Too bad they didnt 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 wasnt a good thing. But then she hadnt 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 didnt 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 didnt 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 Downsides 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 Chesss. 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 mana dead bodyand was swinging the corpses 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 andoh 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 couldnt even imagine how awful that would be.
This wasnt the time to picture it, either, because the killershe assumed he was the killerstarted 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 Terribles bootwhat was it made of? Did it matter, or was it simply having a barrier that made the difference?
Whatever it was, the killer didnt like it very much. He writhed on the cement, grunting, his fingers slipping uselessly off Terribles boot and his other hand slapping the arm against Terribles 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 killers 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 manBurnjack, Chess thought his name was, one of Bumps lieutenantsholding down his legs.
How long had he been like that? Why hadnt he passed out yet, with Terribles foot crushing his windpipe?
Terrible wasnt 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. Shed estimated it at two-seventy once, and while that had been a bit too heavy, he wasnt 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 wasnt good.
She jerked her own head back toward her building, letting him know where she was going, and he nodded.
Shed 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 didnt 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 bagiron 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 shed 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 crows bone, of course. She had some dried chunks of snake, some goats 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 shed 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 herone lesson it had rammed down her throat until she choked on itit was that nothing was ever safe. Positive expectations were for idiots.
The crowd had grown in the short time shed 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 didnt 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 stepwith every person she shoved to the sidethe 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 didnt have much time.
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 didnt 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 Terribles foot.
So how was he alive at all?
First things first. She grabbed the iron-ring waterclean water with iron rings in the bottle, left to purify under a full moonand 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 wasit usually didand 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 hadnt blinked. He hadnt blinked and he hadnt 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 Burna drug even she wouldnt go nearor both, because he hadnt 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 handthe one not clutching its grisly souvenirshot 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.
Terribles foot smashed into the killers head; blood sprayed from his nose and mouth. Still the killers 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.
Terribles foot slammed down again, and again. The killers face broke. He still didnt let go, started yanking her closer. What the fuck was going on? He couldnt be alive, no way could he be alive.
One more heavy stomp. The killers head exploded was the only word that seemed to fit, although it wasnt 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 didnt 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 killers 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 killers 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.
Terribles eyelids fluttered again. His hand had come in contact with the killers 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 couldnt even think of that.
His head dipped for a second, his face paling further. He started to fall forward. No, no damn it, that couldnt 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 killers head, and the killer was moving again. Would that thing never die No. No, it wouldnt, 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 wouldnt 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 hadnt expected but was grateful for.
But, then, of course they stayed outside it; Downsiders werent 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 mans 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 killers legs inside the circle. Go on, now, only dont step on that salt, aye? Dont fuck it up.
Burnjack nodded. The second he let go of the killers 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 didnt give a shit that theyd decided to keep their relationship secret, that Terrible thought it would keep her safer if people didnt 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 couldnt, 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 didnt 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 hercould he see anything through those eyes anymore? Or, no, he probably felt her, felt the power in her blood. Ghosts always did.