Chasing Magic

  Hell, C&D brought in almost as much money as tithing taxes did, what with the fee to license and register a computer, the fee to license and register an Internet access line, the annual fee to keep that access and the identifying permanent browsing address active, the fees to build a website, the fees to have C&D clear it, the monthly charges to have them recheck the site to make sure it was acceptable … millions of dollars in income every month.

  But a large company like KVB might very well pay the fees, probably would pay them. And she might— Yes. Hell yes, there was a website, and there was an “About Us” page, and there was a company history that told her exactly who owned KVB, who’d started the company back in 2000.

  Kyle Victor Blake, born in the Midwest, raised in the South, and a resident of Triumph City according to his last Church identification—his driver’s license—issued in the last year.

  Kyle Victor Blake. Marietta Blake’s father.

  What the fuck.

  She started to head for Elder Griffin’s office, her mind already whirring to think of a good explanation for why she wanted Kyle Blake’s financial records and private files. The idea died in her head before it was even fully formed. Right. Elder Griffin wasn’t about to be doing her any favors anytime soon, was he?

  No. In fact, the best idea was to leave. She knew where Blake lived; she could go back and talk to him again about the Agneta Katina and about his daughter. And about his comments about Downside, for that matter, which took on a new and very interesting tone in retrospect, didn’t they? Why was he doing business in Downside when he hated it so much? Or was that just a front?

  She’d go home, grab Terrible, and head for the Blake house, and it would be almost as if she hadn’t been at the Church that morning at all.

  Or she’d end up seeing Elder Griffin anyway, because when she stopped by her memo box outside Goody Tremmell’s office, she found a notice from the Elder Triumvirate. Probably confirming her— Wait. What the hell?

  Okay. It could mean anything. It could mean nothing. There was no reason to panic, none at all.

  Yeah. Maybe if she told herself that enough she might one day manage to believe it, but she doubted it. She sure as fuck didn’t believe it then, when she stopped in the open doorway of Elder Griffin’s office with the Triumvirate’s notice clutched in her fist and her entire body filling with dread.

  What she saw through the doorway didn’t help calm her down.

  The office had been almost empty the last time she’d seen it, all of his things in boxes as he prepared to move to his new position, whatever position that would be, and make way for whoever would be overseeing the Debunkers next.

  It was still almost empty, but growing less so by the minute, because Elder Griffin stood in front of his bookcase, unpacking his boxes.

  She must have gasped or something, because he looked up. Their eyes met; that hurt. He looked almost as if he didn’t know her. He looked exactly as if he didn’t care about her or like her. “Good morrow, Cesaria.”

  She curtsied. “Good morrow, sir. I …”

  He turned away and kept moving, pulling skulls from a box and setting them back on the shelves.

  She swallowed. Swallowed the panic, the tears threatening to clog her throat, the gorge threatening to rise. Swallowed it all and tried again. “Sir … there was a letter in my box, a notice from the Elder Triumvirate canceling my interview with them on Wednesday. The one to discuss you and your new position? I don’t— They don’t say I should contact them to reschedule, so … um, I just wondered if something happened.”

  How fucking stupid. Of course something had happened. Please, please let her be wrong about what she thought it might be. Please, she didn’t deserve to have things work out for her but Elder Griffin did. Shit, please let her not have ruined his life, too.

  Another glance. “Come in. Close the door.”

  She’d never thought his office—his presence—would feel so cold and uncomfortable. She should have; life had certainly taught her that nobody stayed happy with her for long. Why would they? She was a fucking junkie who ruined lives every time she opened her mouth.

  But it still sucked. A lot.

  The door snicked shut behind her. A few cautious steps took her not to his side, of course, because she didn’t dare, but close enough. “Did something happen?”

  “Yes.” He set an empty box on the floor and picked up a full one. “Something has happened. I shall no longer be leaving my position.”

  “What? But your promotion, you were—” She needed to stop. It wasn’t her business.

  But she couldn’t help it. “You were looking forward to that, sir, I don’t understand.”

  He stopped. “I am no longer deserving.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Cesaria.” He shook his head and looked at her, taking a step closer so he could lower his voice. “Surely you don’t believe I can still accept a position of higher authority? After our discussion?”

  No. Oh shit, no, this couldn’t be happening. “I don’t—”

  “I’ve agreed to lie for you. I’ve agreed to hide your crime from the Church. In doing so, I condone your behavior and I prove myself disloyal and unworthy of further promotion. I prove myself weak.”

  “But that’s bullshit!” Oops. That probably wasn’t good, the way his mouth tightened. “Sorry. I’m sorry, but—that’s not fair, you shouldn’t—”

  “I cannot lie, Cesaria. I cannot swear an oath that I have always upheld the Church’s sacred laws when I have not. I cannot allow you to lie to the Triumvirate when they ask you to swear the same. I cannot ask you to lie because of my own failure.”

  The words felt like a fucking choke hold around her throat. She’d failed him, and now she was forcing him to give up something he wanted, to give up everything he wanted—all of his dreams of advancing in the Church, dreams she knew he had. All because of her.

  “Actions have consequences,” he said. “I made a decision, and now I must live with it.”

  “I’ll tell them.” She swiped at her eyes and forced them to meet his. “I’ll tell them what I did. I can’t let you do—”

  For the first time, his expression softened. Not a lot. Nowhere near enough. But it was there just the same, and it sent a fresh wave of nauseated misery up her throat. “No, you will not. You cannot. You will be executed, and your soul will be sent to the spirit prisons if you tell. And I will be—at the very least—released from my position entirely for even considering hiding your crime and for not reporting it immediately.”

  He turned away and reached back into the box for another bone, a cat spine it looked like, which he placed on the shelf. “Whether intended or not, I have become an accomplice. And that, Cesaria, is something we shall both have to live with.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Elder Griffin giving up his promotion for her, the one she knew he’d been so excited about. Elder Griffin being so cold to her, so obviously regretting ever being … being friends with her, or whatever he’d been. She didn’t have a word for it; she’d never known a word that would fit. But she knew it was important.

  “Elder Griffin … I know you don’t want to hear it again, but I never meant to— I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted you to—”

  “I’m aware of that.” A flash of anger came from him, one that made her take a half step back without meaning to. Not because she was scared, but because it made her feel so much worse. “I take my own responsibility in this. That is my burden.”

  He walked around her then, to stand with his hand on the doorknob. “Unfortunately, you must also take your own, and I cannot help you with that.”

  She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but there didn’t seem to be anything more to say.

  He opened the door, his entire demeanor changing with the movement, a smile she knew was fake plastered across his face. “Goodbye, Cesaria. Facts are Truth.”

  She nodded, pausing as she walked past him to not quite meet his
eyes. “Facts are Truth, sir.”

  The door closed behind her with a decisive bang, leaving her alone in the pale hallway with its echoes.

  It didn’t stop echoing, either. Not after she turned up Bikini Kill so loud her windows shook, and not after she stopped at a gas station a block away to throw four Cepts into her mouth and do a hard bump. Not enough, but all she could chance at that moment. Besides, nothing would be enough. Nothing was going to chase that sound out of her head, or make her stop seeing that plastic smile on Elder Griffin’s face and the disappointment in his eyes.

  He’d turned his back on her. She’d let him down, and he’d turned his back on her. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  Just like she couldn’t do anything about letting Terrible down—the OD; those frantic, shameful seconds in Lex’s bedroom that sent a stab of pain through her chest the second she thought of them; the way she pushed him away even as she grabbed him. Or Edsel, still clinging to life in the hospital because of her carelessness. Or everyone else, really, everyone she’d ever met, everyone who’d ever been unlucky or stupid enough to depend on her.

  She clenched her fists a few times, tensed her shoulders in an effort to calm down and let the speed give her a little cheer. It was sort of effective; at least she could work her phone enough to send a text to Terrible asking where he was, because wherever he was, that’s where she was going. It would be okay if she could see him, so she could remember that yeah, maybe she’d fucked up as far as the Church and its rules were concerned, but she hadn’t had a choice. At least not one worth making.

  Her phone beeped a few seconds later. He was at Bump’s. Good. Not that she wanted to see Bump, but at least at Bump’s she didn’t have to pretend. At Bump’s she could touch him.

  The drive took forever, and her body started to relax from her pills just before she took the exit toward the Market. Finally. She hadn’t slept much the night before, so the speed was making her edgy, and essentially she was a total fucked-up bundle of nerves and pain at the moment—or, well, always, but especially then.

  She crossed the Market as fast as she could, ignoring the smells of cooking meats from the firecans across the way. When had she eaten last?

  Didn’t matter. Terrible was going to make her eat at some point, so no need to worry about it.

  Also to be ignored was the seller of tin wind chimes and luck charms who’d set up in the spot Edsel usually took. With effort, she sped past him.

  Yet another of Bump’s women responded to her knock. A brunette this time—that made a change—with breasts that looked as if they needed special engineering to keep from tipping her over face-first and a pair of shiny hot-pink spandex pants showcasing every swell and crease. Typical. Chess could just imagine how the woman must look in the middle of Bump’s crimson horror of a living room.

  Lucky for her, she was spared the sight. The woman plunked herself down on a stool at the bar along the back wall and left Chess to head down the blood-colored hallway on her own.

  As always, it took her eyes a minute to adjust to the horrible room. And as always, something she thought was real happiness rose in her chest when she saw Terrible sitting on the couch, something that grew even more when she sat down next to him and he slid his arm around her. “Hey, Chess. You right?”

  She kissed his neck and lied. “Right up, yeah. You? Anything going on?”

  “Thinkin we maybe got us a line where Edsel were yesterday. Lookin for teeth an all, dig, thought sounded like it might be an easy one hunt down.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  “Hey to you too, Ladybird. Nice way you fuckin giving Bump the hellos.”

  Oh, right. With Bump’s place came Bump. “Hey.”

  He snorted. “Ain’t should fuckin give youself the stretch-out, there.”

  Should she bother to answer? On the one hand, fuck him. On the other … he was still her dealer. And Terrible’s boss. And on the other, he was a sleazy, annoying asshole.

  But, yeah, that dealer thing … Damn it. “Sorry. Lot on my mind.”

  “Yay, fuckin betting you do.”

  Whatever. She had more important things to do than worry about Bump’s precious little feelings. “I found Agneta Katina.”

  “Aye? Where?”

  “At the docks.” She smiled. “She’s a boat.”

  “Damn.” Terrible shook his head. “So fuckin obvious, you say it.”

  “I know, I thought the same thing. But yeah, she’s a ship. A freighter—well, a military ship converted into a freighter.”

  Terrible’s eyebrows rose. “Aye? What kinda ship it were?”

  “Don’t know. I just know it was bought from the Church in 2002 and converted for shipping and passengers. Like a private yacht with a fuck of a lot of storage space.”

  “Who done it? Converted it, meaning. Who owns it, you know? Gotta head the docks anyway, we check it out—”

  “Yeah, wait ’til— What? Why are we heading to the docks?”

  “Remember Galena sayin on Edsel lookin for teeth? Thinkin we know whereabouts he were.” Terrible nodded toward the far wall, the one where another bar broke the red ocean below a stag head mounted on a slab of gold plate. A stag head like the kind people bought from taxidermists …

  The realization must have been all over her face, because he nodded again, this time at her. “Aye. You got the recall, him the other night say he met Razor up on Baxter. Gotta building up there, Eightieth an Baxter, used to be—”

  “A taxidermist,” she finished. Fucking duh.

  “Had the thought maybe iffen we got people movin around up there—them from outside, dig, not from the docks—maybe word got back onto Edsel on shit worth pickin up.”

  She smiled at him, and didn’t have to work hard to force that smile into her eyes, too, where he would see it and know it was for him. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Aye?” He smiled, too, color finding his cheeks as it always did.

  “Yeah.”

  “Aw, ain’t that fuckin sweet.” Bump poured himself a shot of something from a black bottle and downed it. “Maybe Bump oughta fuckin leave, yay, givin you the private here?”

  Chess glared at him, but Terrible spoke before she could say anything. Not that she really would, but she liked to think she would. “Oughta get us out there, have a look, aye?”

  “Yeah, we will, but I haven’t told you the best part yet. You know who owns the Agneta Katina, the ship? Kyle Blake.”

  Terrible looked about as surprised as she thought it was possible for him to look. “Him before? Marietta’s father?”

  “Yep.” Grinning made her feel so fucking good, almost as good as the look in his eyes made her feel. “So he’s behind this somehow, I guess. I don’t know why he’d be doing anything down here or why he’d—”

  “Kyle Blake?” Bump cut in. “He that stupid dame’s father? You gimme the joke, yay? Ain’t you knowing he?”

  Wouldn’t she have fucking said if she’d known?

  She didn’t say that either, though, just waited with her eyebrows raised.

  Bump sighed and stood up, heading for the bar. Heading past the bar, actually, through the doorway on the left to what had to be his bedroom, because a woman’s voice drifted out of it, too low for Chess to make out the words but with the tone unmistakable.

  Bump gave her some kind of reply and appeared again in the doorway, holding something. A magazine. The financial magazine he’d been reading earlier, the one with the smug rich bastard on the cover. He tossed it at her. “Oughta pay you some fuckin attention on the world outside Terrible’s bed, yay? Thought you had you a fuckin brain.”

  She ignored the insult—she barely heard the insult—because the rich bastard smirking at her from the cover wasn’t just any rich bastard. It was Kyle Victor Blake: millionaire real estate developer, afternoon drinker, khaki wearer, Downside hater, and father of Marietta.

  She’d thought he looked familiar.

  Terrible l
eaned closer to her, peering at the magazine. “He own the ship?”

  “Yeah. He owns the company that owns the ship, so— I don’t get it, though. Why would he— His corporation is huge, like almost a billion dollars huge. And it’s legit. He’s not laundering money or anything, at least not according to the Church.”

  “Maybe you Church ain’t got they the fuckin knowledge on he, yay?”

  “No. I mean, I guess it’s possible, but the business records I could see are all intact, and because of its size the company is audited annually, the books gone through and everything.”

  Bump snorted. “Like anyall ain’t can fuckin lie easy to you fuckin Church.”

  She glared at him. She shouldn’t let him get away with that, she should say something. Tell him to fuck off. Ask him why, if Church employees were so fucking stupid, he kept forcing her to work for him. That would be a good start. Then she could tell him what an asshole he was, how much she—

  Terrible lit a cigarette, closing his lighter with a decisive click. He didn’t speak.

  But Chess got the message. Right. “The point is,” she said, still glaring at Bump, “he makes plenty of money on his legal stuff. There’s no indication that he’s ever been involved in drugs before. He seemed viciously anti-drug when we met him. So why would he start with this ghost-infected speed, using drugs to magically control people?”

  “He a witch?” Terrible asked.

  “No. No talent, either. After Haunted Week he was one of the adults—he was nineteen—who volunteered to be tested to see if they qualified for Church training, but he failed. Pretty badly, too. So he can’t be the one doing the magic itself. And I didn’t feel any on him when I shook his hand.”

  Bump shrugged. “Only meaning he had the fuckin hire-on, got he someself can fuckin do magic. Like me, yay, got you, Ladybird.” His oily grin—half proud, half sarcastic—set her teeth on edge.

  Terrible spoke before she could, cutting off the sharp reply she’d been ready to make. “Could be him ain’t knowing on the magic, though, aye? Thinkin he just buyin straight-up speed, ain’t got the knowledge it cut with ghost and shit?”