by Stacia Kane
The last few boxes of stuff she was moving into Terrible’s place.
She couldn’t take everything; as she’d told him before, she needed to keep her address, keep enough stuff there that if the Church checked on her it would look as if she lived there. She’d have to check on it regularly, going to collect her mail—not that she ever got much—and to dust, and to refresh the wards on the door, and all that other shit she’d need to do.
It would be extra work, yeah. But it was worth it. It was totally worth it, and she was ready.
She hopped into the car and leaned over to kiss him, his face still bruised Technicolor and his body still padded with bandages but alive and smiling at her.
“Hey, Chess. You right? Ready to go?”
Was she? Fear still hummed through her veins, fear and the uncertainty of where they went next, of how long he’d want her in his apartment, of how well she was going to handle it all. She was still who she was, after all. A junkie, a liar, someone who didn’t know how to have a relationship, someone who really didn’t deserve whatever happiness she managed to find. Someone terrified she’d do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, terrified that she was going to fuck this up like she did everything else.
Hell, she’d managed to ruin her relationship with Elder Griffin, of all people, the man who’d approved of her, helped her, liked her, since the day they’d met when she was in training. The man who’d always been on her side.
But she’d started to realize it was impossible not to be scared, that Terrible was, too. That maybe in that, at least, she was normal.
And they were going to figure it out together, and that was what mattered.
So she took his hand. “Yeah, right up,” she said. “Let’s go.”
To the doctors, nurses, and surgical staff
at Lister Hospital Stevenage, without whom
I would literally no longer be alive
BY STACIA KANE
Unholy Ghosts
Unholy Magic
City of Ghosts
Sacrificial Magic
Chasing Magic
