Chasing Magic

  And maybe she and Terrible should have come up with an answer for that question, which was fucking inevitable, wasn’t it?

  But Terrible had apparently done that on his own. “Construction.”

  Of course. Made sense. It was certainly believable. And, duh, of course this wouldn’t be the first time he’d been asked that. He didn’t have all those IDs just because he thought they were pretty. How many of those did he have? Six or seven? Different names on his driver’s license, his electric bill and water bill and cellphone bill, none of them the same. Bump had a few forgers—well, of course he did—and they took care of all that stuff.

  How did someone become a forger, anyway? She’d never really thought about it. Getting all the Church forms and everything—

  What? She flipped her head back to their conversation in time to hear Keith say, “And are we going to see you here having a marriage ceremony?”

  Oh, for fuck’s—

  Terrible shrugged. “Aye, if Chessie’s wanting.”

  Her mouth fell open. No, he hadn’t— Okay, she was going to pretend she hadn’t heard that.

  But her cheeks felt hotter than they should.

  Keith asked Terrible about his tattoos, taking Terrible’s left arm to examine the almost full sleeve he had there. Okay, she definitely liked Keith. And the way he stood, occasionally reaching out to touch Elder Griffin, glancing over to look at him. That was good. That was right.

  Elder Griffin sidled up to her, bringing with him the scent of white wine and incense. His eyes were serious, his expression the same. “Cesaria … you know I will not be in my office for the next week.”

  “Right. And you won’t be there at all, right, if your—when your promotion comes through.” She hoped she managed to sound cheerful and optimistic about it, not dismayed and unhappy that he’d be leaving his position and letting another Elder take over the Debunkers.

  “Yes, well. But …” He glanced at Terrible. “You know which house we’ve been given, correct? The one you and I looked at.”

  Yeah, she remembered. Remembered looking at it with her heart in useless pieces in her chest because she and Terrible had had a fight and she’d thought their relationship was over, and she’d been in so much pain she could barely talk.

  Not a good memory. But she did know where the house was. And she should probably say something about that, too. “Oh, that’s great! No, you didn’t tell me they’d given it to you.”

  He nodded. “Can you come there, on the morrow? Perhaps for lunch. Half past eleven or so. Can you? I’d like … I’d like to talk to you.”

  He’d stopped looking at Terrible directly, but she saw him peeking out of the corner of his eye, his gaze darting over and back, over and back, fast and sneaky.

  Cold crept into her chest and out, spreading through her body like she’d snorted liquid nitrogen. He didn’t like Terrible. He was standing there smiling at him and being nice, but he wanted to warn her off, wanted to tell her he didn’t approve or whatever.

  It shouldn’t matter. But it did. It mattered because they were each one of the main parts of her life, they were both important to her, and bringing them together was … Well, shit, what did she expect? Wasn’t like she didn’t already have plenty she needed to keep from the Church.

  Elder Griffin was still watching her—or rather, watching her and glancing at Terrible—and waiting for her answer.

  “Oh, um, sorry. Yeah, I mean, yes, of course. I’d be happy to come.”

  “Excellent.” One more sideways glance. “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you.”

  Keith’s voice floated into the space between them, still talking to Terrible. “And are you doing a lot of work in Downside? I have some friends thinking about buying property there. The prices are so low and they can fix them up—”

  “Ain’t such a good idea.” Terrible glanced at Chess; she caught the half-amused look in his eye, given the discussion they’d had before about gentrification, but she didn’t think Keith saw it. She hoped not, anyway. “Whatany you fix up there just get fu—just get wrecked again, aye? They burn it down afore they see it clean. Ain’t safe.”

  Keith shook his head. “That’s what I told them, but they said—oh dear. Thad, my cousin Jill is heading straight for us.…”

  Chess forced a smile as Elder Griffin’s expression turned questioning. “You should be talking to people. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Which she would. It made her feel sick, but she would.

  Elder Griffin smiled, a real, fond smile. “Trust me, my dear, we’d rather not be talking to Keith’s cousin Jill. Keith, perhaps if we make our way to the other side of the room?”

  What if he made her move back onto the Church grounds? He could do that; his approval of the idea had been the main reason she’d been permitted to live off on her own. If he retracted his endorsement …

  Something else not to think about, to push out of her head the way she pushed out her goodbyes and congratulations and all that shit before Keith and Elder Griffin walked away.

  She swallowed the last of her drink and leaned into Terrible’s chest, pressing her face to it for a long second so she could breathe him in. “Let’s go, okay? Do you want to go now?”

  “Sure you ain’t wanna chatter on any else, aught like that?”

  The smile she’d forced turned genuine when she met his eyes. Funny how just the four inches her platform heels added made such a difference, made her feel so much closer to him.

  Whatever. Let Elder Griffin try to force her back onto Church grounds. Nobody ever said she had to work for the Church, right? She was a damn good witch; she could find a way to support herself somehow, right?

  Because she loved her job, yeah, but she needed Terrible, and if she had to give up one of them, it sure as fuck wouldn’t be him. “I’m sure.”

  Back in the Chevelle, back on 300 toward Downside. Back to where they belonged, and she could breathe easier again as lampposts flew by and Triumph City surrounded them like an ocean of lights. “I’m glad you liked Elder Griffin.”

  He shrugged. “Seemed aright. Ain’t talked to he but minutes, aye?”

  Yes, but that was apparently long enough for Elder Griffin to judge him and find him lacking. And that—that was extra disappointing, because she’d thought he was a better judge of character than that.

  But, then, he thought she was worth something, didn’t he, so obviously she’d been wrong. Hardly the first time.

  Terrible rested his elbow on the car door. “Hey. When Keith gave me the ask on—”

  His phone rang, cutting him off. He hesitated, then looked down at it. Even in the greenish dashboard glow and the rhythmic flow of pale light through the windows she saw his face darken. Uh-oh.

  He pressed the button, held it to his ear. “Aye … Naw, headin—fuck. On the—aye. Be there fast.”

  He shoved the phone back into his pocket and downshifted the Chevelle, his face in grim, angry lines. “That powder’s showed up again. Four of em at Trickster’s, screamin the place down an ain’t leavin.”

  “Shit, seriously?”

  He nodded. “Gotta get them outta there, dig, see if we can get some knowledge out of em. Give Cat-Stan what him pay for, too, keep the place safe.”

  “Right.” Funny. She knew very well what he did for a living and what it entailed—she’d seen the evidence of it walking around on crutches or behind bruises for years before she really spent any time with him—but it had never occurred to her that drug or gambling debts weren’t the only kinds of debts he’d collect. Of course Downside bars would pay Bump some protection money, like so many of the other businesses did.

  The speedometer told her they were doing about a hundred, zipping in and out of traffic and passing slower cars. At that speed they reached the Ace Street exit in a few minutes; the Chevelle’s fat black tires left long angry streaks on the cement as Terrible steered it down the curved ramp and jumped the light at the intersection.

  “Guessin you
head on back yours we get there, dig, an I give you the ring-up—”

  “What? Why would—”

  “Ain’t wanting get yon pretty dress all fucked up, aye? An them shoes an all? Four dudes out them minds in there, ain’t gonna be—”

  “Yeah, and? I can’t help in a dress?”

  He hesitated. “You just, you lookin so—”

  “I’m going with you.” Not to mention that if there were packets of that powder around, someone needed to be able to touch them. And it wasn’t like her attempts at fixing that problem were making one damn bit of difference.

  A few pieces of black chalk always laid in one of the little pockets inside her bag, so she could find them easily. Funny. Some people thought addicts were lazy, but it took an enormous amount of work and time. Making sure she put things back exactly where they belonged so she could find them no matter how fucked up she was, making notes on everything so she wouldn’t forget, trying to do things in a set routine as much as possible. She devoted a lot of energy to appearing normal, to not giving anyone a reason to suspect; it was a very small price to pay.

  “Here. Give me your arm,” she said, as she had earlier. And with about as much hope.

  He held it out, wrist up. She glanced at him. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m going to do with it?”

  “You want me to?”

  “No, I just—no, it’s fine.” Warmth spread through her chest and up to her face, warmth that had nothing to do with pills or booze or anything else. It was trust heating her from the inside, making her feel like a real live person who mattered. The kind of trust she didn’t think he gave to anyone else. The thought made something swell inside her, something wonderful and painful all at once.

  The kind of trust she didn’t deserve.

  She glanced out the window to distract herself. They’d reached Fortieth already, ten blocks from Trickster’s. She didn’t have much time; wasn’t like he’d stay in the car waiting for her to finish marking him up when they got there.

  One deep steadying breath to gather as much power as she could, and she set the chalk against his skin. First a sigil for strength. He didn’t need it, of course, but it made her feel better to give it to him anyway. Then protection. She tried a couple of those. Maybe a few runes, too? The standard ones, a couple of bindrunes to be safe … more sigils, a few charm symbols … She even added a sigil to protect against the Evil Eye. Some anti-sleep sigils might be good, too, given the passing-out thing. She made up a couple of those on the spot.

  When she was finished, his right arm looked more decorated than his left. He examined it without much curiosity. “Figure on that makin a difference?”

  “I hope so. I mean, it can’t hurt, right?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Something has to work, Terrible, you know something will. We just—I just haven’t been focusing on it like I should. But I’m focused now, and I’ll figure it out. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Aye, know you will.”

  But he didn’t sound convinced.

  She leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “You should. Didn’t we already decide I’m the best witch in the whole world?”

  His snort of laughter made her spirits rise. “Aye, ain’t can forget that one.”

  His smile—both of their smiles—froze, then shattered, when they got to Trickster’s. Or, well, not quite to Trickster’s; they couldn’t get in, she didn’t think, and they couldn’t get past on the road, either, not with all the people. A huge crowd of them: kids staring at the spectacle, light-fingers trying to steal a living, people placing bets. The obligatory old woman in a bathrobe and curlers stood at the edge of the rippling mass of humanity; Chess wondered for one ridiculous second if she rented herself out for shit like that.

  She had one last moment to savor that semi-amusing thought as Terrible cut the Chevelle’s engine. Before it had fully died, his door was open and he was climbing out, and rather than wait for him she did the same. Time to see what new victims the ghost-and-magic-infused speed had claimed.

  The screaming hit her first. High, desperate screams, ripped from raw throats to sail into the night sky—that same blank sky, dead but full of life, that had made her so melancholy before. In the face of those screams the crowd itself seemed to shrink, the streetlights to recede.

  She reached the edge of the crowd in time to push her way into the gap Terrible left as he plowed through it. Please, please let those sigils she’d put on him hold. Please, please let him not be affected by that powder. She couldn’t imagine how he would feel if half of Downside saw him collapse. She didn’t want to imagine it.

  As she got closer the screams started to separate themselves, to become more than simply desperate wails. Different voices, forming a barrier in the air, weaving together. Men’s voices, a woman’s voice.

  Sobs rode beneath them, choking, hopeless sobs. The kind Chess recognized. The kind she’d learned a long time ago wouldn’t do any good at all.

  Only a few backs stood between her and the screamers when she finally saw them. Saw Terrible, too; his fist hit one of the men in the face.

  The man fell. Terrible didn’t. She had a second to be thankful for that before she noticed the rest. Two more men, there were; the lone woman was already down, sobbing and clutching her face and hair. Blood trickled down the backs of her hands and forearms. What the fuck?

  One of the men had taken off his shirt. His thin, hairless chest and back glistened with sweat as he ran around the circle with his arms spread out, like a child playing airplane.

  A terrified child playing airplane; his face was hideous with fear, his mouth a gaping pit, his eyes bulging. He didn’t even seem to notice Terrible.

  Terrible saw him, of course. His fist leapt out again. The runner went down.

  The third man took about the same amount of time to silence, and only the girl remained. Her sobs were more horrible somehow in the dead quiet. Chess felt her own heart throbbing in time. She knew that sound, those hopeless, helpless sobs. That was the sound she heard inside herself every minute, every day, the sound she took whatever she could to drown out. The sound that hung behind the voices in her head telling her how bad she was, how worthless and wrong, a constant backdrop of pain.

  Terrible advanced on the girl slowly, in a pose Chess had seen before: one hand up, the other touching the handle of his knife behind his back. Ready in case she sprang up and attacked him. Who knew what she was hiding behind her hands, beneath her legs, or up her sleeves? Especially in Downside, where the crying child you stopped to help might rob you blind and leave you to die.

  The men lay still on the pavement, scattered around the circle, which closed in to examine them. Shit. She was supposed to be doing something too, right? Duh.

  The almost empty packets weren’t hard to find. What was hard was touching them. The second her fingers closed around them her arm caught fire, ghost energy and dark magic flying up to make her tattoos scream. She let go, grabbed a latex glove from her bag, and slipped it on. Damn, carrying three or four of those packets—or however many there were—around with her until she could get them home wasn’t going to be fun, was it?

  Even with the glove on, touching the packets made her squirm. The men, at least, had been having themselves quite a time; hardly any powder remained. Was there a certain level, maybe, where the high turned into hysterics? A place where the victim started to lose control?

  Something to talk to Terrible about—something to talk to Lex about, too. Damn it. Lex. Lex and his threat. She’d managed to bury it in her mind all day, tucking it beneath her nerves about Elder Griffin’s wedding and having Terrible there with her. But crouching there in the middle of a huge gang of Downsiders, it came flooding back, made her skin prickle even more than those magic-infected drugs already did. Any one of them could be armed, any one of them—any group of them—could be planning to leap out and make good on Lex’s warning.

  A gasp from the onlookers drew her gaze. The sobbing woman
had dropped her hands. Fuck.

  Deep scratches ran down her eyelids and cheeks, dark and vicious against her pale skin. She held out her hands. “Help me. Help me, they’re coming, they’re after me, please, look what they made me do oh please help me …”

  Just like the man by the docks the day before. Well, of course, right?

  But what exactly were they seeing? And had the spell been completed yet, did they have the walnut spell on them?

  Terrible crouched beside the woman, talking to her in that low, soothing voice Chess knew well. Could the woman even see him—see anything?

  Maybe. At least her eyes were still in her head.

  The litany of terror continued as Chess approached her. Where the hell should she— Damn. She tucked the packets into her black-chalk pouch, not liking the idea of them possibly contaminating some of her magic tools but with nowhere else to stow them quickly. She could buy more chalk the next day.

  She didn’t even need to make a special trip. She could buy it from the Church storeroom when she went to listen to Elder Griffin condemn the only person who’d ever really mattered to her. Well, that was a lucky break.

  Terrible glanced up at her, edged over so she could crouch down beside him, and scanned the crowd. “Any know her? Got she name?”

  No one did.

  Okay. The drugs were probably still on her, and Chess needed to get them. She wanted to make sure they were all the same—well, she knew they were, but she wanted to make sure—and get them off the streets.

  Where the fuck was it coming from?

  She could only hope one of the freaked-out victims on the street saned up enough to say.

  “Where are the drugs?” She reached out, gave the girl’s arm the briefest touch. Refusing to go home and change was the right decision, no question about it, but she had to admit she wished she had a pair of jeans or something. Crouching on the street in heels, letting her bare skin touch the concrete, wasn’t exactly fun. “Where did you put them?”

  “No … no more …”

  Chess exchanged glances with Terrible. They weren’t going to get anything from her this way, were they?