Chasing Magic (23 page)

Sunlight poured through the empty windows. In its glow, the empty house with its bare patchy walls and dusty floorboards looked almost cheerful. Now a
shadow passed overhead; it passed over Chess’s heart, too, making it cold. “Do you think … something happened to them?”

He reached for the doorknob. It turned in his hand. “Fuck.”

Chess didn’t need him to tell her to pull out her knife and flick the blade out. Nor did she need him to tell her to stay close as she followed him up the stairs, silent step by silent step. No chances of a creak giving them away; the stairs, like the floors upstairs, had been reinforced with steel when Bump decided to use the place.

She didn’t like the smell in the air. Not one bit.

Terrible glanced back at her just before his head cleared the upper floor, a questioning look she understood very well. Not a sound came from the floor above. Not the faintest indication of movement, of any kind of life up there.

Terrible’s eyes told her he felt it too, knew it too. The sensation of … emptiness. Stillness, the heavy unnatural stillness of a room empty not because there were no bodies in it but because life had left those bodies.

Two of them. Bump’s men, propped up against the wall like passed-out drunks, their heads leaning toward each other and their legs straight out in front of them. They’d been dragged there; trails of blood from their feet to deeper pools indicated the spots where they’d died.

Where they’d died messily. Red exploded at her, assaulting her eyes at the same time the smell hit her nose. It wasn’t that there was so much of it, it was that what there was had gone everywhere. It sprayed across the walls in horrible arcs; it spattered the ceiling like a rash.

Terrible took her arm and shifted her so her back was against one of the non-bloody spots on the wall. “Stay here.”

Fuck that. There was nobody in the place; they both
knew it. She followed him while he checked the small bathroom, the two other rooms used for storage or whatever else—Chess didn’t think she wanted to know too much about what went on in there, really.

But only emptiness greeted them. Emptiness and that silence growing louder and louder every second, until it beat against her eardrums. She spun around, certain someone stood right behind her, but no one was there.

When they returned to the main room—the death room—Terrible bent down and placed his fingers on the forehead of one of the dead men. “Ain’t warm. Been dead awhile.”

“When was the last time you talked to them?”

“I ain’t since last night, afore we got sleepin. Dipper Bob say he checked with em on the morn an they right up then, bout ten maybe? So seven hours, leastaways.”

Seven hours. She’d been in the shower, getting ready to head to Elder Griffin’s place. She’d been drying her hair, putting on some makeup, getting ready for her day, and these men had been dying. Not just dying; being killed.

“Hey, wait. They were shot.”

“Aye, just—aw, damn, aye. Weren’t torn up, like them under that spell do. Some else done this, aye? Some not under the spell. Came an took them who’d been doin the speed.”

They stood there for a few seconds, letting the implications sink in. How had the killers found Marietta and the men? They wouldn’t have had their—

“Their phones. Where were their cells? Did they have them?”

“Ought not to. Shoulda been taken first thing, put inna— Hold on.”

Chess headed for the windows while Terrible ducked back into one of the empty rooms they’d inspected. Outside, the street looked completely still, completely
empty, but she knew people lurked inside the other houses. People squatted in those buildings, slept under those leaky roofs, set fires in them when the weather was cold.

Had any of them seen anything?

“Chess. C’mere.”

She’d taken about three steps toward the open doorway when she felt it: the shiver of magic—of dark magic, a very familiar dark magic—over her skin. What—how had that happened, how had it— Oh.

Terrible stood beside an open safe set into the floorboards. Every step closer to it brought an increase in the energy; it didn’t surprise her one bit to see a walnut sitting by itself on the rough steel bottom of the safe.

“Bump’s men took it off one of them?”

“Guessin so.” He glanced at the doorway. “Ain’t can ask em, aye?”

Well, actually, she probably could, if she wanted to. Trouble was, she didn’t. Making the long cold trip down to the City of Eternity—most people stayed above-ground and went through a Church Liaiser, but she was a witch herself so she’d get to go it alone, yay—stripping down, letting a spirit use her body … no fucking way. Enough people had already done that in her life.

She’d go down to the City if she had no other options. She didn’t think they were quite there yet. “It had to be one of the men. I would have felt it on Marietta.”

He nodded. “Figured so.”

Damn. If she’d searched the men—well, really, what difference would it have made?

It might have meant more guards assigned. It might have meant the two out there would still be alive.

Or more likely it would have meant more guards died. Not a damn thing she could do about it now, either way. Fuck.

“Got them phones here.” Terrible held up two of them,
a sparkly pink one that had obviously been Marietta’s—well, probably had been, anyway; for all she knew, one of the men had liked sparkly pink phones—and a black one. He tossed her the pink one and started pressing buttons on the other. “Fuck. Dead battery. Any luck you got there?”

Marietta’s phone still had juice, yeah, but that didn’t do any good. It required a pass code, and Chess had no idea how to figure that one out. “It’s locked.”

“Give it me. Take it over one a Bump’s brainmen, aye? He get it cracked.”

She handed it over.

He made his way around the room, inspecting the walls. “Ain’t can see how them mighta touched up whoever came to get em, dig. No phones an all. How they get found? Got any thoughts?”

“Only … only that maybe somebody told them where Marietta and the guys would be. Maybe somebody knows where this place is, knew they’d be coming here?”

He nodded, the frown on his face sending a chill up her spine. “Aye. What thought I had, too. Got us a traitor.”

“Working for—”

“Works for whoever pushin that bad shit around, aye? Tryin build theyselves an army, I’m thinkin. Start them a war here.”

It was after six by the time they sat down at Dunk’s Diner to eat. Or they sat down so Terrible could eat and Chess could pick at food; several more pills meant she didn’t want anything else, but she knew he’d insist that she at least have something.

So she did, nibbling at fries and a burger while they talked, looking out the wide windows at the streets full
of people. The setting sun cast long warm streaks of light across Downside, red and gold-orange across the sky.

“Ain’t them Lamaru, aye?”

She blinked; it hadn’t even occurred to her that it might be them again. Or, rather, another group like them; as far as she knew, they’d been essentially wiped out. Three months now and she hadn’t heard a word about them re-forming. But they certainly hadn’t been the only anti-Church group. “No. Doesn’t feel like them at all. And it’s not group magic.”

He nodded. “Good. Ain’t got that trouble, then.”

She looked at him, moved her foot under the table to brush against his, then pulled it away. The touch reflected in his eyes, in that spark deep inside them that was just hers, just for her, and despite everything she started tingling.

Finally he averted his eyes, glancing around the diner to make sure no one had seen them. “So ain’t them Lamaru. Only one mighty fucked-up dude, aye?”

“Right. After this we’ll go back to my place and see how the energies combine—the walnut and the speed, I mean, since we didn’t get to last night.”

“On morrow you head over Marietta’s place? See iffen you get some knowledge there we can use.”

“You want to come with me?”

He shrugged. “If you’re wanting. Ain’t sure havin me there’s the best idea, dig, I ain’t look too much like Church.”

She glanced around the diner. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. “I think you look perfect.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her; his mouth opened, then closed again when his phone beeped. “Fuck.”

He scowled at the screen and stood up, already moving.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Whatever it was, it was serious enough for Terrible to run out of the diner.

Chess went after him. She worried for a second that someone would grab her and make her pay the bill before she got out the door, but no one did. That made sense, really; what were the owners going to do, go after Terrible for the money?

He disappeared around the corner; she followed, down the block and across the street, her lungs aching, to where a small raggedy crowd of people stood on the corner. Shit, not another one, please not—

It was over by the time she got close enough to see. A man was down, out cold with cash and drug packets spilling from the front pocket of his hoodie. The onlookers stepped out of her way as Terrible crouched beside him, grabbed the cash, and shoved it into his pocket.

What was— Oh. Oh, fuck.

Chess reached out to catch Terrible’s arm before he picked up one of the packets, but he stopped himself before she touched him. Relief flooded her chest.

Short-lived relief, because the look in his eyes when they met hers would have scared her if she didn’t know him as well as she did. “Ain’t one of Bump’s.”

“Yeah, I guessed that.”

He twisted his lips in what would have been a smile if he hadn’t been so obviously furious and pushed a button on his phone, while Chess tried to absorb what had just happened. A dealer who wasn’t one of Bump’s, selling ectoplasm-cut speed on the corner in Bump’s territory. They’d caught one of them, they’d actually fucking caught one of them. Whoever sent Terrible that text would certainly be eating well for the next couple of weeks.

But, shit, he’d been selling. He had cash on him, how much had he sold, and who— Right. She left Terrible
there with the still-unmoving body of the dealer and chased after his last customer. “Hey. Hey, stop.”

The woman turned around when Chess touched her shoulder. “Aye? The fuck you wanting?”

“That speed. Give it to me.”

Cracked lips stretched into a disbelieving grin. “Fuck you.”

“No, listen—you have to give it to me. You can’t do it, it’s poisoned.”

They’d attracted a little crowd themselves. Shit. Because nothing was more fun than an audience.

“Fuck you, poisoned. Know who you is, Churchwitch. Why you ain’t buy you fuckin own, you wanting some?”

Chess pointed back at Terrible, who was standing over the dealer with his arms folded across his chest. “Why would Terrible knock that guy out if he wasn’t doing something wrong? Ask him, okay? He’ll tell you. He’ll get somebody to give you a new bag. Just let me have that one.”

The woman hesitated. The golden sunset light managed to make even her wizened face look almost smooth and delicate, blurring the harsh lines and drooping eyebrows.

Chess held out her hand, palm up. “Come on. If you know who I am, you know I’m not lying about being able to get you more. Give it to me. Okay?”

The speed landed in her palm. Fuck, that magic, that dark nasty slither of it up her arm, over her skin.

Who the hell was that dealer, and who was he working for?

Terrible opened the back door of the storage space and nodded at Chess. “He’s talkin now.”

Damn. The dealer had lasted—she checked her watch again—almost half an hour. Not bad.

It was even more impressive when she saw him, almost unrecognizable under the angry glare of the single naked lightbulb hanging from the stained ceiling. Blood covered his face, drying in thick sticky lines from his pulped nose and mouth. One of his cheeks had a horrible caved-in sort of look, like a dented fender. Broken fingers crumpled uselessly at the end of his arms, tied to those of the chair. She was glad the pills she’d taken would kick in soon; viewing that without help was not pleasant.

Terrible wouldn’t quite meet her gaze. She turned from him, giving him what privacy she could, and tried to see the whites of the dealer’s swollen eyes. Sympathy crept unbidden into her heart; it wasn’t just blood running down his face, but tears, too.

Sympathy until she remembered what he’d been selling, what it would do to people. Sympathy until she remembered Yellow Pete’s arm flailing around in the hand
of a body controlled by magic, Sharp-eye Ben torn up on his bed, Rickride strewn across his floor. Sympathy until she thought of living people trapped inside bodies compelled by another person, their souls crying out but unable to escape, their freedom stolen.

Flesh was a hell of a prison.

She walked closer to him, keeping her eyes as steady and cold as she could, and reached out to touch his hair—the only spot she could see that wasn’t soaked in blood.

No magic. Even when she opened herself up a little more, she got nothing from him. “Who’s doing the magic?”

He just looked at her.

At least, he just looked at her until Terrible’s fist snapped his head back. Chess forced herself not to react, not to cringe as more blood flew from his mouth. If he saw weakness he’d take advantage of it. If he saw weakness he’d try to form some kind of bond with her, and she definitely didn’t want that.