by Stacia Kane
Her head throbbed, fury boiling up her throat and into her brain, loaded with bile from her stomach twisting and leaping in her belly. They all knew, they all knew …
“You just do,” she said finally. Gave Lauren the lie, because she couldn’t bear giving her the truth. Because she didn’t think Lauren needed the truth. “You just move on, and you stop thinking about it because you don’t let yourself think about it.”
“I can’t stop.” No wonder Lauren’s nails were so short; while Chess watched she ripped a hangnail so viciously with her teeth that blood welled from the cuticle, a perfect red teardrop on her pale skin. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Yeah, it just happened, I mean … Why don’t you talk to someone, you know, maybe your father or someone can—”
“I thought I was talking to someone. You.”
“But I’m not—I’m not really, I mean, I don’t think you’ll be really comfortable talking about this with me, right?”
Lauren was a pretty girl—a pretty woman. She didn’t look it now, with her jaw set and her eyes narrowed and her skin dark and still smudgy. Jagged streaks of pale ran down from her eyes. “I think you’re the one who isn’t comfortable with it, Cesaria.”
What the fuck did she want? Some kind of fucking encounter group or something? Empowering chants by candlelight? She could get that shit somewhere else. Chess only lit candles when bright light was too much for her narced-out pupils.
Lauren was imposing on her. Maybe it was wrong to feel that way, not supportive or whatever, but that’s how it felt: as though Lauren was pressing sticky little hands all over her, trying to pull off bits of her skin and see what was beneath it.
And despite the other woman’s tears, which seemed real enough, Chess couldn’t get past the idea that Lauren’s eyes were fixed on her, that she was being viewed through a microscope. Whether that was because Lauren thought she’d somehow Triumphed Over Her Past or because she wanted to make Chess uncomfortable or simply because she was at heart a creepy fuck, Chess had no idea, and at that point it wouldn’t have been possible for her to care less. All she wanted to do was go home, clean and dress her wounds, change her smoke-stinking clothes, and get high. Sobriety was not a fucking option.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” she said. A cough fought to free itself from her throat, but she refused to let it. She didn’t need to show any sign of weakness. “I just don’t think I’ll be very good at helping you. I think there are people better qualified than me. It happened a long time ago. I don’t remember it very well, I mean, I don’t think about it anymore. That’s all. I just think if you go—You should go to the hospital, right? Let them do their tests, and they’ll set you up with someone. You know the program.”
“Right. And let everyone I work with know what happened. That I couldn’t defend myself.”
“There were like a dozen of them, you couldn’t—”
“You did.”
“I only had one of them there. You could have beaten one of them, too.” At least so she assumed. She had no idea if she was right about how many men had attacked Lauren, but Lauren didn’t contradict her, so she wasn’t going to worry about it.
“Whatever.”
Okay … was that enough? Could she go now, or—No. Damn it. “Look,” she said, and put her hand back on Lauren’s shoulder. “You have two choices now, right? You can let this eat at you because you’re too ashamed or scared or whatever to get help—if that’s what you need—or you can try to move past it on your own. And that’s different for everybody. What worked for me might not work for you, and that’s why I can’t really advise you, okay? Just … I’d go to the hospital if I were you. That’s what I would do.”
That was such a fucking lie.
“But you have to do what you think is best. It’s not like, if you don’t do something about it right this second, you’ll never have the chance, you know?”
Shit, had she really said that? That actually sounded kind of wise. Or maybe not. How the hell would she know?
But it was amazing what kind of motivator it was, knowing that all she had to do was get rid of this woman—this woman with whom she felt she’d spent years at this point—and she could be alone. Blessedly alone, and blessedly close to unconsciousness.
Lauren nodded. Yes! “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just feel, I don’t know … so dirty. Like it was my fault. Like I did something to make them want to do it, like I should have been able to defend myself.”
Just like that, Chess’s triumph evaporated. Fuck. She was never going to get out of that car, and to make matters worse she felt that wound, all those old wounds, rip back open at Lauren’s words.
“There is no ‘should have.’” For the first time since this conversation had begun, she knew exactly what she was talking about. “There just isn’t. What happened happened. You can’t change it now; it’s done and you can’t ever go back. So now you just have to move on. However you can.”
It seemed to strike a chord with Lauren; Chess wasn’t sure if she was glad of that or not. Her freedom from that car was worth just about any price, but she hadn’t counted on having to pay with truth. That sucked.
“Thanks, Cesaria. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
They made tentative plans for the next day; as it was two days before Elder Murray’s Dedication, neither could be certain what it might bring and how much time they might have. The entire discussion had lasted much longer than Chess would have liked, but then, the entire endless day had lasted much longer than she would have liked, so what was a few more minutes?
She finally bounded out of the car. Her wounded leg reminded her not to run but fuck, it was tempting. She unlocked the tall wooden door, crossed the tiled lobby that had once been the nave. Pushed herself up the stairs as fast as she could, her keys in one hand, her pillbox already in the other. The second she got inside and closed that door behind her—
Or not.
Lex waited outside her apartment, his long lean frame slouched negligently against the doorjamb. “Hey, Tulip,” he said. “Where you been at?”
Chapter Twenty
A promise to the Church is far more important than any other promise. Not just because the Church protects you, but because the Church is always watching you.
—The Book of Truth, Veraxis, Article 1340
The swelling in his face had gone down; he looked like himself again, with only a slight tension in his jaw letting her know he was still wired up inside.
Shit, was she actually glad to see him?
Yeah. Yeah, she kind of was. Despite the conversation she knew they were about to have, despite her resolution not to do the things that seeing him immediately brought to mind … she was, in fact, glad to see him.
And it wasn’t even because she knew that in the inside pocket of his leather jacket he had a bag of pills just for her.
Not entirely.
“Hey.” It came out a little breathlessly; the trot up the stairs had strained her abused lungs more than she’d realized. And of course she was surprised. And probably looked like utter hell, dirty and torn, stinking like a barbecue pit.
He noticed it, of course. “Damn, girl. Know I ain’t seen you in a while, but ain’t had the thought of you going rabid on me.”
“Ha-ha. I was in a fire.”
“Oh, aye? Figured you was doing some witchy shit at you Church.”
“No.” He smelled of soap and leather; she caught a whisper of it when she pushed past him, avoiding his attempted kiss, to unlock her front door and release the wards on it.
“So where this fire at, then?”
“Why do you want to know?”
She wanted to get her jeans off—needed to get them off, so she could take care of the burn. But something told her it wasn’t a good idea to start disrobing just yet. Well, no, not something. Everything in her knew that wasn’t a good idea.
She’d made a resolution. No more. No matter how good it was, she w
as not going to sleep with Lex anymore. Part of her penance, part of her attempt to convince a man who no longer gave a shit about her that she wanted to be with him.
Stupid. Really stupid. She’d almost died, and she had to admit she was a little freaked out about it. Not to mention her heart still running double-time and her mind still swirling like a nasty stew over her little chat with Lauren.
So why not? Wasn’t like Lex was going to say no. Wasn’t like Terrible would ever know or care. And she needed it. Needed to forget, needed to lose herself, needed to put it all behind her.
She toed off her boots carefully, trying to avoid rubbing her injured thigh against the denim still half-covering it. Her hands went to the button of her jeans.
And stopped there.
No, Terrible wouldn’t know, and he might not care—hell, no “might” about it, he wouldn’t care. But she would know. If the subject ever came up she wanted to be able to tell the truth: that the last time she’d been with Lex was two nights before Terrible caught them in the cemetery. Wasn’t the best timing in the world, considering that had been the night when Terrible told her how he felt about her. How he had felt about her; how he used to feel about her.
But it was true, and it was clean, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Conscious of Lex’s gaze, she padded across the cold linoleum to the fridge and opened it, grabbed two beers and gave him one. “How’s your jaw?”
He took the beer from her but didn’t drink it. Instead he watched her, his head tilted slightly to the side. When he spoke his voice was soft. Almost tender. “You giving me the gillwheep, Tulip?”
Shit. “Lex …”
“Aw, c’mon now. Ain’t like I ain’t figured on this coming, me. Just ain’t figured on it bein now.”
“It’s not … It’s not you, I mean, I know that sounds—”
“Aw, nay, ain’t needing the explains. Dig the picture, I do.” He pushed himself off the wall, strolled to the couch and dropped himself into it, with his Fear T-shirt riding up and his Chucks propped on her rickety coffee table. “Funny, though. Got some discussin to do, you and me, on the elsewheres.”
That was it? She’d just broken up with him—well, sort of, it wasn’t like they were dating or anything, but still—and that was his entire response?
Not that she cared. No, it was much better to have him shrug and get over it. She hadn’t really expected anything else. But she had to admit, at least a small part of her felt a little … let down. Had their this-doesn’t-mean-anything-to-either-of-us affair meant nothing to him?
“Discussing on what?”
“Why you witches been taking the sight-sees in my tunnels? Thought you ain’t like the downs.”
“What?”
His eyes narrowed, and a chill ran right up her spine. Oh. Right. He wasn’t taking anything easily. He thought she was up to something, and that ending their whatever-it-was had something to do with it. Thought she’d been working with Bump and Terrible to take over the tunnels under the city. Bump ran most of Downside, sure. Above ground. Only Slobag and his men used the tunnels.
For a second the impulse to laugh bubbled crazily up from her stomach. He actually thought Terrible was speaking to her?
Then again, he was. Sort of. As long as he didn’t have to take her calls.
“Witches down my tunnels, Tulip. Finding all kindsa shit down there, aye, all kinds. Frogs an fingers and shit, like that dead hand you carry? What you got on the action down there?”
Frogs and fingers. The fetish. Maguinness. The Lamaru. Her mouth went completely dry; she drank half her beer, aware that she couldn’t have looked guiltier if she’d plastered a sign across her forehead that read I DID IT.
“No use putting the stall on. Ain’t never figured we’d be playin this rundown game, but you want—”
“It’s not me, Lex.”
“C’mon now, ain’t—”
“It’s not me, Lex. It’s not. It’s the Lama—Aah!”
Fuck! She’d forgotten. Forgotten the Binding, forgotten the shriveling pain of it. An entire evening spent with Lauren, talking freely, an entire evening of stress and fire and near-death fun had completely wiped her mind of that particular complication.
Now she was on the floor in a puddle of beer, with blood seeping from her wrists and her thigh shrieking from the impact.
To his credit and her surprise, Lex came and helped her up. “The fuck is that?”
“I’m Bound. They’re Binding marks. I can’t talk about—All I can say is it’s not me. It’s not the Church or anything, it’s nothing to do with Bump or anybody.”
She had to lean on him to get to the couch; her muscles felt like they’d been microwaved. What were they doing in the tunnels? For that matter, how had they learned about the tunnels? She’d thought they were a myth before; so did everyone but Slobag and his gang, as far as she knew. “What were they doing down there? You said toads and fingers—what else was there? Did you see it? Where was it?”
“Hush now.” He pulled the magic little bag from his jacket pocket and dug around in it, then opened his palm. Two Cepts and two Oozers; lady’s choice.
She shouldn’t. She needed her wits about her. Her Cepts wouldn’t put her too far under; she could take enough notes that she wouldn’t miss anything important. But the Oozers … she couldn’t write on those. Couldn’t do much of anything.
Fuck, that sounded good.
“Them cuts, they achy?”
“Don’t they look achy?”
“Look kinda sexy, seein as you asked.” But his smile was bland enough, as he held his flat palm out for her to make her decision.
Fuck it. She emptied his palm and tossed the entire contents into her mouth, washed them down with beer. She’d have to switch to water; one beer wasn’t going to do much to her, even on top of the Oozers, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to keep drinking. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “So, them Lamaru back, aye?”
The purple marks under her skin moved. A warning? They moved anyway, but were they moving faster? It’d be awfully nice to find a warning system that didn’t hurt. Yes, it was obvious, don’t talk about the case. But she needed to if she wanted to stay alive.
“Ain’t can give me the knowledge, aye?”
She just looked at him, raised her wrist so he could see the ridged black cuts.
“What was the happening with that leg you got? Jeans all torn to fuck there.” His gentle hand moved over her thigh. “Oughta get you cleaned up, Tulip. Ain’t looking to me like something can be left on its own.”
“Yeah.” He was right. She should. But she didn’t want to get up. The pills hadn’t hit yet, but they would soon; fifteen minutes, maybe twenty tops. Her stomach was empty.
“Lemme give you the help, aye? Stay you there.”
She waited, staring at the watermarks on the ceiling. Tomorrow she would think about it all. She’d sit down and try to figure out what it all meant. They were making cursed fetishes and they were using them to create psychopomps or alter them, or both. And they were doing it underground, at least part of the time. Obviously the slaughterhouse was off the menu as far as a ritual space went.
Why underground? Why were they leaving magic items in the tunnels? “Hey, Lex.”
“Aye?” Something clattered in the bathroom; she sighed. He was probably making an enormous mess.
“Will you show me where you found the stuff in the tunnels?”
Another noise; plastic falling on the tile floor, she thought. It had that particular hollow sound, like an offbeat bongo drum. “Why you gotta see?”
She blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her he wouldn’t—Well, why would he? She’d just dumped his ass, and he knew why. He had no reason at all to believe she had any loyalty to him at this point; for all he knew, she was going to map the damned things out for Terrible and Bump.
And the sad thing was, she might, if she thought it would make Terrible change his mind.
How the
hell did people do this, this emotion-and-forgiveness thing? How did they stand these feelings? She could barely handle it and she had lovely, necessary, reason-for-living drugs to smooth over the rough spots. How did people do this shit sober?
Lex walked back into the tiny living room and sat beside her, his arms loaded with first-aid supplies. It looked like he’d brought everything she owned. “Already gave you the knowledge what they found.”
“Yeah, but I need to—If I could feel the energy there, it might really help.”
“Take them jeans off.”
Oh, right. She’d have to, wouldn’t she? Shit. Well, maybe taking her jeans off would make him more inclined to say she could check out his tunnels.
Of course, he was pretty much guaranteed to say yes if she let him check out her tunnel again, but … no.
“Lex.”
He unraveled a long strip of gauze, laid it across his lap. “Aye?”
“Terrible … he isn’t talking to me. He doesn’t really want anything to do with me. He called me a—He said some things. So it’s not like I’m trying to spy for him, or he asked me to get information for him or anything. I swear. I need to see where you found that stuff for work. It could be really important.”
By the time she finished, her face felt as hot as the raw skin on her thigh. And for once—for pretty much the first time since she’d met him—he was tactful enough not to look at her, to examine her discomfort and tease her about it.
“Aye, then.”
“Wh—Really?”
He shrugged. “Aye, take you down, I will. But Tulip … you and me, we ain’t never had the troubles before, over that slicktongue and he fist-man, aye? Ain’t figuring we start now. You dig me?”
Relief flooded her limbs; relief, a little apprehension, and the first warm swirls of her pills. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it. We’re not starting any trouble there.”
“Aye. Now get them jeans—”
They both stopped. Her bag was beeping.
Stupidly, she felt in her pockets. Was that her phone? Her phone didn’t beep. What the—Oh, shit. Her bag had been on the floor in the psychopomp room, had the Lamaru planted something in it?
