Normally spirits avoided him, but something was driving them to attack. There were dozens of ghosts, surrounding him on all sides in a deathly embrace. Franks was engulfed in the illuminated fog. On their own, ghosts were weak, but this many bitter spirits together had enough malice stored up to rip the warmth from a mortal body like a swarm of piranhas stripping flesh. Spectral claws latched onto his spirit and tried to tear it away. He could feel their thoughts inside his head. They’d been murdered slaves, workers trapped in a cave-in, lost children, murdered prostitutes, but now they were nothing more than fragments, jealous of the living. They wanted him to be as miserable as they were.

They had no idea. . . .

“Fuck off.” Franks growled. He opened his mind and let the ghosts in.

All it took was one instant of them seeing what real torment was like, and they fled screaming back into the dark. The creature that had stirred them up had nothing that could scare them like Franks did. The ghosts retreated. The fog fell to the floor and rolled away, leaving him alone. “Pussies.” Franks kicked the frozen door open.

A man with no eyes tried to hit him with a hammer.

Franks dodged to the side as the hammer took a chunk out of the wall. The creature looked like a man, but where his eyes should have been, there were only gaping black pits. It came after him, roaring a battle cry.

Franks casually lifted the Glock and put a third black hole into the thing’s forehead.

By the time the monster with the hammer had fallen, he was taking fire from the werewolf’s position. Franks ducked behind a stack of lumber as buckshot tore into the wood. She was joined by two more shooters, one of whom had a battle rifle. Franks was pelted with splinters as the heavier bullets penetrated his cover.

Franks popped up, returning fire as he moved deeper into the construction site. A short man in sweat pants came out from around a corner, sending a wild full-auto burst from a subgun his way. Franks put a controlled pair into his chest and dropped him. The fleeing ghosts let out a chorus of wails. That must have been the thing stirring them up. Served him right.

He reached a pillar that looked like it would provide some decent cover. The tile next to his head shattered just as he reached it. The one with the rifle was fast. He caught a flash of red hair as the werewolf moved to flank him, but the rifleman was covering her too well for Franks to risk a shot.