Five Down

by Stacia Kane

  When she mentioned Blue giving Will her number, his eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t comment on it. He leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “Aye, well. Let’s ain’t start wishin for trouble. Betting some’ll be on soon anyroad.”

  Which was perfectly true. The problem was that she was hoping for some trouble that wasn’t aimed at her, and that was a lot harder to find.

  ☠

  WALKING THROUGH THE INTERIOR OF Chuck’s felt like taking a stroll through a rainforest in the middle of typhoon season. There were just too many bodies in there, hot sweaty bodies crowded four deep at the bar, crammed into booths built for half as many people, sitting on tables, lining the walls; so many that the feeble air conditioning couldn’t even begin to compensate. The place seemed ready to burst at the seams, to explode and spray beer, blood, and sweat everywhere. Ugh, summer really sucked. She already wanted to take another shower, and it had only been a couple of hours since her last one.

  Terrible muscled his way up to the bar to get them a couple of beers, and then led her through the horde of wacked-out drinkers to their usual booth. A wall of backs enclosed it; when Terrible started shifting them out of the way she saw it was because some generous soul had been chopping lines up and down the length of the table and letting anyone who wanted have a turn with the straw. She glanced at Terrible and saw the suspicion in her chest mirrored in his eyes. Damn it. They’d only been in the place five minutes and already they had to go outside and ask some questions. After the nightmare they’d had a couple of months before with ghost-tainted speed, they weren’t taking any chances.

  It wasn’t so bad, though, really, considering that after only a few minutes in the furnace-like atmosphere inside Chuck’s, the faint garbage-scented breeze outside felt amazing.

  She wasn’t the only person who thought so. Crowds formed around open Downside bars with the eager speed and predictability of rats gathering around a pile of kitchen waste, listening to the music without paying or meeting friends or looking to score—Bump’s men were fixtures there, and they were always holding. But this night the crowd was particularly large, and the streetlight shone off of a lot of sweat-slick heads that had obviously come from inside. Well, either that or they’d been jogging a few miles, and she figured she could put money on that not being the case.

  They’d made it to the corner of the building when Chess stumbled. Her vision blurred; the cracked pavement in front of her twisted and spun, and her stomach did the same. It wasn’t just dizziness or queasiness, either. It was dread, the sensation of everything good disappearing, leaving her weak and alone and scared. Her legs didn’t want to support her. It was like how she felt when she’d taken too much speed, or when she was hit by powerful black magic—holy shit.

  She shook Terrible’s hand off her arm and started glancing at the crowd, trying to figure out who it was. Lots of people milled around the street, lots of backs moving away from her and faces coming toward her. A small shifting ocean of people. “I’m fine. I just—shit, I think somebody here might be about to catch fire.”

  The kids with all the speed looked at her like she was insane. Terrible, of course, didn’t; his deep-set eyes showed only concern. “Like on the earlier?”

  “Yeah. Before it happened I felt sick. Just for a second, when she was near me. I just felt it again. I could be wrong, but something’s going on even if it isn’t that specifically.”

  As she spoke she kept searching, taking a few steps in each direction, scanning the faces in the crowd. Who was it? How had they managed to disappear so fast, why was everyone moving around so much? Damn it, if it wasn’t so hot out she might have a chance, but everybody was flushed and sweaty. Everyone looked like they might burst into flame at any second.

  “What I’m lookin for?” His grip loosened but didn’t disappear, and she was grateful. She felt fine—the sickness had passed as quickly as the person who caused it apparently had—but it could hit again at any second. And really, she just wanted him to touch her. She wanted to be reminded by the comforting solid warmth of his skin against hers that he was there, that he had her back.

  “I don’t know. Shit, we don’t have time—the waitress was really sweaty, her face was red—”

  Terrible snorted.

  “Yeah, I know. But maybe somebody who looks especially hot, especially uncomfortable? I guess if I get close to them I’ll feel sick. I mean, it could be some other kind of dark magic but I don’t think it is.” The sea of heads yielded nothing. She studied the outer fringes of the crowd, the shadows in the alleys; maybe someone was lurking there, waiting for their spell to activate? Ugh. If she planned to grab any person who looked suspicious or as though they were planning something nefarious, she was going to have to question everyone on the street. And in the bar. And in their homes nearby. And, really, herself and Terrible.

  She looked anyway, though. She had to do something. She had to find the victim, or potential victim, and help them—although how she was supposed to keep someone from turning into a living torch she had no idea.

  Terrible’s grip tightened. “Look there.”

  She followed his gaze; it wasn’t hard to do, since several female voices suddenly rose above the general din of talk and laughter and the Suicidal Tendencies song blasting through the open doors of Chuck’s. She couldn’t figure out exactly what the voices were saying, but it didn’t matter. She knew. Panic sizzled around them like lightning, and the whole crowd took an instinctive step back. Nobody wanted to be near whatever was making those voices sound like that.

  Except, of course, Chess. Or, she didn’t want to be near them, but she knew she ought to be. And Terrible needed to be, since it was his job to know what was going on and make sure nobody did anything stupid like alerting the media or the law or anything—the law wouldn’t show up, but why take the chance—or, especially, taking advantage of the chaos to try to steal from Bump’s men.

  “Get water,” she managed to gasp, before she ducked her way through the crowd, uncapping her water bottle—not that it would do any good—and arrived just in time to see a girl standing there with her hands on her chest and a look of shock and…shock and wonder on her face. She turned her eyes skyward and burst into flame just as Terrible grabbed Chess and yanked her away.

  The girl froze in place as she burned, exactly like Ella had. She didn’t scream. She didn’t seem aware that anything was happening, much less that heat intense enough to make Chess’s eyes water was radiating from her and her skin was popping and peeling behind the flames, her clothing…oh, shit, her clothing was melting into her.

  A couple of people tried to throw some water on the woman almost as soon as the fire rose, to no avail. A puff of steam rose from where the water hit, but the flames didn’t abate at all. Which was what Chess had expected, but it still made her feel worse. As did the moment when everyone realized at once that the water wouldn’t help, that nothing would help, and all movement stopped.

  A few isolated gasps or oddly muted sobs came from the horrified onlookers, but mostly there just was silence. Dead silence. That quiet, that moment where the whole crowd seemed to be holding its breath in awe, scared Chess more than the blaze before her or the sickness she’d felt. It almost scared her more than the idea that at that very moment some sick pyromaniac sorcerer could be planning his or her next exhibition. It was just so fucking eerie. Like a campfire for serial killers or something.

  Even as she thought it, Terrible’s hand landed on the back of her neck, under her hair; he gave it a gentle squeeze and pulled her to his side. Perhaps he knew what she was feeling, knew she needed the comfort of his body against hers. Maybe he needed it himself. Either way, it soothed her—as much as it was possible to be soothed, which wasn’t much. It felt wrong, ghoulish and cruel, to just stand and watch, but there was nothing else they could do.

  Just as they had earlier at the restaurant, the flames died all at once, leaving a charred black figure standing there in the shape of a woman; a
statue carved from fire and death. And behind it, ringed around it like worshippers of the old religions, a gathering of staring people. Staring at the woman—of course they fucking were, she was a woman made of smoking ash—but staring at Chess, too. They weren’t stupid. They knew that what they’d just seen wasn’t an everyday sort of occurrence, and they obviously expected Bump’s Churchwitch to solve the problem.

  Fuck. What was she supposed to do? This was Will’s case, an Inquisitor case. This was the third instance of human combustion in a week, the second in a day. She ought to call Will and let him take over.

  But they were in Downside. Will might not even agree to come out there, and if he did he might not make it out alive, and if he did…well, if he did he’d have some real information about Chess, about her life. Not the basic stuff he already knew, but stuff like her boyfriend wasn’t the innocent construction worker she’d presented to everyone at Church. Maybe stuff like what Terrible actually did for a living and that she knew about it. Maybe stuff like she helped him do it, or rather, she helped his boss with any magical problems that happened across his path. And maybe even why. If anyone got wind of her helping Bump because he was her drug dealer…yeah, that was not going to go well for her.

  What was she supposed to do, though? Investigate this on her own? Or, of course she could fucking investigate it on her own, but what about the first victim who was already dead? That victim whose name she didn’t have and whose file she had no way of accessing? Unlike Debunkers, who had to hand whatever evidence they gathered to Goody Tremmell to be added to their case file, Inquisitors kept their files themselves until the cases were closed. There wouldn’t be a copy anywhere; Will had the only one, and she didn’t think he’d change his mind about showing it to her.

  Which meant flying blind, with no idea what the Squad had already ruled out or who they’d interviewed or what they’d found or anything. All she knew was that he’d had a single lead that didn’t pan out, and that the victim was female and had died eight days ago. Even if she could look up all the women who’d died that day and research their causes of death—which she couldn’t, since she didn’t have access to those databases—there was no guarantee it would work. It was possible that the information hadn’t been entered yet, or hadn’t been entered correctly, or even that Will had given her misinformation.

  Funny how she was standing there thinking about it like she had a choice. Even if she didn’t know damn well that the part of her desperate for something to occupy her mind was practically jumping up and down with the desire to see this stop and make sure nobody else ended up as a charred relic… Even without all of that, the looks on the faces of that crowd, the knowledge that they all expected her to fix it, the knowledge that if she just shrugged and walked away it would put not only their fear of her and their belief in her abilities in jeopardy but it would by extension make them doubt Terrible and Bump, meant she might as well just resign herself to some blind-flying, because it was happening.

  It was her own damn fault, she thought as Terrible and Bump’s men rounded up witnesses and moved everyone away from the corpse. She was the dumbass who’d wished for something to do. Terrible had, as usual, been right. She’d wonder why only the bad wishes ever came true, but hell, that was life, wasn’t it?

  ☠

  THE GIRL’S NAME WAS—HAD been—Harmony Clare, and she lived only a few blocks from Chess at Fiftieth and Cross. A few blocks from Chess’s old apartment, anyway.

  “We was getting us outta here,” her girlfriend Rosa said, in between sniffles. “She just started working she up in Cross Town, she done, got sheself a office job an all, typin an such. Even could speak her properlike, you diggin me? Were goin to get us a place there, getting outta here. An now—” A sob broke her sentence; it was a minute or so before she picked up the pieces. “Now she gone. What I’m s’posed to do with she gone?”

  Her naked emotions made Chess cringe a little with vicarious embarrassment. Not that she didn’t understand; she did. More than she wanted to, she did. And she was getting better at being comfortable with that, with not feeling like showing emotions in public was akin to stripping naked and inviting everyone to have a good long look, or like showing them in front of anyone at all gave them ammunition to use against her.

  But Rosa’s feelings slithered through the hot, sticky air between them to beat against Chess’s body, to beat against the too-thin walls of the fading high she desperately needed to top up. It stung like raw onions rubbed on abraded skin.

  “When did she start her new job?” she asked. “And where was it—what was the name of the place?”

  Rosa wiped her nose with a flowered handkerchief that looked like something a clown would reject as too garish. It clashed horribly with her polka-dot button-down shirt. “Johnstone Accounting what the place be called, her answering them phones an such, do typing. Started three weeks past now, she done. Real good at all like that she is—she were—real good at it…”

  Her face disappeared behind the handkerchief while Chess scribbled the information in her notebook. Johnstone Accounting. Death magic or dark magic of any kind didn’t seem like it’d be much of a hobby for accountants, but that was no reason to rule it out. Anyone was capable of doing anything; everyone was a worthy suspect. “And did she like it there? They were nice to her, she didn’t have any problems with anyone?”

  “Liking it right, she were, said all them nice to she. Maybe one dame weren’t so good, some dame name of Victoria. Harm saying me how she were cold, you diggin me, weren’t so much for friendly-like. But none else, what her say. Likin it right, bein inna building like it with all them other ones around, people in an out an suchlike all the day.”

  Chess scribbled Victoria’s name down, too. When she looked up she noticed a few people creeping closer to where she and Rosa stood. Nosy bastards. She picked at Rosa’s sleeve—even that sent a shock of agony and grief up her arm—and took a few steps back, hoping Rosa would follow.

  Luckily she did, because if she hadn’t Chess might have had to grab her arm, and that would have been like sticking her hand into an oven that cooked with pain instead of heat. “Did she have any problems with anyone else, that you know of?”

  Rosa shook her head, and kept shaking it as Chess continued, “No enemies? Was she involved in any groups or organizations, hobbies? Did she take any classes or…? Okay. Who were her friends—your friends? Who were her exes?”

  At least those last two yielded something, although the pitifully short list of names didn’t look promising. Ha, as if Chess could say anything about a list of friends being pitifully short, with her one friend in the whole world. Not counting Terrible, of course, but he wasn’t her friend. He was her life.

  Chess glanced at the statue made of ash—the ashtue?—and back at Rose. “What can you tell me about tonight? What was Harmony wearing, how long have you been here, were you meeting someone else?”

  The handkerchief danced over Rosa’s face again. “Come here roundabout an hour past, guessing. I ain’t looked at a clock. Weren’t havin a meet-up with nobody, nay, an her were wearin—her were wearin she a dress, blue dress, what her just buy on the yesterday. Buy so’s to match up a necklace she gotten for luck, blue stones on it, you diggin me? Were a sundress, iffen you got what one being, little straps an short, swingy skirt. Weren’t like whatall her usually wearing, only she say she were havin her a celebrate. Look so pretty, her done, like a flower. Just like, like a flower.”

  Ugh. Chess was starting to feel like a sadistic voyeur, like the fact that she was trying to help didn’t excuse the questions she was asking. Too bad she really did need to ask them. “How was Harmony feeling? Did she seem sick, or especially hot or uncomfortable? Did she talk to anyone odd or—” What was she saying, this was Downside, if Harmony had spoken to anyone at all that person was probably fucking odd. She tried again. “Did she talk to anyone who seemed to you like they didn’t belong here, or anyone you’ve never seen before?”


  “Were all right up, only just afore she—just afore she—afore she burning, she say were feelin mighty heated-up. Ain’t seemed sick or any. Were all energyful, iffen you dig my meaning, like joyful happy, only saying her feeling heated-up. Us gave hiyas to some we knowing, nobody us ain’t knowing. Weren’t none did this to she, were just—were just her alla sudden on fire, alla sudden burning up on me, an I ain’t could stop it…”

  She started sobbing again, and this time Chess didn’t interrupt. What was she supposed to say, anyway? “Yeah, that sucks?” No. There was nothing to say, and she couldn’t stand there with Rosa’s pain like talons digging into her soul.

  So she took Rosa’s number, told her again that she was sorry for her loss, and headed to where Terrible stood talking to a few witnesses. He peeled away from them to meet her halfway.

  “Got any knowledge offen her?” His hand found the small of her back, and guided her to the side.

  “Some. You?”

  He shrugged. “Dame were here an hour afore the fire. Nobody seen shit, dig, none talkin to she or seein any sneak up on her or aught like that. Them who were looking at her say she seeming all right up, happy an shit, then she just stop and start burning up.”

  Speaking of burning up…shit, she’d dropped her beer a while ago, hadn’t she? Without even noticing. Terrible had one, sweating as it dangled from his hand. She grabbed it and took a swig. Much better. “That’s pretty much what Rosa said. Harmony had just started a new job, though, and I got the name of the place and of their friends. Maybe we can find something there.”

  “You ain’t sounding hopeful.”

  “I’m not.” She took another drink. If only she was washing down a few Cepts with it instead of just enjoying a cold beer on a way-too-hot-for-comfort night. In a minute she’d duck into a shadow to take a few; she’d learned the hard way that it was best not to do it where anyone could be watching her, especially anyone with a camera. “We don’t even have any idea what started that fire, much less why.”