Sacrificial Magic (18 page)

His hand reached up to touch her hair; relief washed down her body.

“Aye.” He pulled back. It hadn’t gone on for very long, no, and she wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d completely forgotten or forgiven or whatever it was people did in that situation. But he was there, and he wasn’t looking at her with anger or contempt. So that was a good thing, right?

She waited to see if he’d say anything else. He didn’t. Should she explain again, apologize again? What the hell was she supposed to do? Something told her grabbing him and taking him to bed, or ripping off her clothes, or something along those lines, was not the thing to do at that moment.

So. From the kiss to the murder. “Um, I have some
other stuff I have to tell you about, too. I did some research today, on death spells. Spells like that one, to create energy from death? Those sometimes catch fire.”

He nodded, looked at her. The first time he’d looked her in the eyes since she’d told him. “So Slobag’s witch maybe does the job, already got the knowledge the pipe room’s gonna burn? Starts up the fire that way, dig.”

“Right. Um, you’re sure it was Slobag’s witch?”

“Know Slobag’s got heself a witch, dig, for a certain. Don’t know iffen he witch the one killed Eddie.” He shook his head. “Ain’t can see how some other witch might have got the knowledge on the room bein empty, though, aye? Only were shut down that day.”

Right. And didn’t she look better and better as a suspect. She got up and grabbed herself a bottle of water from the fridge. It was hard sitting there next to him and not touching him. Hard not climbing into his lap or pulling him on top of her; even if she hadn’t been thirsty she would have gotten up just to distract herself. “Any luck finding the spy? You sounded like you might have some news, on the phone.”

“Naw, not much.” Was that true?

When she turned around, he’d stood up. “Why we ain’t head over yon school now, aye? Thinkin be good getting out of here.”

“And you ain’t had a chance ask Lex on this witch.”

“No,” Chess said. They were in her new car, the engine purring under the hood and the Vibrators drifting at low volume from the speakers. The streetlights had that curious vivid brightness they seemed to take on when the weather warmed up; no longer tiny pinpoints like sparks shrunken by cold, but fuzzy halos.

And the streets teemed with people, even at this hour. One in the morning was practically midafternoon in Downside, especially on a night as warm as this one. It almost made Chess wish they could stop the car, get out, go for a walk.

Or even better, sit up on her roof with a twelve of cold beer and her portable disc player on low.

Instead they were on their way back to what she was rapidly coming to think of as her prison. Funny, that was just how she’d felt about school the first time. Except then, of course, she could get out of it.

“When I was talking to that girl at school someone mentioned Slobag’s witch, they thought it was me because—because they thought I was with Lex.” Fuck fuck fuck, she had to say that, didn’t she. “So whoever
it is, it’s not really public information. At least I don’t think so.”

“Kinda fucked up, him keeping it secret. Ain’t can see why him would.”

Unfortunately, she could think of a few reasons why Lex would keep that secret, from the obvious one sitting next to her to the possibility that Slobag planned to use magic to help him take over Downside, which would put her right up against the wall, wouldn’t it? If someone started using magic against Bump, she knew exactly where he’d turn. And if someone started using magic against Terrible nobody would have to turn to her at all, because no way was she going to stand back if that happened.

And she knew from the tone of his voice that he knew those reasons just as well as she did.

What other reasons was he thinking of, though? Other reasons why Slobag—why Lex—might keep the identity of his witch hidden? Like because Slobag’s witch and Bump’s witch were one and the same?

The silence sat heavy between them.

“I’ll keep trying to find out,” she said finally, before asking again, “Um, did you find out anything? Anything more, I mean.”

She slowed for the red light, didn’t stop. Too many kids on the street corner with their hats pulled down and their collars pulled up, hiding their faces. Red lights in Downside were always a gamble, but playing odds like those was just stupid. They’d back off when they saw Terrible, sure, but why bother?

Pause. “Got some people work both sides, if you dig. Gave me the tell on—on what happen with you. Gave me the tell on Slobag getting heself some plans, big ones. Only don’t got any knowledge what them are. An nobody hear more on he witch.”

She wanted to ask if that meant maybe the rumors
about Slobag having a witch were exaggerated, then. Or if maybe Slobag’s plans and Slobag’s witch weren’t quite as related as they could be.

But to ask … it might make it look like she was trying to cover something up, to obscure her own guilt. Damn it. Something just didn’t feel right, she couldn’t help it. “How did Eddie end up in the pipe room?”

His head tilted, his eyebrow rose. Right.

“I mean, why him? Do you know why he ended up being the one?”

He paused, a slow heavy pause she didn’t like. Was he trying to decide how much to tell her? How much he trusted her to know? “Lived on the border streets, he did. Figured him got snatched offen em.”

“So just random, then.” Right.
Bullshit
ran down her spine, down into her chest to squeeze her heart.

His mouth opened, then shut as she turned the wheel again. The dark hulk of the Mercy Lewis school loomed before them, a dead beast abandoned to the elements. She switched off the headlights and half drove, half coasted around to the back, merging into the shadows like being sucked into a pool of thick dark water. And about as comfortable.

Being there with Terrible helped. At least she wouldn’t be all alone in the building if something decided to lock her in a janitor’s closet or slam her over the head with whatever.

But much as she hated to admit it, Terrible brought along his own set of problems. Like the fact that if anybody saw him they might very well try to kill him. Or someone could call Slobag and then Slobag would try to kill him. And that would be her fault.

Which made it kind of selfish and shitty of her to bring him with her, but she couldn’t help it. She was nervous—the empty school at night wasn’t like someone’s house while they slept—and she felt like she hadn’t
seen him in days, which frankly sucked, and after everything that had happened … she just wanted him there. Even feeling his caution slick on her skin, she wanted him there.

Her car rattled and bumped its way over every rock and patch of uneven ground, banging Terrible’s head on the ceiling once. “Shoulda brung my car.”

“No, we shouldn’t have, and you know why we didn’t.”

He sighed. Heavily. “ ’Stoo small.”

“Every car is too small for you.” Her smile felt good.

“Mine ain’t.”

She slid the car up to the theater door and shoved it into gear, set the brake. “Come on.”

She’d already turned the interior light off—she did that as soon as she bought the thing; when the light came on inside the car at night it made her too visible, made whatever lurked outside it too
in
visible—and the moon was just a blur in the cloud-covered sky. The air smelled like rain. Shit. That pitiful field of dirt next to the school would turn into a mudpit, and she’d be stuck right in the middle of it.

With a man who probably had an awfully generous price on his head. Not even counting what he was worth to her.

It wasn’t raining yet, though. And what was she going to do, take him home and then come back? No. So she should shut up about it.

To aid that, she grabbed a couple of Cepts along with her flashlight, lube syringe, and pick kit. Her water bottle was almost empty; she used the last of it to chase the pills, then set to work on the lock.

Set to work on the cheap, barely effective lock. Interesting. Security at Mercy Lewis didn’t appear to be too tight, which opened up a shitload of other possibilities for her case.

“Anybody get in here, aye?” Terrible pulled the door back for her, waited for her to walk in before following. “All them locks so shitty?”

“I don’t know about all of the locks, but that one sure was.”

“Somebody faking a ghost in here, could be just tryin give them kids the scare.”

“Let’s hope not. It’s hard enough to find out who’s responsible inside the school, much less outside.”

She took his hand as they started through the maze of scenery flats, past the destroyed top of the trunk that had almost been her coffin. She shuddered, started to speed her pace, then stopped.

When she’d escaped that thing she’d broken the lock off, sent pieces of wood everywhere. Now the floor was clear: no lock, no wood, not even a few scattered splinters.

So somebody had been in there since she escaped, and tidied up. So what?

So nobody was supposed to be in there.

“Chess? You right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right up. Sorry. Just … thinking about something.”

Darkness hid his expression from her, but she knew what it would be. That half-patient, half-curious look, waiting to see if she’d tell him more and not wanting to ask.

She didn’t want to tell him. He already knew enough of her stupid problems and weaknesses; he didn’t need to hear about The Time Chess Got Trapped in the Trunk, too.

But he also didn’t trust her, did he? So she settled for “I was here earlier and it was messy. There was stuff all over. Now it’s cleaned up.”

“Somebody been in here.”

“Right.”

Together they walked up the aisle to the lighting booth in the back, where Terrible boosted her up so she could attach a camera above it to face the stage. Just in case. “Okay, done.”

He turned her so she slid down him rather than being set down, so her chest pressed against his when her feet hit the floor. His hands stayed on her hips. A shiver of excitement bloomed in her stomach, and lower, when their eyes met.

She ran her fingers up over his shoulder, up the back of his neck. Her voice came out huskier than she’d expected. “Hey. I’m glad you came with me.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah.” She urged his head down with her fingers, strained on tiptoe to kiss him. “I— And we’ll figure this out, who the spy is. I know we will.”

Mentioning it—the elephant in the room, the scarlet letter on her chest—might not have been the smartest thing, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to talk to him about it. She wanted to reassure him. Wanted to make him feel safe, the way his arms around her waist made her feel, the way her chest pressed against his made her feel.

So she kissed him again, this time feeling him relax a bit against her, then more, playing off her enthusiastic response until her head started to swim. His hands slid up under the hem of her shirt to the small of her back and stayed there, warm and solid, and her own hands found places under his collar, in his hair. The booth had a little ledge in it … A week was way too long.

Terrible must have thought the same thing. Without breaking the kiss he lifted her, propped her on the ledge.

She started to smile, then stopped because she needed her mouth for something else. His belt buckle made a faint clank when she pulled it open, barely audible over the sound of her breath loud in her ears as she tugged
open the button fly of his jeans, felt him do the same to hers.

For a second she thought of saying something, thanking him for believing her—if he did, which she guessed he was at least willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and wasn’t that way the fuck more than she deserved—telling him how much she’d missed him all day, how more than being glad he was there, she was
grateful
he was there. The words formed in her mind, on her tongue.

She shoved them back. No. She couldn’t bring those fears into it, couldn’t start talking and thinking and, especially, making him think, not then.

This was the one time she didn’t worry about how long she had, how he really felt, what she was going to do to fuck it all up.

This was the one time she felt totally safe, totally comfortable, when his body pressed against hers like she could melt into him. When she could run her hands over his chest, up and down his back, farther down to pull him even closer so they both gasped.

But the words in her head were a reminder, one she didn’t need. A reminder that she
was
failing, that she
was
fucking up, that it wasn’t a question of
when
she would spoil everything but of
how long
he would put up with the way she was spoiling everything. They made her feel as if she was standing on a railing above the city, balancing there with nothing to hold on to, and if she lost her balance she’d fall off.

And she’d never stop falling.

It was pitiful and wrong to feel that way, but then, when had she ever not been pitiful and wrong?

She didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to ruin a moment she’d been waiting for—craving—for the last seven days. Instead, she slipped her fingertips under the waistband of his boxers, brushing against his
skin. The sound he made, a small quiet kind of sigh, sent a roar of happiness, of something oddly like triumph, through her.