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.
She held her breath when he reached the circle. The entire crowd held its breath when he reached the circle, all of them waiting to see what would happen. He reached out
The energy of the spell on him, of the ghost and the practitioner, slammed into her and knocked the air out of her chest. So cold, so fucking cold, and so dark. The circle was connected to her and the magic probed the circle, finding her, sticking sneaky inquisitive fingers into her, poking and prodding to see where it hurt the most, finding the weak spots. There were so many for it to find.
She tried to push back against it but she didnt have the strength, not if she wanted to keep the circle in place. It was holding; she would call it a miracle if she didnt know those didnt exist, didnt know it was the Churchthe magic the Church had taught her to usekeeping that barrier in place.
How long it would stay in place, she didnt know. The spell on the corpse was so fucking strong.
She clenched her fists and struggled. Not the time to think about it. Thinking wasnt going to help anything. What she needed to do was find a way to separate ghost and body.
She could do it with her psychopomp, but there was no way she could get into that circle to summon it, not without Terrible, and she couldnt take the chance of him collapsing again. No, shed need to break or weaken the spell first, and that wasnt going to be easy.
What else was new?
Chapter Four
Murder is a crime. Murder by psychopomp is an evil.
Psychopomps: The Key to Church Ritual and Mystery, by Elder Brisson
No point in setting up a firedish inside the circle; that thing would either kick it over or smash it. But she could set one up just outside, and the smoke would drift into it. The faint breeze came from the west, so thats where she set up, on the broken curb by the sewer grate.
Asafetida and ajenjible went in first, followed by corrideiraall she hadand some melidia. Whatever the hell that thing inside the body had once been, it was now a murderer, and sending it to one of the spirit prisons would be one of the best thingsno, would be the best thingthat had happened to her that day.
Thick smoke started drifting from the dish, barely visible in the darkness settling over the street. The smell of it filled the air, filled Chess, and chased some of her fear away. That was the smell of Church, the smell of magic, the smell of things she knew how to do. Things she could do, and do well. She might not be worth much as a person, but she was a fucking good witch, and she could do this.
Iron had lessened the spells power before, so that was the first thing she grabbed, gritting her teeth against the sensation of alien hands scrambling her innards. Iron had lessened it and salt had held it, and the two of them together were pretty fucking strong. Stronger than the spell, she hoped.
She filled her palm with them, held them over the hot, fragrant smoke. Power to power, these powers bind.
Energy warmed her skin; she could practically see it glowing. Good. She took a deep breath and threw the iron and salt at the animated body still fighting against her circle.
Cadeskia regontu balaktor!
Blowback like a brick flung at her chest knocked her over. Her head hit the sidewalk with a thud she barely felt. The power was too strong, too dark, for her to feel anything else. It surged over her, buried her beneath it. She struggled for air.
Through her slitted eyelids she saw the body in the circle wavering, saw the ethereal glow of the ghost emanating from it. Shed done something, shed managed to start separating them somehow, but not enough. Fuck.
Okay. Crows bone and wolfsbane, some black powder and blood salt. Ignore the throbbing pain in her head and get to work. Again she placed her hand in the smoke; again she said the words of power and flung the charged herbs.
This time she was ready for the backlash. It hit her, but not as hard, and she was able to keep watching.
The bodythe killer, the ghost, the animated corpse, whatever she should call itstarted to weave, its movements slow and staggering like a drunk looking for a place to vomit. What the fuck did it take to separate that thing? Usually the corrideira and ajenjible were enough, more than enough.
She tossed a chunk of snake onto the fire in the dish, gathered more salt in her hand, and scooped up some cobwebs to go with it. The cobwebs might trap the spell; that worked with some hexes, so why not try it here.
Without much real hope, she powered it over the smokepurplish now from the burning snake fleshand threw it. No. Just as shed thought. This was bullshit. Anger rose higher in her chest every second, anger and a kind of frustrated determination. She should be upstairs with Terrible, warm and safe and high from Cepts and his body. Instead, she was on the street, looking more stupid every minute that she failed to break that spell.
Should she go ahead and summon her psychopomp? Yeah, the ghost-thing would probably hit her while she did the summoning, but it wasnt as if shed never been hit before. And her psychopomp could tear the ghost from the bodyif she could get a passport on it.
The thought of touching that stump of an arm, ragged from where she and Terrible had sliced it in two and still dripping dark blood, made her want to be sick. But if she couldnt separate them any other way what else could she do?
Nothing she could think of, unless she wanted to be there all night. Which she didnt.
Right, then. She dug into her bag, pulled out the silk-shrouded dogs skull, and unwrapped it. Her psychopomp. In her right hand she grabbed her Ectoplasmarker and tugged the cap off with her teeth. She had no idea who that ghost was, so no way to design a proper passport for it even if she had time, but whatever. If she marked it the psychopomp would sense the marking, and hopefully take it instead of her.
She tucked more wolfsbane into her pocket to help hide the scent of asafetida on her skin from the psychopomp, and stepped into the circle.
It felt so awful in there, so awful, like stepping into a pool of cold murky water. A pool brimming with dead things, with sea beasts full of teeth.
The body sensed her, or heard her, or something. She didnt know. What she did know was that it turned and walked toward her, waving that fucking disembodied armwhat the fuck, was it some kind of security blanket or something?and making horrible grunting noises.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Terrible move. She shook her head, held up her hand. No. As much as she wanted him to, no. Too risky.
She braced herself and waited for it to come. Once it got close enough, she could scrawl something on it and duck away. At some point shed have to fight the thing off her; she didnt have a choice. But not yet.
It lunged. She managed to grab its arm above the wrist, avoiding the gruesome prize it brandished but not able to avoid touching it at all. Under her palm its flesh was warm and solid, as if it were alive. What the fuck did that mean, then? Because the thing felt like a ghost and she couldnt imagine a living person was in there, so how the hell did its body still feel normal?
She guessed shed find out later. She hoped shed be alive to find out later, anyway.
Three circles would do for a passport. She scrawled them on quickly, tossed the Ectoplasmarker toward Terrible, who caught it, just as she knew he would.
Okay. Time for the psychopomp.
She let go of the body, ducked around it, and set the skull on the ground. Her left pinkie had stopped bleeding from setting the salt circle; she squeezed it hard to get the blood flowing again. Kept squeezing until her blood fell on the skull.
This wasnt the ideal place or situation for a ritualshe didnt have her stang, didnt have her cauldron, didnt have candlesbut oh fucking well. I call on the escorts of the land of the dead. I offer an appeasement for their aid.
The skull started to rock. Something hard slapped into the side of her head, knocked her over. Her arm scraped the sidewalk. What theshit, eeww. It had slapped her with the dead hand; her cheek felt as if someone had thrown an ice pack at it.
Ignore it. She lifted her right hand, pressed it against the bodys stomach to keep it away.
Then had to swallow, hard, three or four times, before she could speak without gagging. I call on the escorts. Take this spirit back to its place of silence.
The skull erupted into life, rising from the cement as blue light sparked in its eyes. Bones formed behind it, the dogs skeleton flowing into being, skin and shaggy black hair growing over it. Her psychopomp. It would take the soul back to the City of Eternity under the earththe hole had already formed, blurry shapes behind a thin place in the airand it would stay there. Forever.
The psychopomp lunged. Chess ducked.
The killer beat at the dog with the arm in its hand, its grunts turning to howls. No. No fucking way was it going to defeat her psychopomp, no way. Psychopomps were They always won; it was their job to win.
She had to get that arm out of its hand, and she had to do it without getting in front of the psychopomp, because it would give up on the embodied ghost any second and hunt for a soul it could catch. Like hers. The only other soul in the circle.
Hers might have been worthlesswell, no might have about it, her soul wasnt worth shitbut she still wanted to hold on to it for a while longer.
She needed something that would distract the killer, make it drop the arm, but not hurt the psychopomp.
Fire. She needed fire.
The killers grunts had turned into wails, loud angry moans in the silence as it beat the dog with its gruesome weapon. The crowd had stepped back. Everyone stood there watching, with their arms wrapped around themselves and fear in their eyes. Ha. They could join the fucking club.
She held out her hand to Terrible. Lighter.
He set it in her palm a second later, the black steel warm from being in his breast pocket, warm from his energy. She clutched it for a second, wishing she could do the same to him, then opened it and spun the wheel.
Flame burst from the top, six inches high and pale at the base, just like always. Good. How flammable the body would be she didnt know, but maybe at least that shirt would catch fire. She only needed a distraction, not a full-on cremation.
The psychopomp appeared on the verge of giving up; its tail had ducked between its legs. It turned to look at her. Fuck.
No time like the present. Especially not if she had any chance of surviving. She jumped forward, fisted the shirt, and touched it with the flame.
As she did, the killer swung that arm at her again, hitting her in the back of the head. She ignored it, fought through it.
Thank fuck, the shirt burst into flame, and she scrambled away as the killer roared again and started to beat at its chest with the arm.
Chess gathered her breath. Take this spirit back to its place of silence!
The psychopomp obeyed. The killer still waved the arm around, but its eyeswhat was left of themfocused on the fire eating its clothing. It didnt see the psychopomp lunge.
One last howl from the killer, which turned into a squeal as the psychopomp grabbed its soul. The hole in the world behind it rippled again, like water running over glass; the psychopomp leapt through it, dragging the soul in its teeth.
The hole snapped shut, the skull hit the ground and shattered as the body fell on top of it, and Chess sank to her knees in the now-empty circle, wondering what the fuck was going on this time.
The corpses ruined head didnt look any better under the dull glow of the refrigerated warehouses fluorescent lights. Its blood had dried a sticky brownish-red; the skin was pale, marked with the tread of Terribles boot and various scrapes from hitting the pavement. Even the six Cepts in her system didnt help it look any better.
Chess held her hand over it for a second. She hadnt touched the body at all since drawing the passport on it back in the circle. She didnt particularly want to touch it now, but she had a feeling she was going to have to.
This time she wouldnt forget her gloves.
Energy slammed into her palm, anyway, thick dark energy that set off a horrible ringing sound in her head, as if her ears had been boxed. Whatever the spell on the body was, it wasnt pleasant.
But, then, she hadnt expected it would be.
What you think, Ladybird? Bump drawled from behind a fur scarf. What kinda fuckin witchy shit be this time?
She hated to admit it in front of him. I dont know.
Silence.
I can feel the spell, whatever spell it is, and I can feel that its malethe spell caster is male, I meanbut I have no idea what the spell is. It feels like ghosts, too.
Be him soul inside him fuckin body do the magic, yay? Like him gone an died, then give a fuckin try to coming back.
Ghosts cant cast spells, she said, only half paying attention. Do you know who he is? Who the body is, I mean.
Bump dug something out of one of the pockets in his floor-length white fur coat. Got us him fuckin wallet here, dig. Be Gordon Samms, it tell. Aint knowing him, I aint.
Had some owes, Terrible said. He stood at her side with his arm around her shoulders, helping to keep her warm. Lost he some lashers on the card games, were payin slow.
Bumps thin reddish eyebrows rose. Yay? How much?
Six hundred, now. Won heself a game on the other night, paid he a hundred then. At the tables all the time, dig, aint could stay away.
Gambling. That was one thing shed never seen the point of, one addiction shed never picked up. Good thing, too. Shed really be broke if she had.
Terrible glanced at her, then back at Bump. Burnjack say him were yellin when him come onto the street, just jumped him on Yellow Pete, started beatin him.
Yellow Pete was the dead guy? The dead guy killed by this one, I mean.
He nodded. Were a street dealer, dig, down Seventieth.
So why was he near my apartment?
Aint knowing on that one. Could be him live there, maybe gotta dame there, family, aint know.
Right. It didnt matter anyway, did it? Does Burnjack know what the ghost was saying? Did he catch any of it?
Asked he on that one, too. Said him only caught a word or two, thinkin be a name. Agneta. Agneta Katina. Be a dame, he said.
Hmm. Girlfriend? Wife? Daughter?
Naw. Aint married. Aint sure he likes the dames, dig. Never seen him with any.