by Stacia Kane
Just what she wanted. Bring her into the discussion. Remind Terrible that she’d betrayed him, that while he’d thought something was starting between them—while something was starting between them—she’d been running off to spend long sweaty nights in Lex’s bed.
Not that Terrible would or could ever forget, but still.
“All knowing nobody beats you, aye? Need me a man like that, make things tight up. Needs a brain, too, which you know you got. You name me a price. True thing, Terrible. Makes me happy, makes you happy, makes Tulip happy. Ain’t that the juice?”
“No.”
Lex’s expression didn’t change. He stubbed out his smoke, took another swig from his beer, and set it on the table. “You have you a think on it, aye? Ain’t needing the answer on the now, you gimme the tell on the morrow.”
Terrible shrugged. “Answer ain’t changin.”
“Aye? Whyn’t you get the thoughts, anyway, we chatter again.” Lex stood up and started toward the door. Chess and Terrible moved back a few steps into the kitchen so he could get past, but he stopped a foot or so away from them. Almost—but not quite—too close.
“Oughta give one more thing the mentions here. You ain’t wanna come on with me … means I get on finding one who will, dig, get me a steel-man of my owns. Ain’t sure Downside got size enough for two, aye? Rather not be fighting you causen of Tulip, but … got plans, I do, an I ain’t losing em.”
Chess closed her eyes. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way she was standing in her own kitchen, listening to Lex threaten Terrible while Terrible’s hand twitched on the back of her neck and anger rolled off him in thick waves.
When she opened her eyes again, Lex stood by the door. “On the laters, Tulip. Give you a ring-up, I will.”
What was she supposed to say? Great? Awesome, you do that? She managed to raise her hand in a weak sort of wave before the door closed behind him, leaving Chess alone with Terrible and his rage.
She didn’t want to look at him. The thought of what she might see in his eyes scared her, and that made her even angrier because she wasn’t supposed to be scared of him, and that scared her even more, and four Cepts had totally not been enough. She’d have to grab another one. Immediately. Five was pushing it, but not beyond the boundary of acceptable.
But first … time to pay the piper, or take her punishment, or whatever the hell. She glanced up at him, found him staring at the door like he expected it to fly back open and reveal Lex with a loaded gun.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t— He was waiting here when I got home, and he said he wanted to talk to you, he wanted me to ask you to talk to him. He didn’t tell me why or what he wanted.”
His hand left her neck, leaving her skin cold and oddly light, missing its warm weight. She watched him pull his bottle of bourbon out of the cabinet and down a couple of swigs. Watched him grab a beer out of the fridge, stride past her to the couch—the other side from where Lex had sat—and chase the shots with almost half the bottle. Shit. Of course he drank—who the fuck didn’t?—but not like that, not usually. Not like he was trying to drown something out, forget it, get rid of it, hide it under an ocean of booze until no one even knew it had been there.
Not like … well, not like her.
What was she supposed to do? She’d already apologized. She’d explained. He wasn’t responding. Damn it, she wasn’t good at this, didn’t have any experience with this. She’d never even dated someone for more than a single night, at least not before Lex came along, and they’d never really gotten mad at each other because their relationship didn’t matter enough to bother getting mad over. So what the hell was her reaction supposed to be?
Whatever it was, she guessed standing there staring at him wasn’t it. She dug in her bag for another pill and forced it down without water while she sat next to him. Not touching him—that might not be a good idea—but close to him, so the heat from his leg brushed against hers.
“So I know that probably wasn’t what you wanted to deal with right when you walked—”
“He got the truth?”
“What?”
He lit another cigarette off the butt of the first one. His eyes stayed focused on the stained-glass window. “He got the truth. That what you’re wanting? Me with him?”
“What—no, no, I mean, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
Even as she said it, a sneaky, selfish part of her wondered if it was entirely true. Oh, who was she kidding? Pretty much all of her was sneaky and selfish, but it was still just a small part of her that wondered.
She couldn’t ask Terrible to do that. Not ever. But she couldn’t deny it would be so much easier. For Terrible to stop hating Lex, to stop gritting his teeth and clenching his fists every time Lex’s name came up—which wasn’t often—and to not get mad if she wanted to get something to eat with Lex. To not get mad when she went shopping or whatever with Lex’s sister Blue—Beulah, actually, but she preferred Blue, and in that Chess supposed she didn’t blame her—who had become her friend, weird as that was.
Even weirder was how she was more willing to give up Lex than Blue, if she really thought about it. It was kind of cool having a female friend, even if they didn’t do girlie-type things. No manicures or pink cocktails, and no chatting about sex—at least, not on Chess’s part. Blue was more open, but then Blue was dating some married guy so didn’t have anyone else to talk to about him. But it was … well, it was fun. She couldn’t help it. It was.
Chess didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to dream about it, but she couldn’t help the images that bounced through her head in the few seconds before she managed to shut them down. The four of them hanging out at Lex’s place, drinking beer on her roof, her not feeling guilty and shitty anymore when Lex called or she went somewhere with Blue. Terrible could just smile and give her a kiss and tell her to have fun …
Right, sure. And then they could all go for a frolic in the sparkly diamond rain.
Besides, the thought of Lex and Terrible together all the time—that would never work. Could never work. Even without the whole business rivalry, Terrible hated Lex. Hated Lex because of her, hated Lex because he knew she’d been leaving him after an evening of hanging out—after many evenings of hanging out—and heading over to Lex’s place to spend the night in his bed. She’d betrayed him with Lex, over and over again, and even if she could expect him to put his loyalty to Bump aside she knew he couldn’t possibly ever forget that.
Hell, even if he tried, Lex wouldn’t let him, would he?
Terrible watched her, watched her tight so she felt like she couldn’t escape. She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder, wrap her arms around him, but something told her she should hang back. “No. I don’t want that.”
His eyes searched hers. “Aye?”
“Aye.” She smiled.
He smiled back, a brief flash of a smile across his face before his mouth twisted down again. “He ain’t lyin on havin plans. Two street men dead in the last week, dig. Right onna corners, just left there.”
“Lex killed them?”
“Ain’t can see who else done it. Watchers said dudes pull theyselves up in a car, jump out, stab em up an take off again. Ain’t even dipped them pockets, dig.”
Shit. “So … what are you guys doing?”
“Do what we gotta, aye? Ain’t can have that shit. Wonder on he not sayin on it, but guessing he ain’t with you here.”
“Or he didn’t mention it because he wants you to work with him.”
Terrible shrugged and leaned forward to stub out his smoke. As he did, his glance fell on her arm. “What’s on there?”
“Huh? Oh.” Damn, she’d almost managed to forget about the Darnells. “Remember my case, the people who broke the mirrors? I busted them today. They weren’t very happy about it.”
“They hit you?”
“Yeah. Well, they had a witch there who tried to kill me, then they had a gun, but it was fine. I
’m fine, no biggie.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “How about you, how was your day?”
She could practically see him trying to decide if it was worth pushing or not; thankfully, he didn’t. Even better, he lifted her arm and kissed the smudgy dark spot forming there, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Hey.” She reached up to trail her fingers down his thick sideburns, unable to keep herself from grinning. “I might have a few more bruises, too.”
His eyebrows rose, his own smile transforming his face the way she loved so much. “Aye? Where?”
“Oh, all over. It’s really bad. There are tons of them.”
He shook his head. “Damn. Thinkin you oughta show me, aye? So’s I can be all certain you ain’t hurt much.”
“I think you’re right.” She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and lifted it off, shivering harder when his warm hands found her bare skin, reached behind her to unfasten her bra and slip that off, too. “I definitely need your help.”
Love wasn’t one emotion, she didn’t think. It was a combination of a whole bunch of them, and each one had a slightly different formula. Like how if she mixed black powder with an equal amount of blood salt and powdered cat’s skull, she’d have a nice little hex-shield that would bounce curses back to the caster, but the same ingredients in different proportions would induce people to admit the truth if it got on their skin.
Love was like that, and the formulas were always changing. It never sat still and let her get used to it; she didn’t feel as if she ever quite had her balance.
And there was the formula changing again, going from light and warm to tingly and hot. Hot and getting hotter when his mouth took hers, his fingertips on her jaw and then sliding into her hair. His body urged hers back, so she lay on the couch with his warm solid weight above her and her hands already finding bare skin under his shirt, spreading her fingers apart as wide as she could so she could feel more of him at once.
He took his time, inching his palm up her rib cage to barely skim her breast, sliding it down over the curve of her hip and thigh. His teeth caught her tongue and held it for a second, just long enough to send a flash of heat through her entire body. Still he didn’t speed up, but that heat did, racing through her, screaming it was going so fast, and she felt as if she glowed in the ever-darker room as the sun set over Downside.
Then Terrible stopped, and she realized it wasn’t her body screaming—well, her body was screaming, like it always did when he touched her, but the sound she heard wasn’t her body. Wasn’t her voice. It was a voice of terror, a voice of pain and despair, and it sent a shiver that had nothing to do with sex or love or anything even remotely pleasant up her spine.
It was coming from the street outside, and more voices joined it every second.
Quite a crowd had gathered by the time Chess and Terrible burst through the tall, heavy wooden doors of her building, down the steps and across the patch of scrub grass and pebbles to the street, where dozens of backs obscured her view of whatever was happening.
Too bad they didn’t 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 wasn’t a good thing. But then she hadn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 Downside’s 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 Chess’s. 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 man—a dead body—and was swinging the corpse’s 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 and—oh 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 couldn’t even imagine how awful that would be.
This wasn’t the time to picture it, either, because the killer—she assumed he was the killer—started 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 Terrible’s boot—what was it made of? Did it matter, or was it simply having a barrier that made the difference?
Whatever it was, the killer didn’t like it very much. He writhed on the cement, grunting, his fingers slipping uselessly off Terrible’s boot and his other hand slapping the arm against Terrible’s 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 killer’s 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 man—Burnjack, Chess thought his name was, one of Bump’s lieutenants—holding down his legs.
How long had he been like that? Why hadn’t he passed out yet, with Terrible’s foot crushing his windpipe?
Terrible wasn’t 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. She’d estimated it at two-seventy once, and while that had been a bit too heavy, he wasn’t 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 wasn’t good.
She jerked her own head back toward her building, letting him know where she was going, and he nodded.
She’d run that fast before, but not very often. Her chest ached by the time she reached her bedroom and grabbed the stack of hardcover b
ooks she used as a step stool when she needed one. Usually she didn’t 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 bag—iron 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 she’d 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 crow’s bone, of course. She had some dried chunks of snake, some goat’s 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 she’d 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 her—one lesson it had rammed down her throat until she choked on it—it was that nothing was ever safe. Positive expectations were for idiots.
The crowd had grown in the short time she’d 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 didn’t 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.
