City of Ghosts - Stacia Kane 9 стр.

Charmarks outlined where the circle had been. The inside was full of blood, tacky under their feet. Menace vibrated up her legs. She stepped over the bodies of two other witches, barely glancing at them. This could be a trick. With her right hand she touched the handle of her knife, tucked into her pocket. Lauren would probably freak if she realized Chess was armed, but better that than dead.

The witch moaned again, writhing in his blood-soaked robe. His robe with the Lamaru symbol on the front.

They must have been watching, Lauren said. She tugged a bright pink cell phone out of her backpack. Waiting for us to show up.

Gee, you think so? Chess thought, but said nothing. Lauren had handled herself pretty well during the attack; even if she hadnt, and if she didnt outrank Chess, there was the little matter of pretending she didnt know Terrible or why he was there. Best not to bring Laurens thoughts back onto her, not when there was a convenient injured Lamaru witch right there to take the weight.

Lauren nudged him with her toe, pressed a button on the phone. We need a wagon. Yes. Yes. Corner of Fifty-fifth and Brand. Yes, Downside. Yes, you will. What do you want me to do, put him in my car? Get your ass down here.

She snapped the phone shut. Theyll be here soon. Meanwhile  She nudged him with her toe again. Hey. Hey, you. What did you think you were doing down here?

The Lamaru witch moaned again. Laurens mouth twisted. I asked you a question.

Lauren, maybe hes not

Lauren glared at her. Hell talk.

Why dont we see if he has ID or something first? You know, what we can find out on our own?

Chess didnt want to touch him. Didnt want to dig her hands into his bloody pockets, to make contact with the evil hovering over him like a cloud of locusts.

But she did. The sigil on her forehead blazed on her skin, the wards in her tattoos ringing like fire alarms. She jerked away. Hes Hosting.

What?

Look. She forced herself to touch him again, ignoring the stinging sensation, and tilted his head so Lauren could see the silvery cast of his one open eye. Blood clung to her hands, made it hard to breathe.

Lauren loomed over her, leaning to peer down at him. How the hell did his Bindmate escape my psychopomps? Shit. Let me call them back and let them know.

Sure, I can Bind him down on my own, Chess muttered. Luckily the supplies shed grabbed earlier were still within easy reach in her bag; she dusted the broken Lamaru with asafetida and graveyard dirt, added a little salt and power to keep whatever he had inside him until it could be Banished at the Church. Squatting in pig blood next to an evil piece of shitand Lauren, toowas bad enough without having to summon her psychopomp and take care of it herself.

Lazy, sure, but then given the type of investigation this was, the Church would probably want to get a look at the thing themselves anyway.

She had to move him to get into his pockets; he shrieked when she did. His right arm flailed, narrowly missed her face.

Lauren grabbed it and slammed it to the ground, eliciting another shriek, while Chess opened the slimy wallet.

ERIK VANHELM said the drivers license. Below that was an address in Cross Town. Erik was awfully far from homeif he actually lived at that addressbut then he would be. Nobody would try to pull shit like this in one of the decent parts of town, where the Black Squad actually patrolled and the neighbors actually cared.

She pulled out her notebook and scribbled the information down. Never hurt to keep your own notes, especially not when working with the Squad. Or with anyone, for that matter. One of the reasons Chess chose Debunking was so she could work alone.

Lauren held her hand out for the wallet; Chess slapped it into her palm, aware again that they were being watched. Aware too that she had to get home. He was going to show up, she knew it. If she was right about Bump owning something near here, which she had to be  yeah. Arriving with a member of the Black Squad and poking around was not going to win her any points in the Bumps-best-pal contest.

Would he talk to her when he came to get her?

She wasnt sure she wanted to find out. She was sure she wouldnt have a choice.

Chapter Six

Pace, pace, pace. Her body still buzzed, woozy from speed; she desperately wanted to take something to come down but didnt dare. Couldnt fall asleep. Needed to be sharp when he got there.

Lit another cigarette. It made her queasy on top of everything else, but what was she supposed to do? Shed rushed through her second shower of the night, dried her hair, put on makeup and a red top she knew he liked, even as the little voice in her head told her there was no point. She took another couple of Cepts to drown it out and kept pacing.

Tried to read; the words swam on the page. Tried to watch TV; the people wandered around, saying and doing insipid thingswell, that wasnt just nerves and drugs, that was TV no matter whatuntil she wanted to throw her knife through the screen. Shed snapped it off and the silence blasted her from her chair. None of her CDs sounded right, were what she wanted to hear. She finally shoved in Radio Birdman just to fill the apartment with sound. Just so her misery had some company.

Tried to read; the words swam on the page. Tried to watch TV; the people wandered around, saying and doing insipid thingswell, that wasnt just nerves and drugs, that was TV no matter whatuntil she wanted to throw her knife through the screen. Shed snapped it off and the silence blasted her from her chair. None of her CDs sounded right, were what she wanted to hear. She finally shoved in Radio Birdman just to fill the apartment with sound. Just so her misery had some company.

Where was he? It was after three. Surely he hadnt just  forgotten about her? Did he hate her so much he didnt even care what shed been doing there?

Maybe he didnt need to know. Maybe he was just going to kill her. She glanced at the stained-glass window that made up one wall of her apartment. Her building had been a Catholic church once, back before Haunted Week and the rise of the Church of Truth. Most churches had been razed during that week when the dead walked the earth and took millions of souls with themand in its aftermathbut the Church had decided her building had some historical significance and was aesthetically pleasing, so it had been allowed to stand.

There were buildings across the street. Their windows looked into hers. Was he over there with a gun? Just waiting to

From the street came the low rumble of a car. Of one particular car. Her heart stopped; she ran to the window, looked down in time to see Terrible walk up the steps.

One last pat of her dyed-black Bettie Page hair; one last slick of lipstick over her too-dry mouth. She couldnt do anything about the rest of it. She was pale and shaky, her entire body clammy with nerves.

When his heavy knuckles hit her door she was ready, standing beside it. Her hand flew to the knob, but she caught herself before she turned it. Bad enough that shed made an ass out of herself the last time shed seen him. He didnt need to know shed been hovering here by the door, waiting.

The makeup was a mistake. So was the top, and the high-heeled boots. It was all a mistake. What did she think this was, a fucking date? How much more obvious did she want to make it? Maybe when she opened the door she could fall to her knees and start crying, too, just to complete the pitiful picture.

Another heavy knock. Okay. Deep breath time. She twisted the knob, stepped back, and pulled.

Nobody filled a doorway like Terrible.

Her mouth opened. What should she say here? Hi? How are you? Come to bed with me? Yeah, that would work. Fuck! What was she

His eyes met hers. For one second she saw something in them. Something like what she used to see, a ghost of what had been.

Then it was gone. He jerked his head to the side in a short Come on gesture, turned, and walked back down the hall. No need to say anything; they both knew why he was there, where he was taking her.

Her heart fell into her shoes. It was no more than she expected. No more than she deserved. But it still hurt; fissures inside her shed thought were starting to heal cracked back open and pumped deep-blue misery through her veins.

Breathing past the lump in her throat, she grabbed her bag and followed him, pausing only to lock and set the wards on her front door. Her arms felt awkward, her hands too big; she shoved them into her pockets, took them back out, folded and unfolded her arms as she tried to keep up with his long stride. Down the stairs, across the wide lobby and through the huge double doors, out into the cold early spring wind.

Out of habit she paused by the passenger door, waiting for him to open it, but he didnt. Right. She grabbed the icy handle herself, felt it bite her palm as she lifted it and let herself into the dark, smoke-and-leather-scented interior. Other scents lurked there as well: bourbon and beer. Hed been drinking. She didnt blame him. She could have used a drink herself just then. Would have been smart to grab a beer from the fridge.

The drivers side sank when he lowered himself onto the seat. Keys jangled.

They didnt move.

Her water bottle was in her bag. She fumbled for it, concentrating on it so she wouldnt have to feel him next to her. To smell his skin. To look at his bumpy, craggy profile, black DA haircut swooped up and back and glistening with Murrays pomade. It didnt work. She was acutely aware of all those things, and of her sadness spilling over all of it. She  she missed him. He was her friend. No matter how much she wanted him to be more, no matter how much shed blown her chance at it  all that shit aside, hed been her friend, and she missed that so much it hurt.

Whatd you do to me?

The bottle slipped from her fingers; she managed to catch it before it spilled. What?

His right hand circled over his chest. Oh, right.

Oh. Its a sigil, it  binds your soul to your body.

Images of that night swirled from her memory, played in front of her again. The way they had so many times since. His body, motionless  the hawk swooping down to claim his soul  her knife handle cold and hard in her hand, carving the sigil into his chest, the blood seeping from the design like it was responding to her summons.