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STACIA KANE
CHASING MAGIC
Book Five of the Downside Ghosts
To the doctors, nurses, and surgical staff at Lister Hospital Stevenage, without whom I would literally no longer be alive
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
About the Author
Also by Stacia Kane
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
The pursuit of material goods must never eclipse the pursuit of Truth.
—The Book of Truth, Veraxis Article 1745
All of the documents were in place: the Affidavit of Spectral Fraud, the Statement of Truth, two Orders of Imprisonment and two Orders of Relinquishment, and, of course, the list of Church-approved attorneys. The Darnells would want that—well, they’d need it, because they were about to be arrested for faking a haunting.
At least, they would be when the Black Squad got there to back Chess up. She didn’t always want the Squad to come along; police presence tipped people off, made things more difficult, and most people came pretty quietly once they realized they were busted, anyway. The Darnells didn’t seem like the come-quietly type, though. Something told Chess they weren’t going to take this well.
But she’d told them she’d be there at six, and it was five past already and their curtains kept twitching. They knew she was there.
Right. She’d taken a couple of Cepts before leaving her apartment in Downside, so they were starting to hit—smooth, thick narcotic warmth spreading from her stomach out through the rest of her body, a pleasant softness settling over her mind.
That was the best thing about the drugs, really; she could still think, still be coherent, still use her brain. She just didn’t have to if she didn’t want to, and it was so much easier to keep that brain from wandering into all those places she didn’t want it to go.
And she had so fucking many of those places.
She grabbed the Darnell file from her bag, locked her car, and started walking along the cobblestoned path to the front door, weaving around the flowers and plants scattered like islands across the impossibly green sea of grass. Bees made their way from bloom to bloom, doing whatever the hell it was bees did. Sure, she knew it was something to do with pollen or whatever. She just didn’t give a shit.
By the time she reached the porch sweat beaded along her forehead and her body felt damp. Summer sucked. Only the middle of June and already it was scorching.
Brandon Darnell opened the door before she’d finished raising her hand to knock. “Miss Putnam. You’re late.”
Asshole. She faked a smile. “Sorry. Traffic.”
At least they had air-conditioning.
The entire Darnell family sat in the pretentious high-ceilinged living room, slouching on the ridiculously overpriced suede couch and chairs that were partly responsible for the enormous debt they were in. Debt they’d planned to clear by faking a haunting and getting a nice fat settlement from the Church of the Real Truth.
Too bad for them, the Church wasn’t stupid—being in charge of everyone and everything on earth for twenty-four years proved that—and had contingency plans for such things. Chess was one of them.
Brandon Darnell indicated an empty chair along the back wall. “Have a seat.”
Alarms started ringing in Chess’s head. He seemed a little too calm, a little too … cheerful.
But all the other chairs were full, so she sat, shooting a glance out the window to see if the Squad had arrived yet. Nope. Damn it!
The Darnells sat there, unmoving. Watching her. Because that wasn’t creepy at all.
Mrs. Darnell—frowsy, bad perm, blue eye shadow up to her brows—showed her perfect white teeth in what could pass for a smile. “Do you have any news for us? When will you Banish the ghost?”
Chess’s phone beeped—a text. A text from the Black Squad, thank fuck, they were almost there. Good. She didn’t have to sit around wasting time with these people.
“I do have news.” She pulled the forms from the file. “This is my Statement of Truth, copies of which I’ve already filed with the Church. This one is for you to sign. It’s the Affidavit of Spectral Fraud, which is basically your confession, and this one—”
“What the hell are you talking about? We haven’t committed any fraud, there’s no—”
“Mr. Darnell.” Normally she’d stand up for this part, but what the hell. The chair was pretty comfortable. “I found, and photographed, the projectors set up in the attic. I won’t bother to point out to you where the holes in the ceiling are, since you already know. The ‘ectoplasm’ on your walls has been analyzed—twice for confirmation—as a mixture of cornstarch, gelatin, iridescent paint, and water.”
She waited for a response and didn’t get one. Good. “I also have pictures of the portable air conditioner you set up beneath the house—that’s another crime, by the way, putting anything underground, but I imagine you know that—to fake sudden changes in temperature. One of my hidden cameras caught you breaking the mirrors, and another one very clearly shows you and Mrs. Darnell discussing your crimes.”
Mr. and Mrs. Darnell looked guilty. Their children—Cassie and Curtis, how cute—looked confused. Chess directed her next comments to them.
“I have two Orders of Relinquishment here. You two are going to be taken to the Church with your parents, but when they go to prison you’ll be moving in with another family member or, failing that, a home will be found for you. You’ll be safe there.”
She could only hope that last line was true. It hadn’t been for her. None of those “homes” she’d been sent to had been safe, or at least not more than a couple of them.
But that was a long time ago. That was before the Church was really settled. That was a mistake; she was an anomaly, or something, and it mattered only in her memories.
Because the Church had saved her. They’d taken her out of that life and given her a new one. The Church had found her and made her into something real.
The two children looked at each other, looked at Chess, looked at their parents. What was the expression on their faces? Shock, curiosity? Chess couldn’t quite read it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again. Shit, she didn’t usually have problems like this from her pills. And no way had she gotten a bad batch; Lex had given her those, and Lex might be in charge of the Downside gang in direct opposition to the one Chess’s … Chess’s everything worked for, but Lex wouldn’t try to do her any harm. She knew that. Lex was her friend.
So what the fuck?
Her eyes itched, too; she raised her hand to rub at them. Struggled to raise it. In fact, she’d been sitting still for a few minutes, hadn’t she? Without moving.
The room started to rock around her, as if she and the Darnells sat on the deck of a ship in stormy waters. Nausea slithered through her stomach, up her throat.
Her skin tingled. Not her skin, actually. Her tattoos—runes and sigils inscribed into her skin with magic-imbued ink by the Church—tingled. The way they always did in the presence of ghosts—or in the presence of magic.
It took forever to turn her head to the left, on a neck that felt like it was being squeezed by strong, hard hands she couldn’t see. Who was … Fuck, someone was casting some kind of spell on her. Who was it, what was it?
She couldn’t tell, couldn’t see well enough to tell. Just a shape, a spot of darker shadow in the long hallway. But whatever it was—it felt like a man, she had enough presence of mind to know that—it was powerful, it was strong, and it was about to beat her.
Something inside her struggled. The noise of the Darnells’ shouting faded, as if a stiff wind had come up and was blowing them all away. The adult Darnells yelling, cackling; the young Darnells panicked and confused.
And over it all words of power seeping into her consciousness, spoken in a deep smooth voice like smoked glass. Smoked glass with jagged edges; she would cut herself on them, they’d slice into her skin and her blood would spill out onto the floor, staining the carpet the Darnells couldn’t pay for. Staining everything except her soul: That was filthy enough already, covered with grime and pain that would never go away, no matter how many pills she took or lines she snorted. She deserved to be punished for that. Deserved to die for it.
But she didn’t want to. Not just because she was afraid of the City of Eternity, either. As her breath came shorter and shallower, as the black edge around her vision thickened until she could see only tiny spots of the room, all she could think about was Terrible. The only man in the world who made her feel … like she was okay, like she could be happy. The only one who understood her. The only one who loved her.
The only one, period.
She would not leave him. She refused to leave him.
His face grew in her mind: black hair pomaded into a rockabilly DA, thick heavy muttonchops, the face she’d once thought was ugly and now couldn’t understand why or how she’d ever thought that. Because every scar showed how strong he was, those hard dark eyes thawed just for her, the heavy brow smoothed when he looked at her and it all added up to Terrible, and she was not going to let some shithead scam artists and their rent-a-witch steal her from him. He’d expect her to fight. He’d expect her to win, too.
Moving her lips hurt. She forced herself to do it anyway. “Arkrandia arkrandia, bellarum bellarum, dishager dishager, arkrandia arkrandia, bellarum bellarum …”
The Banishing words started to come faster, stronger. Not much, and her vision still hadn’t cleared, but she could feel it. Something was building inside her—power was building inside her—and it was chasing away the choking fog of the dark spell.
She kept chanting, her voice creaky and rough, scraping against her throat, while she made her stiff fingers move. She needed to get into her bag; she had goat’s blood in there, cobwebs and chunks of snake. If she could find a piece of iron to grab, it would help.
The witch loomed over her, his large body giving off the faint smell of sweat and cheap aftershave.
Were her feet on the floor? She thought they were, was pretty sure they were, and she guessed it didn’t matter if they weren’t, because she had to try anyway. She started to stand, her legs shaking and hurting beneath her.
The witch hit her, knocked her back. Fucker. That wasn’t even a good punch; it was a wimpy little bitch slap. Now she was getting pissed. Who the hell did he think he was, this soft bag of shit in a shiny-cheap black tent and a pair of dorky-looking loafers? He thought he could come in to one of her cases, attack her?
Bullshit he could.
More anger, to make her even stronger. She was finding it now, that pit of rage deep inside her, the hatred for everyone, for everything they’d done to her. The hatred for herself that never seemed to end, would never end, would never lessen. It was there, and she needed it, and she took it and used it to clench her right hand into a fist, a good strong one. She’d never been too bad at fighting—not with her upbringing—but Terrible had shown her some new stuff, taught her how to do it, where to hit.
So she wasn’t worried at all when she pushed herself up and punched him with all her might. And she had something nobody else had—or at least nobody who wasn’t a trained witch who’d put some real thought into physical self-defense, which her opponent obviously hadn’t.
She pushed her power into that fist, all of her energy, the anger and pain and everything else, and felt it reverberate when it hit him. Good. That gave her more strength, more will to fight.
Unfortunately, seeing her bounce back seemed to give the Darnells the will to fight, too. As she drew her fist to have another go, her energy returning in a rush as the spell was interrupted, an arm wrapped itself around her neck, yanked her against a well-padded chest.
Where the fuck was the fucking Squad? Yes, the whole thing had probably taken much less time than it felt like it had, but they should be there—
The witch dropped his shoulder, ready to hit her again. To hit her properly this time, while Mr. Darnell held her defenseless. Nice.
And, nope, she wasn’t going to let them do that.
The witch checked his swing when she leaned forward as much as she could, trying to bend over completely so Mr. Darnell would rise from the floor. He pulled back harder, his arm tightening around her throat. She kept leaning. Lights started sparking behind her eyes, red and green fireworks of imminent death bright against the figure of the witch, the tackily tasteful living room.
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it one more second, she stood up straight. Fast. So fast Mr. Darnell didn’t have time to react; he kept pulling her, and they both tumbled to the floor, the witch’s fist barely missing her.
With Mr. Darnell beneath her and the witch leaning over, she kicked out with her right leg, managed to catch the witch in his rather ample stomach, and sent him stumbling a few steps away. Her elbow dug into the soft space below Mr. Darnell’s rib cage. His arm around her loosened—not a lot, but enough for her to sit up and start to roll off him.
Roll right into the barrel of the gun.
“Stand up.” Mrs. Darnell’s voice didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t leave Chess’s face. “Come on, get up.”
Great. This was just great. How many people had she busted in her four-year career? Almost exactly four years, in fact. Dozens. Dozens of people. None of them had ever tried this shit with her.
That could have been because if she had any suspicions they might, she asked the Squad for backup, of course. Where the hell were they?
Her legs still felt weird from the spell. That energy hadn’t faded completely. She risked a glance at the witch, saw him standing with his fists clenched, whispering something. Another spell. Wonderful.
“Mrs. Darnell, I don’t think you want to do this.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Mrs. Darnell’s narrowed eyes shot beams of cold hatred at Chess. “I think you’re really, really wrong.”
“Killing a Church employee is automatic grounds for execution. Not to mention we get a special dispensation so we can haunt you until that execution happens. I really—”
“You idiot. How the hell did you manage to catch us, being that stupid? I don’t want to kill you, no. But I will, unless you sign those forms and give us our money.”
“They won’t—”
“Shut up.”
Chess shut up. What was she going to do, argue with the woman holding a gun to her face? Besides, she wanted to think.
Mrs. Darnell had obviously held a gun before, used one before. Both of her hands wrapped tight around the gun’s butt, and her arms bent slightly to absorb its kick. Her entire stance indicated complete confidence. The safety was off. “Now. Get the forms or whatever you need. Slowly.”
“You won’t be able—”
“Oh, but we will. We’re all ready to go. You didn’t think we’d stick around here, did you?”
Mr. Darnell stood up. “I’ll take the gun, Lois.”
“No. If I take my eyes off her, she’ll move.”
No, she wouldn’t. The witch’s spell grew stronger again, and this time she knew if she tried to say the Banishing words she’d be shot. This was ridiculous. She did not spend her whole life fighting to end up shot in some over-mortgaged suburban ranch house.
Might as well take a chance. She dropped to the floor, pushing herself forward so she hit Mrs. Darnell’s legs. The gun went off as Mrs. Darnell staggered back.
Chess hadn’t been hit. Excellent. She was deaf but she hadn’t been shot.
She raised her fist—like lifting a ten-pound weight through a tub of dense foam—and punched Mrs. Darnell in the knee as hard as she could.
Another explosion from the gun. Mrs. Darnell fell on top of her. Chess tried to roll over and push her off; the woman was surprisingly heavy, but she slipped a little. Enough for Chess to shift herself to the left, enough to find Mrs. Darnell’s right hand still clutching the gun.
The witch’s voice grew louder, the energy in the air darker and thicker. If Chess didn’t get that gun away immediately, she was going to die, no question about it.
She kicked back with her right leg, catching Mrs. Darnell somewhere, she didn’t know where for sure. Mr. Darnell had joined in the struggle, trying to pull his wife away and help her up, but Mrs. Darnell was apparently having too much fun trying to bite Chess and punching her in the legs and side. Chess kicked again, and again, her leg screaming from the effort—it was so heavy, so fucking heavy—until she somehow managed to hit Mrs. Darnell in the face.
The woman’s grip on the gun loosened. Only for a second, but it was enough. Chess snatched it away, raised it above her head, and pulled the trigger.
The picture window at the front of the room exploded; shards of glass filled the air, a deadly tidal wave of sharp edges and splinters that could slice veins, dust that could choke.
For a second everything stopped. Everything except Chess; she’d been waiting for that pause, hoping for it, and she used it—it and the power rushing back to her, since the witch had stopped speaking—to push Mrs. Darnell away once and for all, to stand up and hold the gun on the two of them still on the floor.
The front door flew open—the Black Squad, their own guns drawn, their all-black uniforms and helmets like moving ink spots against the pale walls.
Chess lowered the gun, looked over at them. “You’re late.”
One of the Squad members glanced around the room, then back at Chess. “Any problems?”
She grinned. Now that she had the gun, now that the Squad had arrived, relief and adrenaline buzzed through her body, and she felt cheerier than she had since … well, since that morning, anyway. “No. Not really.”
Chapter Two
The best kinds of surprises are intangible! The warmth of a sudden visit from a friend far outweighs material goods.
—Mrs. Increase’s Advice for Ladies, by Mrs. Increase
Her body still ached three hours later, when she trudged up the stairs of her apartment building—a former Catholic church, renovated after Haunted Week proved all religions false—to the hall.
Hers was the only apartment on that side of the L-shaped building, and the stained-glass window that made up the entire front wall of her living room was only one of the reasons she loved it. The privacy, the space—it was hers, something that was only hers, for all that it was just rented.
Nobody came in without permission. Not anymore, not ever again.
That didn’t stop people from visiting, though, at least it didn’t these days. Proof of that stood right outside her front door, slumped against the wall in that elegant lean he did so well. “Hey there, Tulip. Starting to wonder iffen you come home at all on the anymores, aye?”
“Hey, Lex.” As always, a confusing mix of emotions tumbled through her head, through her chest. Happiness to see her friend, the desire for him to leave before Terrible got there, annoyance at the way he always just showed up and assumed he’d be welcome—what if Terrible had been with her? Just because he didn’t forbid Chess from seeing Lex didn’t mean he approved or liked the fact that she did.
She didn’t approve of or like it, either. Nor did she approve of or like the small, insistent tingle of arousal low in her belly, but she couldn’t change it. For almost three months, seeing Lex waiting for her had signaled more drugs and at least a couple of orgasms. It took time to undo that sort of conditioning, no matter how completely in love she was with someone else and no matter how much Lex knew it.
He bent to give her a kiss on the cheek—that familiar Lex smell washing over her—and smiled. “Figured I’d give you the hellos, me, see iffen you needed all anything.”
“I can always use more.” A minute or so to unlock the three bolts on her door and release the magical wards she’d set up, and she led him into her kitchen.
“Figured on that.” He reached into the front pocket of his battered jeans and tugged out a wrinkled plastic sandwich bag half full of her little white best friends.
She took it. Her pillbox was only about a third empty, she’d just refilled— Wait a minute.
She gave him a sharp look. “Why are you really here?”
“Ain’t I can come on a visit? Thinking you ain’t give Blue the what’s-up she brings sheself here, so why I getting it?”
She washed four Cepts down with water. “Because Blue doesn’t only show up when she wants something from me. And because I know you.”
“Know you, too. Like how mean you is.” He walked the few more steps into her living room, plunked himself down on her new couch. Well, maybe not exactly new—she’d had it for about two months—but it still seemed new.
Without asking she grabbed a beer from the fridge and handed it to him.
He nodded his thanks. “Coursen … now you mentioning it, could be maybe I got a favor you could do me.”
Uh-huh. She let the totally-not-fooled expression sit on her face another few seconds. “Really. Like what?”
“Thinking maybe you ain’t mind working me up a chatter with Terrible.”
If she’d had any liquid in her mouth she would have sprayed it everywhere in shock. Luckily she didn’t, but she sort of sputtered anyway. “What—but—why? Why would you want to talk to him?”
“Got my reasonings, I do.”
Right. Like trying to kill him, presumably, since Lex wanted nothing more than to take over all the areas of Downside currently run by Terrible’s boss—her regular dealer—Bump. Without Terrible, Bump would be a lot easier to defeat, and everyone knew it.
She eyed him with extra suspicion. “Why, Lex?”
“Gots some stuff to chatter on with him.” He leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “Know what thought you got, I do, but ain’t that way. Just wanna sit us down, is all, nothing on the extra.”
Terrible would never go for it. Never. The only time he’d even acknowledged Lex’s existence as anything but an asshole he’d enjoy killing was the night three months or so ago when she’d almost died, and the two men had driven around Triumph City to find her. And that had required her to almost die. Nothing short of that would make him agree to speak to Lex again.
“I don’t think—”
He sighed. A heavy, put-upon sigh, the kind at which he excelled. “Shit. Gotta give you the swears? I swear on it, Tulip. Ain’t gonna do shit to him, I ain’t.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. Well, it was, a little, but mostly it was just … shit.
“Notice you ain’t got so much worryin on me, you ain’t. Gotta give you the thanks for that one.” His tone was dry, barely on the right side of sarcastic, but it pinched her all the same. Yeah, that was kind of shitty of her, wasn’t it? Especially since anyone who would bet on Lex in a fight between him and Terrible—shit, anyone who’d bet against Terrible in any fight—might as well throw their money into the bay.
She hesitated, and he took his shot. The one shot guaranteed to work on her, and she knew he knew it. “Ain’t never given you the asks on the befores, aye, and seems I recall doing you favors plenty.”
“Fine.” It went against everything she wanted, but he had her there. He’d done her a lot of favors, done a lot for her. The least she could do was ask Terrible to talk to him.
It might mean spending a night alone—Terrible didn’t enjoy being reminded that she was friends with Lex, that for a while she’d been naked friends with Lex—but she didn’t have much choice. Hell, she had a full pillbox and a nice-sized backup now, for free, and that was another favor.
He grinned. “Aye, that’s real good, real good. Knew you gimme the stand-up. Counted on you, I did.”
Yeah. She was certain of that.
She was also certain that Terrible would arrive at any minute and that, whatever she’d agreed to, he wouldn’t be thrilled to find Lex there. She was also blessedly aware that her pills were starting to hit, her muscles relaxing, peaceful cheer seeping into her head and making her feel light. Making the situation seem not so bad.
Good thing, too, because the sound of the Chevelle’s engine drifted through the window. One thing about stained glass: It was beautiful, and it made the room look like the inside of a jewel box when the sun hit it, but it wasn’t particularly well insulated.
Lex heard it, too. “Hey, lucky chances. Sounding like he got heself here on the right now, aye? Just have myself the wait, catch him he gets inside.”
“Yeah, lucky chances.” Fuck. Double fuck. For one mad second she thought of kicking him out, pushing him out the door and slamming it behind him. But what difference would it make? Terrible would run into him in the hall or as they both crossed the lobby that had once been the nave.
Oh well. Worrying about it wasn’t going to make it any better, and there was no way it could be good.
Terrible’s key turned in the lock; her nerves gave a fluttering twist in her chest as he stepped inside.
His smile dropped like a guillotine blade when he looked past her and saw Lex leaning back on her couch, with his arm along the back and one foot propped on her battered coffee table. “The fuck you doin here?”
Lex opened his mouth, but Chess was faster. “Hey. Um, Lex just got here, he wanted—actually, he wants to talk to you, it’s why he came. I didn’t know he was coming, he just showed up.”
Wow. That didn’t sound guilty at all. She met his dark eyes, hoping he could see the truth behind hers. Trusting that he would, or at least trying to trust, because he needed her to trust and she wanted to.
“Wanna have me a chatter,” Lex said.
Terrible glanced up. “No.”
“Aw, c’mon now, only the speech, dig, not—”
Terrible shook his head. His left hand rose to grip the back of Chess’s neck, a possessive gesture she wasn’t sure he realized he was making. “Ain’t saying no to chatter. Sayin no to whatany it is you want.”
“Aye?” Lex lit a cigarette, leaned forward to pick up Chess’s cheap plastic ashtray, and set it beside him on the couch. “Thinking you wanna make Tulip here happy, you listen up.”
Terrible looked at her, What the fuck? written all over his face. Too bad she didn’t know, either.
“Coursen, maybe you ain’t wanting her happy? You just gimme the tell, then, I see what I can—”
Terrible lunged. Chess moved a second before, knowing it was coming. She leapt in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring the weird yelp that came out of her mouth in her amazement that she’d managed to catch him at all. “Don’t, just … just don’t, okay? Please?”
It didn’t make much difference, really; he could have kept going without even noticing the extra weight of her body. But something—maybe her presence, maybe her words, maybe the fact that it was her house—stopped him.
“Talk.” His anger vibrated against her skin even as she stepped away from him. This was so not the way she’d wanted the evening to go.
Lex smiled. He hadn’t moved once. “Only a tease there, aye? Ain’t meaning harm by it.”
Damn him, that whole fucking thing had been a ploy, a game to see what it would take to make Terrible mad. Information Lex could use, a weakness he could exploit—as if he needed another one of those.
She hadn’t figured out a way to neutralize the sigil carved into Terrible’s chest, and she couldn’t risk just slicing the skin off even if she could stomach the idea. For all she knew, that sigil, the one whose very presence was testimony to her crimes—killing a psychopomp hawk coming to claim his soul, and using her knife to make the sigil itself—was all that actually kept him alive.
She didn’t regret it. Never could regret it; if she hadn’t done it he’d be dead. But she did wish to hell it hadn’t made him so vulnerable. Passing out in the presence of dark magic was not a good thing, especially not when Lex knew about it.
Lex indicated one of her lumpy chairs, waving his hand as if he were lord of the manor or something. “Ain’t you wanting to have you a sit-down?”
“Talk.”
“Aw, c’mon now, Terrible, ain’t needing to get all fratchy, aye? Let’s us have a real chatter, friendly-like. True thing.”
Terrible didn’t move. This was not going to go well; Chess knew that, of course, but that stupid hope would never go away, even though she knew how useless it was.
Lex paused for a second, then shrugged. “Guessing I ain’t gotta give you the knowledge who’s in charge my side now, aye?”
When Terrible didn’t reply, he continued. “I gots me-self some plans, I do. Changes coming, if you dig me.”
Great. Why didn’t he just threaten Terrible outright? Despite what some people thought—despite what he himself thought—Terrible wasn’t stupid. Especially not about shit like this.
She glanced over at him, watching him pull a cigarette from the pocket of his bowling shirt and light it with his black steel lighter. The six-inch flame cast a faint glow that told her maybe turning on some lights would be a good idea. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour or two, no, but … it felt dark in there. Dark like Terrible’s anger, dark like the world. Dark like the emptiness inside her.
“Big changes. Ain’t having no more game-plays, I ain’t.”
Smoke drifted into the air in a thin, curling stream, hiding part of Terrible’s face behind it, hiding his expression and thoughts in a fragrant, ever-moving veil.
Chess knew what he was thinking anyway; she could still feel it throbbing in the air.
Lex lifted his beer. The smirk had left his face, at least. “Aye, seein you dig. Could use me someone worth trusting, gimme the help-out. Someone make heself more on the money side than he getting now, guessing. Like bein a partner, takin he own piece.”
Oh no. No, he couldn’t be saying that, could he? How in the hell could he honestly think Terrible would go to work for him—with him?
Terrible looked as if he had the same thought. His eyes narrowed; his head tilted to the left. Waiting. Watching, that dead-eye glare like a snake about to strike.
“Thinkin you come on over, do you work for me, aye? What you do now, only my side. With me. Make it all worth up, I will.”
“No.”
“Aw, now, why ain’t you giving it a thought, leastaways? Make Tulip happy, ain’t you thinkin? Us not tryna make each others dead, be a cheer-up for her.”
Just what she wanted. Bring her into the discussion. Remind Terrible that she’d betrayed him, that while he’d thought something was starting between them—while something was starting between them—she’d been running off to spend long sweaty nights in Lex’s bed.
Not that Terrible would or could ever forget, but still.
“All knowing nobody beats you, aye? Need me a man like that, make things tight up. Needs a brain, too, which you know you got. You name me a price. True thing, Terrible. Makes me happy, makes you happy, makes Tulip happy. Ain’t that the juice?”
“No.”
Lex’s expression didn’t change. He stubbed out his smoke, took another swig from his beer, and set it on the table. “You have you a think on it, aye? Ain’t needing the answer on the now, you gimme the tell on the morrow.”
Terrible shrugged. “Answer ain’t changin.”
“Aye? Whyn’t you get the thoughts, anyway, we chatter again.” Lex stood up and started toward the door. Chess and Terrible moved back a few steps into the kitchen so he could get past, but he stopped a foot or so away from them. Almost—but not quite—too close.
“Oughta give one more thing the mentions here. You ain’t wanna come on with me … means I get on finding one who will, dig, get me a steel-man of my owns. Ain’t sure Downside got size enough for two, aye? Rather not be fighting you causen of Tulip, but … got plans, I do, an I ain’t losing em.”
Chess closed her eyes. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way she was standing in her own kitchen, listening to Lex threaten Terrible while Terrible’s hand twitched on the back of her neck and anger rolled off him in thick waves.
When she opened her eyes again, Lex stood by the door. “On the laters, Tulip. Give you a ring-up, I will.”
What was she supposed to say? Great? Awesome, you do that? She managed to raise her hand in a weak sort of wave before the door closed behind him, leaving Chess alone with Terrible and his rage.
She didn’t want to look at him. The thought of what she might see in his eyes scared her, and that made her even angrier because she wasn’t supposed to be scared of him, and that scared her even more, and four Cepts had totally not been enough. She’d have to grab another one. Immediately. Five was pushing it, but not beyond the boundary of acceptable.
But first … time to pay the piper, or take her punishment, or whatever the hell. She glanced up at him, found him staring at the door like he expected it to fly back open and reveal Lex with a loaded gun.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t— He was waiting here when I got home, and he said he wanted to talk to you, he wanted me to ask you to talk to him. He didn’t tell me why or what he wanted.”
His hand left her neck, leaving her skin cold and oddly light, missing its warm weight. She watched him pull his bottle of bourbon out of the cabinet and down a couple of swigs. Watched him grab a beer out of the fridge, stride past her to the couch—the other side from where Lex had sat—and chase the shots with almost half the bottle. Shit. Of course he drank—who the fuck didn’t?—but not like that, not usually. Not like he was trying to drown something out, forget it, get rid of it, hide it under an ocean of booze until no one even knew it had been there.
Not like … well, not like her.
What was she supposed to do? She’d already apologized. She’d explained. He wasn’t responding. Damn it, she wasn’t good at this, didn’t have any experience with this. She’d never even dated someone for more than a single night, at least not before Lex came along, and they’d never really gotten mad at each other because their relationship didn’t matter enough to bother getting mad over. So what the hell was her reaction supposed to be?
Whatever it was, she guessed standing there staring at him wasn’t it. She dug in her bag for another pill and forced it down without water while she sat next to him. Not touching him—that might not be a good idea—but close to him, so the heat from his leg brushed against hers.
“So I know that probably wasn’t what you wanted to deal with right when you walked—”
“He got the truth?”
“What?”
He lit another cigarette off the butt of the first one. His eyes stayed focused on the stained-glass window. “He got the truth. That what you’re wanting? Me with him?”
“What—no, no, I mean, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
Even as she said it, a sneaky, selfish part of her wondered if it was entirely true. Oh, who was she kidding? Pretty much all of her was sneaky and selfish, but it was still just a small part of her that wondered.
She couldn’t ask Terrible to do that. Not ever. But she couldn’t deny it would be so much easier. For Terrible to stop hating Lex, to stop gritting his teeth and clenching his fists every time Lex’s name came up—which wasn’t often—and to not get mad if she wanted to get something to eat with Lex. To not get mad when she went shopping or whatever with Lex’s sister Blue—Beulah, actually, but she preferred Blue, and in that Chess supposed she didn’t blame her—who had become her friend, weird as that was.
Even weirder was how she was more willing to give up Lex than Blue, if she really thought about it. It was kind of cool having a female friend, even if they didn’t do girlie-type things. No manicures or pink cocktails, and no chatting about sex—at least, not on Chess’s part. Blue was more open, but then Blue was dating some married guy so didn’t have anyone else to talk to about him. But it was … well, it was fun. She couldn’t help it. It was.
Chess didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to dream about it, but she couldn’t help the images that bounced through her head in the few seconds before she managed to shut them down. The four of them hanging out at Lex’s place, drinking beer on her roof, her not feeling guilty and shitty anymore when Lex called or she went somewhere with Blue. Terrible could just smile and give her a kiss and tell her to have fun …
Right, sure. And then they could all go for a frolic in the sparkly diamond rain.
Besides, the thought of Lex and Terrible together all the time—that would never work. Could never work. Even without the whole business rivalry, Terrible hated Lex. Hated Lex because of her, hated Lex because he knew she’d been leaving him after an evening of hanging out—after many evenings of hanging out—and heading over to Lex’s place to spend the night in his bed. She’d betrayed him with Lex, over and over again, and even if she could expect him to put his loyalty to Bump aside she knew he couldn’t possibly ever forget that.
Hell, even if he tried, Lex wouldn’t let him, would he?
Terrible watched her, watched her tight so she felt like she couldn’t escape. She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder, wrap her arms around him, but something told her she should hang back. “No. I don’t want that.”
His eyes searched hers. “Aye?”
“Aye.” She smiled.
He smiled back, a brief flash of a smile across his face before his mouth twisted down again. “He ain’t lyin on havin plans. Two street men dead in the last week, dig. Right onna corners, just left there.”
“Lex killed them?”
“Ain’t can see who else done it. Watchers said dudes pull theyselves up in a car, jump out, stab em up an take off again. Ain’t even dipped them pockets, dig.”
Shit. “So … what are you guys doing?”
“Do what we gotta, aye? Ain’t can have that shit. Wonder on he not sayin on it, but guessing he ain’t with you here.”
“Or he didn’t mention it because he wants you to work with him.”
Terrible shrugged and leaned forward to stub out his smoke. As he did, his glance fell on her arm. “What’s on there?”
“Huh? Oh.” Damn, she’d almost managed to forget about the Darnells. “Remember my case, the people who broke the mirrors? I busted them today. They weren’t very happy about it.”
“They hit you?”
“Yeah. Well, they had a witch there who tried to kill me, then they had a gun, but it was fine. I’m fine, no biggie.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “How about you, how was your day?”
She could practically see him trying to decide if it was worth pushing or not; thankfully, he didn’t. Even better, he lifted her arm and kissed the smudgy dark spot forming there, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Hey.” She reached up to trail her fingers down his thick sideburns, unable to keep herself from grinning. “I might have a few more bruises, too.”
His eyebrows rose, his own smile transforming his face the way she loved so much. “Aye? Where?”
“Oh, all over. It’s really bad. There are tons of them.”
He shook his head. “Damn. Thinkin you oughta show me, aye? So’s I can be all certain you ain’t hurt much.”
“I think you’re right.” She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and lifted it off, shivering harder when his warm hands found her bare skin, reached behind her to unfasten her bra and slip that off, too. “I definitely need your help.”
Love wasn’t one emotion, she didn’t think. It was a combination of a whole bunch of them, and each one had a slightly different formula. Like how if she mixed black powder with an equal amount of blood salt and powdered cat’s skull, she’d have a nice little hex-shield that would bounce curses back to the caster, but the same ingredients in different proportions would induce people to admit the truth if it got on their skin.
Love was like that, and the formulas were always changing. It never sat still and let her get used to it; she didn’t feel as if she ever quite had her balance.
And there was the formula changing again, going from light and warm to tingly and hot. Hot and getting hotter when his mouth took hers, his fingertips on her jaw and then sliding into her hair. His body urged hers back, so she lay on the couch with his warm solid weight above her and her hands already finding bare skin under his shirt, spreading her fingers apart as wide as she could so she could feel more of him at once.
He took his time, inching his palm up her rib cage to barely skim her breast, sliding it down over the curve of her hip and thigh. His teeth caught her tongue and held it for a second, just long enough to send a flash of heat through her entire body. Still he didn’t speed up, but that heat did, racing through her, screaming it was going so fast, and she felt as if she glowed in the ever-darker room as the sun set over Downside.
Then Terrible stopped, and she realized it wasn’t her body screaming—well, her body was screaming, like it always did when he touched her, but the sound she heard wasn’t her body. Wasn’t her voice. It was a voice of terror, a voice of pain and despair, and it sent a shiver that had nothing to do with sex or love or anything even remotely pleasant up her spine.
It was coming from the street outside, and more voices joined it every second.
Chapter Three
You must always be ready.
—Debunking: A Practical Guide, by Elder Morgenstern
Quite a crowd had gathered by the time Chess and Terrible burst through the tall, heavy wooden doors of her building, down the steps and across the patch of scrub grass and pebbles to the street, where dozens of backs obscured her view of whatever was happening.
Too bad they didn’t obscure the screams, those awful wails. Why were people standing there watching if they were so scared—
“Fuck!” Terrible was gone before the word even registered in her head, shoving his way through the crowd. Of course, he could see over them. He knew what was happening.
So whatever it was probably wasn’t a good thing. But then she hadn’t imagined it would be.
And what the hell was she doing, standing there in the back while Terrible did whatever it was he was doing in the center? Fuck that.
People didn’t move as fast for her as they had for him, but the ink on her shoulders, arms, and chest carried enough weight to get them going. Most people thought witches had a lot more power than they actually did, and Chess didn’t do anything to disabuse them of that notion. It had kept her safer in Downside than she had any right to be for almost four years, especially since everyone learned that Downside’s Churchwitch worked for Bump.
They might have taken their chances with the Church, but no way would they do that with Bump. Fucking with Bump meant fucking with Terrible, and the only people who did that had death wishes even more serious than Chess’s. If that were possible.
Through the tiny spaces between people, she caught glimpses of … something … what the fuck? The street red with blood, a shoe lying in a glistening puddle of it …
She reached the center just as Terrible pulled back his fist and slammed it into the face of a man in the circle. That man stood over another man—a dead body—and was swinging the corpse’s disembodied left arm like a bat.
The man stumbled and fell onto the bloody cement, the arm in his hand waving as he went down. Chess automatically glanced at Terrible, only to see his eyes close, see him waver on his feet for a second before shaking his head and straightening up.
Her tattoos tingled and burned. A ghost. A ghost and magic and—oh shit. Dark magic, and just punching that man was enough to cause a reaction in Terrible. She had to find a solution to that. No more fucking around. Nothing had worked so far, and she hated being reminded of her failures, but seriously.
Bad enough that Lex knew about it. If the rest of Downside found out … she couldn’t even imagine how awful that would be.
This wasn’t the time to picture it, either, because the killer—she assumed he was the killer—started to stand up. His buzz-cut hair and the back of his dirty white shirt dripped with blood, vibrant and horrible in the darkening air.
Terrible knocked him down again with a savage kick to the throat, using the sole of his boot to shove him to the pavement.
Chess tensed. If the magic affected him that badly from a momentary touch …
Nothing. Her sigh was so deep it made her weak. The sole of Terrible’s boot—what was it made of? Did it matter, or was it simply having a barrier that made the difference?
Whatever it was, the killer didn’t like it very much. He writhed on the cement, grunting, his fingers slipping uselessly off Terrible’s boot and his other hand slapping the arm against Terrible’s leg. Gross. The sight of that limp hand flapping, as if it was trying to grab back the life that had been stolen from it, made her stomach lurch.
Someone else came out of the crowd and grabbed the killer’s legs, holding them down. And still that awful, sly sensation crawled up and down her arms, across her chest and shoulders. Still the black fog of magic intended to hurt and kill oozed into her chest, into her soul, to connect to the filth already there. It countered her high, stole it from her, made sadness and misery and hatred fall on her in a hellish downpour of pain.
At least she could do something about that. She started to turn, intending to run back to her apartment and get her bag, when something struck her.
The killer still lay on the cement. Still fighting against Terrible, still waving that gruesome appendage around like a Church flag at Festival time, still struggling against the other man—Burnjack, Chess thought his name was, one of Bump’s lieutenants—holding down his legs.
How long had he been like that? Why hadn’t he passed out yet, with Terrible’s foot crushing his windpipe?
Terrible wasn’t holding back, either. He was putting weight on that foot, and his weight was considerable, considering he was about six foot four and packed with muscle. She’d estimated it at two-seventy once, and while that had been a bit too heavy, he wasn’t exactly light.
So how was the killer still moving, still breathing?
Terrible must have had the same thought. His eyes searched the crowd for her; when they caught hers he raised his eyebrows, gave her a small tip of his head she understood. She nodded in reply. Yes, something magic-related was going on, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
She jerked her own head back toward her building, letting him know where she was going, and he nodded.
She’d run that fast before, but not very often. Her chest ached by the time she reached her bedroom and grabbed the stack of hardcover books she used as a step stool when she needed one. Usually she didn’t anymore, because Terrible got things down for her, but she figured he was pretty well occupied in keeping down a homicidal maniac who seemingly refused to die and radiated black magic and ghost energy like blood spreading through clear water.
She kept all the standard stuff in her bag—iron filings, graveyard dirt, asafetida, iron-ring water, and blood salt; the sort of all-purpose things she used a lot. The box on the top shelf of her closet was where the other stuff was, supplies she’d bought just because, or in case she ever needed them. Always good to be prepared, and almost everything in that box would be helpful in breaking curses or hexes, weakening dark magics, crossing the Evil Eye.
Okay. Powdered crow’s bone, of course. She had some dried chunks of snake, some goat’s blood, tormentil, ground rat tails, a handful of lizard eyes and cat claws. Hell, she should just take the whole box, except someone would steal it.
Her hands shook as she tossed everything she thought might be useful into her bag, catching the silver glint of her pillbox in its pocket. If only … Too bad all the adrenaline in her system made it totally useless to even think about taking more. Maybe after all of it was done she’d take an Oozer or two. If she could; if she was still alive to do so.
Maybe that was being dramatic, but if there was one thing her life had taught her—one lesson it had rammed down her throat until she choked on it—it was that nothing was ever safe. Positive expectations were for idiots.
The crowd had grown in the short time she’d been upstairs. It spread out into the yard of the building across the street, into the corner itself. Some people had brought chairs to stand on or rickety ladders; others sat on the walls edging the staircase to her front door. It was a hell of a show, after all. Nobody wanted to miss it.
Nobody except her, anyway. Too bad she didn’t have a choice. She fought her way through the forest of bodies, pushing as hard as she could. What were they going to do, attack her? Fuck them. They needed to get the hell out of her way, and they needed to do it immediately.
With every step—with every person she shoved to the side—the buzzing of her tattoos, the creeping sensation through her body, the cloud of despair and horror, grew, until she wondered how she managed to stay upright.
Luckily she did, and so did Terrible, although he definitely looked paler than he should. Whatever that was, it was clearly starting to get to him, to infect him, and she didn’t have much time.
The killer still struggled to get up, still waved that arm around like a fucking winning lottery ticket. No way was that guy alive by normal means; she could see his throat almost crushed under Terrible’s foot.
So how was he alive at all?
First things first. She grabbed the iron-ring water—clean water with iron rings in the bottle, left to purify under a full moon—and watched Terrible take a swig. Some of his color returned. At least that was some weight off. For the moment, anyway.
More of that heaviness lightened when she took a drink herself. Excellent. Start with the iron filings, then; clearly iron had some power over whatever the spell was—it usually did—and what she needed most was to neutralize it enough to think.
“Arkrandia bellarum dishager.” Her hand swung in an arc over the supine killer, spreading a fine dust of iron. The power lessened again.
But the killer hadn’t blinked. He hadn’t blinked and he hadn’t choked. Chess bent down, trying not to get too close but needing to see it anyway.
Holy shit. Either she was in the presence of some unbelievably fucked-up magic or this guy was out of his mind on Burn—a drug even she wouldn’t go near—or both, because he hadn’t blinked, and tiny shards of iron dug into his eyeballs. As she watched, blood welled around one of the largest pieces, started trickling down to the outer corner.
He could certainly see, though. His free hand—the one not clutching its grisly souvenir—shot out and grabbed for her, caught her ankle in a grip so strong she cried out. Horrible cold magic, death magic, ghost magic, flew up her leg, spread through her body and darkened her vision.
Terrible’s foot smashed into the killer’s head; blood sprayed from his nose and mouth. Still the killer’s hand clutched her ankle; still he pulled harder than she would have imagined he could.
Chess went down. Lukewarm blood soaked into her clothes, her hair. Her stomach lurched. She was covered with it, it was all over her, on her skin. …
Terrible’s foot slammed down again, and again. The killer’s face broke. He still didn’t let go, started yanking her closer. What the fuck was going on? He couldn’t be alive, no way could he be alive.
One more heavy stomp. The killer’s head … “exploded” was the only word that seemed to fit, although it wasn’t quite as dramatic as that. It looked like … like a smashed M&M, oozing blood and spilling pulpy tissue from its hard candy shell.
His grip didn’t loosen.
She shoved her blood-slick hand into her pocket to pull out the switchblade Terrible had given her a couple of months before, but Terrible was faster. He crouched down, dug the point of his own knife down into the killer’s arm, hard enough that it scraped the pavement beneath.
The killer started to babble, syllables falling from his misshapen mouth dying-fish-like against the pool of blood.
Terrible dragged his knife to the left, slicing through the killer’s arm; Chess did the same on the other side. Oh, that was so fucking gross, and the magic kept spreading through her body, thicker and heavier every minute like cold crawling slime, making her vision blur further and her head buzz.
Terrible’s eyelids fluttered again. His hand had come in contact with the killer’s wrist as he finished cutting through the skin. Chess reached out to grab him, pushing as much energy as she could into him. Please, please let it work. If he passed out that man-thing was going to get up, she knew it, and no one else would have a hope of defeating it.
Not to mention what it would do to Terrible to pass out in front of everyone, how that would affect him. She couldn’t even think of that.
His head dipped for a second, his face paling further. He started to fall forward. No, no damn it, that couldn’t— She gripped his arm harder, dug her nails in and shoved everything she had into it, as much energy as she could summon.
That, at least, worked. Too bad when he slipped, his foot left the killer’s head, and the killer was moving again. Would that thing never die— No. No, it wouldn’t, would it? It snapped together in her head, a disgusting idea, but the only one she could think of.
The man was possessed by a ghost. Or worse, it was a corpse re-animated by a ghost.
Okay. It was a ghost, and she could Banish it. She just had to disconnect it from that body first, and while that wouldn’t be easy, it was something she knew how to do.
Terrible straightened, kicking out at the killer and shoving it back to the ground, while Chess threw a handful of graveyard dirt and asafetida at it.
It froze.
Her shoulders had started to sag in relief when it moved again. Shit! It must be getting some sort of extra protection from the body it was in, either the body or the magic or both.
Okay. Try something else. She popped the cap of her salt canister and started walking a circle, focusing on the energy. People stepped out of her way and stayed outside the circle, something she hadn’t expected but was grateful for.
But, then, of course they stayed outside it; Downsiders weren’t quite as afraid of magic as they were of Terrible, but probably close. At least of this kind of magic.
She reached the end. Fuck. She needed to use her blood to set the circle, but her knife had just been buried in a dead man’s muscles. The thought of cutting her own flesh with it was just … No.
Oh, this sucked. It fucking sucked. She wiped her knife on her jeans, set down the salt canister, and gritted her teeth. The second this was done, she was going to soak her hand in antiseptic.
“With blood I bind.” The stinging pain of the cut in her left pinkie faded when the circle set in place, strong and pure, giving her that little rush of energy that never grew old.
That was all well and good, but whether or not the circle would hold a ghost possessing a corpse was another question entirely.
Terrible glanced at her, his expression a question. She nodded and he turned to Burnjack, still holding down the killer’s legs inside the circle. “Go on, now, only don’t step on that salt, aye? Don’t fuck it up.”
Burnjack nodded. The second he let go of the killer’s legs they started moving again, kicking and jerking like a toddler having a fit. At almost the same moment Terrible crossed the salt line himself and stood near Chess.
Not too near, of course, but at moments like this she almost didn’t give a shit that they’d decided to keep their relationship secret, that Terrible thought it would keep her safer if people didn’t know they could get to him through her. It made sense, and she agreed most of the time, but right then … right then she was freaked out and covered with cold blood, and she wanted nothing more than to have him wrap those strong arms around her and make her feel safe.
But he couldn’t, so she focused on the killer dragging himself to his feet, his upper body wavering, his flattened head sagging forward praying-mantis-like, too much for the crushed neck to support. She didn’t know how she managed to keep from throwing up; blood drooled from the sick ruin of his face, dripped on his shirt, flew through the air in a vile rain when he shook his deflated head.
He stumbled toward her, arms outstretched. Did he see her—could he see anything through those eyes anymore? Or, no, he probably felt her, felt the power in her blood. Ghosts always did.
She held her breath when he reached the circle. The entire crowd held its breath when he reached the circle, all of them waiting to see what would happen. He reached out—
The energy of the spell on him, of the ghost and the practitioner, slammed into her and knocked the air out of her chest. So cold, so fucking cold, and so dark. The circle was connected to her and the magic probed the circle, finding her, sticking sneaky inquisitive fingers into her, poking and prodding to see where it hurt the most, finding the weak spots. There were so many for it to find.
She tried to push back against it but she didn’t have the strength, not if she wanted to keep the circle in place. It was holding; she would call it a miracle if she didn’t know those didn’t exist, didn’t know it was the Church—the magic the Church had taught her to use—keeping that barrier in place.
How long it would stay in place, she didn’t know. The spell on the corpse was so fucking strong.
She clenched her fists and struggled. Not the time to think about it. Thinking wasn’t going to help anything. What she needed to do was find a way to separate ghost and body.
She could do it with her psychopomp, but there was no way she could get into that circle to summon it, not without Terrible, and she couldn’t take the chance of him collapsing again. No, she’d need to break or weaken the spell first, and that wasn’t going to be easy.
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