Chasing Magic

by Stacia Kane

  “Naw, not what they gave me anyroad.” He glanced at the ornate clock on the wall next to yet another pornographic photo. “Oughta get us over now, aye?”

  “Right.” It was close to three o’clock. An hour, hour and a half tops for that, then maybe she’d call Lex. Maybe. If she could keep herself from screaming at him when she did.

  Both men were looking at the key in her hand. She’d dropped it into an inert plastic bag and sealed up the top; that helped, but she still felt as if her skin was rippling as she held it out to them. “Edsel gave it to me. He said”—she checked her notes—“Sharp-eye Ben brought it to him. You know him?”

  Terrible nodded. “Got some heavy owes, Ben do. He gave Edsel the tell where he finding it?”

  “No.”

  “Thinkin it got aught to do with all this shit?”

  She nodded. “It feels like the walnut.”

  He shook his head. “Fuck. Guessin we off to see Ben too, aye? An got he a place up Seventieth and Baxter.”

  “By the docks,” she said, and found no satisfaction of being right in his grim nod.

  * * *

  Chess was starting to feel edgy. That might have been comedown, but she didn’t think so. She should have another few hours on that speed.

  She popped another Cept to be sure. She popped it because she had things she had to say, and none of them were going to be pleasant. She popped it because there was something she couldn’t say, not ever.

  “So, I met with Elder Griffin this morning,” she started. Where the hell did she go from there? How could she tell him— Well, the part about him was good, right? Was more cheerful. Would make him feel better, anyway.

  “Aye?” He glanced at her. Several times.

  She dawdled with her water bottle, dawdled lighting herself a smoke, dawdled until she couldn’t dawdle anymore. “He thinks he knows—he’s pretty sure he knows—a sigil that’s going to keep you from passing out.”

  She should tell him what was really happening, that his soul was leaving his body every time. She couldn’t. Was that a lie or an omission? Were omissions lies?

  Did it matter? Neither of them was Truth, the entire Truth, and that meant both were wrong.

  But what good would it do him to know? Just as Blue never, ever needed to know whose gun had killed her father. That it had been Blue’s was Fact and Truth. That it would be torture for her to know, that it would destroy her, was also Truth. That Chess had to carry that burden for her … Truth again.

  And the Truth about what happened when Terrible touched dark magic?

  If all went as planned, it would stop happening. And there was no reason why it wouldn’t, because Elder Griffin had designed the sigil and she hadn’t. Without her to fuck it up, it had to work, right?

  Tension zinged through the car. “What?”

  “Elder Griffin, he thinks he has—”

  “How’s he knowin on it? Thought you ain’t s’posed to do what— How’s he know?”

  Another Truth she didn’t want to share, but she didn’t have a choice about this one. He’d never believe she’d confessed to Elder Griffin because she was just in the fucking mood to or something. “He … Last night at the wedding, when you shook his hand. Um, he felt my magic on you. He felt that I’d done something, some soul-binding magic, and … he made me tell him what it was. I didn’t have a choice, really.”

  “Fuck. What he done to you, he doin aught? You needing to get out, what’s—”

  “No. No, he’s not going to turn me in. He helped me find a sigil that might help, well, we found some sigils that might help and designed a new one from those.” It was getting harder to talk; her throat wanted to close up, as if she’d swallowed a large cold steel ball and it was lodged under her jaw.

  “So he all good then? Ain’t turning you in, he cool on it?”

  There it was. “No.”

  Silence. She could feel him glancing at her, waiting for her to continue. She couldn’t. She wanted to; she wanted to tell him the way she wanted to throw up when she’d taken too much, when she was hung over or whatever. But that same sick knowledge that the process itself would be painful and disgusting, the knowledge that whatever relief may come from the purge would be short-lived and that next time the junk coming up would be from further down in the depths, made her want to hold off as long as possible.

  “He’s not turning me in, but he’s … he’s disappointed in me, and what I did was selfish and a serious crime and he thought I was better than that. He, um … I betrayed the Church and he never thought I would do something like that.”

  Silence. Long silence, while they passed tumbledown buildings decorated with graffiti and people sitting on front steps. She broke it once or twice, pulling air through her sinuses, drinking her water.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Shit. Knew I ain’t shoulda gone along. Never woulda happened iffen I ain’t been there. Never would—”

  “No.” Damn, she hadn’t even thought he’d think that, but of course he did. “No. I wanted you to go, and I’m glad you did, and no matter what happened I’m still glad you went.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “No. I wanted you to go. I’m glad you went.”

  He nodded, staring at the street in front of them. “An … you right? Meaning … know you an he was—know you liked he an all.”

  The lump threatened to rise again; she swallowed it hard, sniffled even harder. “I’m okay, it just … yeah, it kind of sucks. But I’m fine, really. It’s no big deal.”

  He reached over and touched her hair, a faint caress, like a light breeze blowing through it. It made her entire body tingle. Worth it. It was worth it. She’d never realized how important Elder Griffin was to her, no, and now he knew the truth about her and that hurt so bad. But it was worth it.

  “You wanting— Us can wait an talk on the later, aye? Don’t worry me, neitherways.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. He came up with some things, and we designed a sigil that we’re pretty sure will work. He figured we’d be drawing the sigil on—well, I don’t know, maybe he knows exactly what we’d do—but we can go down to Flip’s and get it inked.”

  He pulled out a cigarette of his own and lit it up. “Cool. Meanin get down there anyways.”

  They’d hit Baxter, far enough north that none of the buildings had intact windows and the rotten-fish-and-chemical scent of the bay drifted on the air. Not too close; they were still four or five blocks east, and a dozen or so blocks south. But close enough.

  “So this guy we’re going to see—Ben. He lives up here? I didn’t think anybody lived up here.”

  “Aye, some do. Mostly them work the docks. Some of em thinkin it safer, less people around. Ain’t, though.”

  He slowed down when they hit Sixty-fifth. “Ben black dude, aye? Bald, got he a mustache an beard. Always wearin one a them trench coats. Might be onna street.”

  “And if he’s not? Do you know where he lives?”

  “Aye. Been there.” Color washed over his neck.

  Right. He’d said Ben had some heavy debts, so of course he’d been there.

  And it looked like he was going there again. He made a U-turn at Seventy-fourth and parked in front of a skeletal building on Seventieth. Steel beams showed through gaps in the walls, especially at the corners; the whole thing looked as though it would collapse if someone slammed a door too hard.

  She waited for Terrible to turn off the car and open his door, but he didn’t. He sat there with his hand on the keys, his brow furrowed. Once he opened his mouth and closed it again, glancing at her.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  He rubbed his forehead and the back of his neck, shooting her quick sidelong glances. What the hell? What were they going to see inside this building that he felt so … embarrassed about? That was how he looked, embarrassed—nervous—and the faint color already on his skin deepened as he blew out smoke, staring straight ahead. “Been—been wanting to have a chatter on somethin.”


  “Okay, what—”

  “That … Keith, at the wedding. You recall him givin me the ask on me an you, on—”

  Oh. Shit. The temperature in the car suddenly seemed a few degrees colder. Did he really have to … She wasn’t going to try to hold him to it, didn’t think it was necessary, and the whole discussion was fraught with problems. “Hey, it’s okay. I mean, I know he put you on the spot. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry he did that to you, what a thing to—”

  “Naw.” He shook his head. “That weren’t— Been thinkin on it since before then, too. An had the thought, maybe you oughta give up you place, dig?”

  “What? But if I move back on Church grounds I can’t—”

  He sneaked another glance at her, fast, then returned to staring at the empty street before them. “Naw, ain’t my meaning. Meaning to say … come live at mine, dig. With me.”

  She had no idea what to say.

  He didn’t give her a chance to come up with something, either. After barely a pause he continued, “Always there anyroad, aye? We ain’t slept at yours in weeks. Seem like a waste, you keep payin rent an all.… Already got you stuff at mine. An mine’s safer, dig. Ain’t as many people got the knowledge where it is.”

  As many people, or one particular person? She knew he really hadn’t liked coming to hers and finding Lex there, having Lex show up after they’d come back from the docks.

  Not that she thought that was the main reason. At least she was trying not to think it. She was trusting him, for real, and trusting him for real meant not looking for ulterior motives or doubting his intentions. But she knew it was there, no matter how small.

  The rest of his reasoning, though … Shit, what should she say? Panic—a deep gulping panic she hated feeling—wrapped around her chest and made it hard for her to take a drag off her smoke. Living together … that was something serious people did. Something people who knew how to make real commitments did. Something people who weren’t confused as hell about who they were, or scared as hell about who they were becoming—happy people—did.

  And even without that … Her brain seized an answer, the only one she could truly give. “I can’t.”

  His face reddened further. “Oh aye, knew it were—no worryin, just—”

  “No, it’s not that, it’s not because— I’m not allowed to. The Church won’t let me. Well, they won’t let any of us. Employees, I mean. Without being married we’re not allowed to live with someone like that.”

  Silence.

  “Especially me, because of where I live. I have to submit proof that I actually live there, remember? A few months ago, when I had to get those bills together for their records? And they can inspect me anytime, to make sure I’m following the law. It’s not— That’s all, I just honestly can’t.”

  Did he believe her? She hoped so, because it was Truth.

  She hated that part of her was relieved about that. Only a tiny part, sure. But part, nonetheless. A part she hoped to fuck he wasn’t aware of, because if he was he’d think it meant she wasn’t sure about him, that she didn’t love him. Which was so far from Truth it wasn’t even funny; she loved him so much she could hardly breathe, as if there was some sort of Terrible-shaped growth in her chest that squeezed out everything else, reached up into her brain and twisted it so she could think only about him.

  Maybe thinking of him as some sort of parasite wasn’t the best or most romantic analogy in the world, no. But she couldn’t help that. It was how it felt, how she felt. And most of the time it was awesome, the most incredible feeling in the world.

  It only terrified her once in a while, because how was she supposed to handle that sort of feeling? Happiness always came with a price tag, and she couldn’t read the one attached to him; some privacy, yes, some freedom, yes, but … there was something else, a responsibility it meant she had to him, an obligation. A change from the person she’d always been and the way she’d always lived, and reaching for something she didn’t know if she could hold on to.

  “Gotta be married,” he echoed, still staring out the windshield.

  “Right. And that’s— I’m happy the way things are, honest. Don’t worry about that, okay? We can still stay at yours most of the time, I just need to keep the address. I need to go over there often enough and keep enough stuff there so they can’t tell, that’s all. Don’t—don’t feel like you have to do this. I’m fine.”

  When he didn’t respond she reached out and set her hand on his thigh. She squeezed it. “Hey. I love you, okay? I really, really do. You know that, right?”

  A nod. “Aye.”

  Relief loosened the tense knot that had formed in her chest. “Good. Because I do. So let’s not worry about it. As … as long as I get to be with you, I don’t care where, you know?”

  Shit, that was too much, wasn’t it? She still couldn’t get the hang of the whole I-love-you thing, the romantic stuff. It always felt like she either sounded as though she was having a little joke or writing a greeting card, like there was a fine line in between that was just right but she couldn’t quite balance on it. At least not very often.

  But he nodded again and let his hand fall on hers. “Aye. Aye, me too.”

  Too bad they weren’t somewhere private, where she could kiss him. She settled for wrapping her fingers tight around his. “I wish it was different, though.”

  “No worryin on it.” He pulled his hand away and turned off the engine, ending the conversation in that one swift movement. “C’mon, let’s get this done.”

  He took her arm when he opened the door for her, leaned down to look her in the eyes. “Let me talk, aye?”

  She nodded. It felt good to agree to something he wanted; even if it hadn’t she would have nodded, because he was right, but still.

  The stairs to the porch creaked when they stepped on them. The front door appeared to be fastened by nothing but wires and stubbornness. Terrible pushed that open slowly, one hand on the knife tucked behind his back, peering around in the relative gloom.

  Relative because a hole in the ceiling allowed sunlight to bleach a patch about two feet by two feet on the dark-wood floor. Enough light flowed in and reflected from it to allow her to see a staircase in front of them, a couple more doors along the hall past it.

  Those stairs, too, protested as they climbed them. Terrible didn’t seem to be making any effort to be quiet, which reassured her. Of course, he was almost silent when he walked—force of habit, she always imagined—but when he didn’t try, he didn’t try.

  Sharp-eye Ben’s door was the third on the right along the narrow upstairs hallway. The house itself had never been one of the grander ones; most of those were farther south. But it appeared to predate those, too. Chess guessed it had been built in the nineteenth century, maybe even earlier. It was a piece of history, fading and disintegrating like a memory no one cared enough to keep alive.

  Ben didn’t answer Terrible’s first knock, or his second, louder one. “Ben! Got some asks for you, open up!”

  “He ain’t comin out two days past,” a sharp high voice piped up. Chess and Terrible both turned to see that the door catty-corner to Ben’s had opened. In the doorway stood a woman with blue braids erupting from her head in an odd patchy pattern, as if she’d grabbed clumps of hair and braided them, then tied them off with scraps of red T-shirt.

  A hole-filled jersey dress about five sizes too big covered her from neck to mid-calf. Well, covered most of her; one of her breasts poked out of a hole. She didn’t seem to notice it or care.

  She shuffled her dirty bare feet. “Seened him two days past, I did, an he actin all secret-scared, you see what I say? An ain’t hardly said a speak, neither. Ain’t like himself, causen he a chattery talker, had the guessing causen he speedy always, see. But he coming on home two days past, an ain’t even said not a speak to me, hardly, just closing himself in there an ain’t coming out.”

  She paused. Terrible opened his mouth, but the woman started another torrent of words
before he could make a sound. “I knows he ain’t had a come-out, see, causen I’d a hear on it. He door broke. It making noise like a cat getting skin ripped off it, anywhen gets opened.”

  Ben must have come there directly from selling the key to Edsel, and he’d probably scored then, too. Which meant it was very likely that he was locked in there with his eyes about to fly out of his skull, convinced ghosts or murderers or, hell, human-sized insects or something were banging on his door. Speed-bangers on a run didn’t tend to be tight with reality.

  “Somebody’s coming visit himself, though, on that same day, sunset time, right about. Hearing voices in the hall, see, so’s I had myself a peeping through the hole the door’s got, an saw who them was.”

  This time neither Terrible nor Chess tried to speak. Chess wondered how much this woman would tell them if they let her keep going. Wondered, too, how it was that none of her neighbors had beaten her up or killed her yet. Most people in Downside didn’t appreciate having their private business blabbed.

  “Were himself ladygirl, an guessin be some friends she got. She an them went on in there, see, an I hearing themselfs coming out on a fifteen minutes later, thinking it were. All they left, then, heading out to them car onna street, see, but ain’t seed Sharp-eye coming out never since, an that were on two days past long now.”

  “Ladygirl?” Terrible glanced at Chess. “Gotta name for she?”

  The woman grinned, showing gaps in her crooked teeth. “Only callin her Ree, on sometimes, an hearing him say lovey-like names, see, them lovey-like names like sweetness an all.”

  Ree. Rianna? Ria? Luria? Maria?

  Marietta.

  Terrible must have had the same thought. He pulled the pink wallet from his pocket again, slipped Marietta’s driver’s license out of it, and crossed the hall. “This she?”

  “Aye! Were she, that one. Knowing that, seed her many times, she the lovey one two-three months going on now. Ain’t knowing where themselfs had the meeting-up, see, only one day she were around the place alla time, making the noises. Only themselfs be having the fightings onna last weeks or so, screamin yells. Ain’t got the knowledge on what they fightings on, but Yellow Pete stopping coming.”