried anyway. He tried to scream, to reach the doorknob. But his voice did not work, and neither did his arms. Every muscle stayed slack.

He concentrated on thepounding in his jaw and in his side, because there was nothing else he coulddo. But after a minute, that began to fade, too. It diminished to an ache, thento a twinge, then to a tingle. He could not feel his hands, and his head feltlike a balloon, and there was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue,underneath the tang of blood and beer. He tried to be angry, and he tried to beafraid, but it was too much effort. The voices in the other room lengthenedlike rubber bands, and the floor was soft, and he sank down into it.    

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