Ghostfinders 01 - Ghost of a Chance

catty pleasure/pain centre, and a few volts can give it unbearable pain or incredible pleasure. I am its god. Though I still can’t get it to purr for me.” He leered at Natasha. “Think of it: absolute pleasure, at the touch of a button. I could perform a similar operation on you if you wanted. If you asked me nicely.”
    “And leave the button in your hands?” said Natasha. “I think not. Ask your cat what’s happening down in the tunnels.”
    Erik reached for the control panel, then had to snatch his hand back again as the cat head tried to bite it. He giggled happily, tried again, and made a few small adjustments. The blazing mechanisms jumped and danced, pieces of solid light interacting on many levels, moving irrevocably towards one terrible configuration. The cat head howled, a long, rising sound that continued long after lungs would have given out. And then the cat’s jaws snapped together, its whiskers twitched, and its eyes locked on to something only they could see. The cat head spoke, but there was nothing human in its harsh yowling voice.
    “Something new has come to Oxford Circus,” it said. “Or something very old. Something from the afterworlds has manifested in the tunnels, deep down in the dark. And it’s not alone, down there. Its mere presence is enough to stir up ghosts and demons and monsters. The darkness is alive. And it’s hungry.”
    Erik looked at Natasha. “See? I told you!”
    “Shut up. We already knew there was a powerful force loose in the station.”
    “Still, something from the afterworlds, made flesh and therefore vulnerable . . .” Erik rubbed his hands gleefully. “Now that’s a prize worth having.”
    “It’s cold, and it burns,” said the cat head. “It’s wild and fierce and free, and it will kill you.”
    “You wish,” said Erik absently, and turned off the cube. The cat’s head fell silent, but its unblinking eyes still burned with hate.
    “I’m hungry,” said Natasha.
    “Eat your chicken legs,” said Erik.
    “Hungry for ghosts,” said Natasha. “There’s nothing quite like them, nothing so . . . satisfying. I might even leave a few for you, this time.”
    “You know I don’t indulge,” Erik said primly. “Nasty habit, and dangerous to your mental health. If you ever had any.”
    “Prude,” said Natasha. “Scaredy-cat.”
    Erik sniffed loudly but wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I value the integrity of my mind far too much to risk contaminating it with inferior thoughts and memories.” He gave in to curiosity and looked almost defiantly at Natasha. “I simply do not see what you people get out of it. Don’t you ever get . . . confused, with other people’s memories and identities suddenly crashing about inside your head?”
    “Darling,” said Natasha, “that’s the good part. That’s the rush. That’s what makes them so very tasty .”
    “You’re disgusting.”
    “I know you are, but what am I?”
    And then they broke off and looked around sharply, as every ticket machine in the lobby suddenly spat up all the coins it had taken. Pound coins and assorted change jumped and clattered across the floor as they were ejected with force, bouncing and rolling everywhere, shining and shimmering in the over-bright light. Some of them rolled right up to Erik’s feet, and he reached down to grab a handful; but Natasha stopped him with a harsh command. One by one the machines ran out of money and fell silent. Coins lay scattered all over the floor. Natasha watched the ticket machines carefully for a while, to see if they’d do anything else, but they remained still and silent. She turned her back on them and the money with studied insolence and returned to the top of the escalator. Erik carefully packed his cat-head computer back into its pack, then casually scooped up a handy two-pound coin. Only to yell and throw it away again.
    “Hot!” he said. “Hot hot hot!”
    “Did it burn you?” said Natasha, not looking around.
    “Yes!”
    “Good.”
    Erik scowled. “Damned thing was hot enough to have been coughed up from Hell itself. What was that for?”
    “Someone is playing games with us,” said Natasha.
    “Could it be JC and his people?” said Erik, immediately forgetting the pain in his fingertips. “Could they know we’re here?”
    “No,” said Natasha. “I’d know . . . if they knew. I think this is something else . . .”
    She left the elevators, made her way back through the open ticket barriers, and strolled