City of Ghosts

by Stacia Kane

  “What you chatter—”

  “Maguinness. Baldarel.” Pain shot up her arms; she gritted her teeth and ignored it. It was a warning shot, not serious yet. “From the tunnel. Yesterday, and tonight with Lex. He’s killing them, whatever they were doing he’s doing it now and they’re running.”

  Where had she put Lauren’s number? Had she even—No, there it was, in Recent Calls. Great. She hadn’t solved the mystery, not entirely, but she had a big piece now. A big piece.

  The phone threatened to slip away from her when she tried to cradle it between her shoulder and her ear; Terrible reached out to steady it while she cracked her pillbox and tossed three Cepts down her throat. Her body hummed with exhaustion; exhaustion mixed with that bizarre post-sex energy that sometimes hit her and made it impossible for her to sleep. Or rather, impossible for her to sleep without taking something heavier. She had plenty of those, and she might even take one—at least she would if she could convince herself it was safe to go back home.

  For a fleeting moment she considered asking Terrible if she could crash on his couch, but no. He probably wouldn’t let her, not just then; and if he did, he would feel imposed upon. Pushed. She wasn’t stupid enough to think this conversation—the first real one they’d had in weeks—meant she was forgiven. Far from it.

  What it did mean, though—at least she hoped it did—was that he was willing to talk to her. That maybe he was willing to start trying to get past her betrayal. Just the thought made her heart pound. She’d do whatever she had to do to make sure she didn’t fuck that up, and pressing him for a place to stay would definitely be fucking it up. The last thing she wanted was for him to wonder if she was using him, or make him think she was after something. Something else.

  No answer on Lauren’s cell; no answer at her house—Chess had that number scribbled in her notebook. Shit. How long did it take to spend an evening with Daddy? Where could she—She could be dead, that’s where she could be. She and the Grand Elder both. Not likely, perhaps, but definitely in the realm of possibility.

  Chess turned to Terrible, standing behind her smoking with his back still braced against the door. Fuck, there was another problem. They were going to have to leave this bathroom soon, and given the door pounding, she imagined they were going to have a very interested audience when they did. Just what she needed.

  “Lauren isn’t answering. D’you think maybe …”

  He looked at her as if trying to assess exactly what she was thinking or what ulterior motives she might have. Either he found none or he worked out some way to handle it, because he gave her a half-shrug, a lazy lift of one shoulder. “Aye, take you over if you’re wanting.”

  “Thanks. Really, thanks a lot.”

  “Aye, well. Figure Sela ditch out, aye?”

  Right. Oops. “That was your date?”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah … maybe you should go check, huh? Just to be sure?”

  “What you do, wait up here?”

  “Think I can get out that window?”

  He considered it, smiled a little. “Let em all get the thought I were in here on my alone?”

  “Oh. Right. That would be kind of—”

  “Naw, ain’t give a fuck what them got in them heads. Here.” He crossed to the window, its glass long since replaced by plywood. It took him a minute to force it open; paint cracked and the entire frame screeched and shook. “C’mon.”

  He lifted her up, helped her squeeze out the window. “Go on out front, aye? Meet you up there.”

  She wanted to say something. Wanted to lean back in and kiss him, to touch his face or fix the strands of pomade-slick hair that had fallen over his eyes. But this new armistice was too delicate; she was acutely aware of it beneath her like a tiny storm-tossed raft. For the first time in weeks she had some hope, honey-poison sweet and thick on her tongue and in her heart. She didn’t think she could stand losing it again.

  So instead she just nodded and watched him push the window down until the slab of weathered plywood covered the hole where he’d been.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Not all danger comes from without. But most of it does.

  —The Example Is You, the guidebook for Church employees

  The alley she stood in was bordered by a chain-link fence and full of Dumpsters and shadows. Maybe walking back through the club itself wouldn’t have been so bad after all. So people would have seen her, would have known, so what? She wasn’t ashamed of it.

  Of course, it was entirely possible he was. Wasn’t that a happy thought. She wrapped the edges of her cardigan closer around her and headed toward the street, picking her way through the garbage. It stank back there, of trash and puke and urine—typical alley smells, with stale beer thrown in for spice.

  Things rustled as she walked past them; rats, other rodents. Bugs maybe. It was a little early for them yet, but Downside roaches were awfully hardy. Everything had to be, to survive.

  Music drifted through the walls as the band started to play. They usually played a pretty good show; she kind of wished she could stay. Wondered if Terrible’s date had. They hadn’t been in the bathroom that long. Ten minutes? Fifteen? It was entirely possible that whatever-her-name-was—what bullshit, Chess knew her name—just thought Terrible was waiting in line or had gone off to talk to someone else, and was still sitting in the booth looking vacuous and waiting for him to come back so she could flop all over him again.

  She sighed. What a stupid emotion hope was. And incredibly premature in this case. There was no reason to—

  The growl stopped her in her tracks. Where had it—Surely it was just a dog. Just an ordinary stray. It always paid to be cautious around a stray, but it wasn’t anything to worry about, not really.

  She took another step forward. The growl grew louder. Something moved behind her, a clattering noise like a wooden box falling.

  Her blood went ice-cold in her veins.

  Okay. Okay, no need to panic. It could be anything. Anyone. It didn’t have to be a psychopomp after her, right? Psychopomps didn’t usually growl. It was just a dog.

  But even a dog was bad enough. And combined with the sick, twisted energy slick with blood and mucus that invaded her, surrounded her, insinuated itself over her skin and into her hair and mouth in a curling black mist that tasted of sewage and death, it was especially bad.

  Even as she started running she knew she probably wouldn’t make it. The fence on her right was too high, the mouth of the alley too far, and they were behind her, she heard them racing through the garbage.

  She wanted to scream but couldn’t spare the breath. Didn’t know if it would matter anyway—who would come to investigate a scream? Nobody. Maybe in other parts of town they might, but not here.

  Her feet slipped on slick piles of trash and she stumbled, almost fell. The energy around her thickened, stealing her strength. She was going to be sick, the end of the alley didn’t look any closer and she couldn’t run anymore, she was going to be sick—

  Another growl behind her, lower and louder, echoing in the small narrow space. She pushed herself as hard as she could, but it was like running through treacherous mud sucking at her feet.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  Terrible was going to hit the street soon, what would he think when she wasn’t there? Did he trust her enough again to know something had happened to her? Or would he assume she’d ditched him?

  She should drop something. Leave something. So he would know she hadn’t ditched him, that she hadn’t played another trick on him.

  The street loomed in front of her, she was almost there. Behind her a snarl, the sound of panting—

  She reeled around the corner of the building just in time to see Terrible’s date slap him.

  Ordinarily she would have ducked back out of sight, but nothing in the world would induce her to step back into that alley, not even the very good chance of being assaulted by a furious woman who’d apparently just found out what he
r date had been up to in the bathroom with another girl. With her.

  Luck was with her in that, at least. Sela didn’t turn around. Instead she did something much worse; stalked off on her five-inch platforms to where Terrible’s Chevelle sat under a streetlight, and leaned against it with her arms folded over her chest. “Taking me home, you are,” she called. “I ain’t walking back alone.”

  Terrible glanced at Chess. “Ain’t can just leave her—”

  “I have to go with you. I mean, I can’t stay here.” Quickly she told him about the alley. “He’s here, he’s probably watching, if I don’t get out of here—”

  “Shit.” He glanced at Sela, back at Chess. “Ain’t gonna be a fun ride, aye? She pissed up right. Ain’t can say I blame her, guessin somebody gave her the happening.…”

  “It has to be better than sitting here waiting to be attacked.”

  “Ain’t so sure you ain’t gonna be,” he muttered, but he jerked his head just the same for her to follow him to the car.

  “… and whoever the fuck you thinking you are, you runcy slut,” Sela went on, glaring at Chess from the shotgun seat, “you want him, you fucking take him. See how you like it when he forgets calling you causen he too busy with some other dame. Thinking about some other dame. Amy don’t even see him no more causen of it, you knowing that?”

  “Hey,” Terrible started, but Sela cut him off.

  “So ain’t you think just causen you in this car now means any damn thing. It ain’t. He pretending it do, he lying and saying it do, but it ain’t. Pretend that other dame just he friend, so he say, but ain’t like it true.”

  Terrible turned up the music, trying to drown Sela out with Nashville Pussy. It didn’t work. She reached over and snapped it off. “Some Churchbitch she is, too. Leastaways that’s what Amy telling me. Amy say she met her once and she weren’t shit.”

  Chess cringed. Not that this little monologue wasn’t fascinating, but Terrible looked as though his head was about to explode.

  He whipped the Chevelle around a corner with a squeal of tires; she checked the speedometer and saw they were doing about fifty-five. Well, she guessed she couldn’t really blame him for wanting Sela and her mouth the hell out of his car.

  Still, she almost found herself wishing the journey could last a little longer.

  “Thinking I seen her too,” Sela said. “Some Churchbitch, all her tattoos, thinking she so special. Seen her two weeks past, I did.”

  Two—What? “What did she look like?”

  Sela snorted. “Ain’t so fucking hot. Hair like mine, and she poking around some vacant lot. Betting she looking for more magic shit, trying to hurt people. Them all—”

  “She had red hair?” It had to be Lauren. None of the other Church employees—at least none Chess could think of—had red hair.

  But Lauren had supposedly just arrived in town the day Chess met her.

  “Aye, red like mine. And she skinny, too, she like you, got no—”

  “Two weeks ago? You’re sure?”

  Sela rolled her expertly made-up eyes. “I ain’t stupid. Were two weeks past, causen I’d just got paid the day afore. I recall it causen I’d bought new shoes and I were—”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Why you care?”

  Terrible was looking at her, too; she caught his eyes in the rearview. He snatched them away before she could see the expression in them.

  “It might—I mean, I’m just curious.”

  “Just snooping around, she were. Like she looking for summat. I seen her and can’t even take a guess why Terrible so—”

  “She was snooping around in a vacant lot?”

  “Aye. Freaky, iffen you asking me. But guessing that what Terrible like, aye? What he deserve, sneaking off into the bathroom with some rigmutton cunt, leaving me on my alones in the bar, and other men talking to me and me saying I got me a date there and he fucking some whore while everyone outside the bathroom hearing them—”

  “’S enough, Sela,” Terrible cut in.

  “—and ain’t even got the balls to pay me my fair jannocks and gimme the tell he own self. Cocksucker.”

  They squealed around another corner. Terrible cut the Chevelle up sharply in front of a rundown house with a sagging roof.

  Sela glared at him. At both of them. “Ain’t wishing you luck, bitch. Or you neither. And ain’t you call me again, dig? Done, Terrible. Bad enough I gotta hear that Churchbitch name all the damn time, now you pull this trick on me. No more. You go fuck yourself, aye?”

  She threw open the heavy door of the car and flounced out, nearly slamming it on Chess’s hand.

  Chess barely noticed, though. She was too busy giggling, helpless snorts of laughter forcing themselves out from between her tight lips. She didn’t want him to see she was laughing, to think she was laughing at him.

  She glanced at him guiltily, expecting to see him frowning at her. But he wasn’t even looking at her. Didn’t appear to even realize she was still in the car. His shoulders were shaking, hunched over the wheel. His face was turned away.

  Her laughter died. “Hey …” She stretched out her hand. Should she touch his shoulder or something? Shit, if he was that upset …

  But he was laughing. He turned to her and she saw it, and her own giggles came rushing back, and she climbed over and collapsed into the front seat with tears in her eyes, she was laughing so hard. She couldn’t even have said why it was so funny; it was horrible, what they’d done to Sela. She couldn’t blame the girl for being angry or for saying any of the things she’d said. Hell, if Chess had been in her position she probably would have said a lot worse. But for some reason she couldn’t explain it just struck her as endlessly amusing, funnier than anything she’d seen in ages, and it felt so good to laugh she didn’t bother analyzing it. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d laughed, really, really laughed.

  They laughed until her chest started to ache, and then suddenly they weren’t laughing and his face was only a few inches from hers. Darkness hid his expression from her, she had no idea what he was thinking. What he thought of her now. It didn’t make sense that everything could have changed in the course of one short drive or a few minutes of shared amusement, but how would she know? The sum total of her wisdom on the subject of emotional relationships could be written on the head of a fucking pin.

  He cleared his throat. “Guessing we oughta move on, aye?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.” Was that her voice? It didn’t sound like her.

  For a second she thought he wasn’t going to move after all; her entire body tightened. But then he did, pulling away from her, shoving the car in gear and nosing back onto the street. She gave him Lauren’s address, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Damn.

  There had to be a reasonable explanation. Had to be.

  The Chevelle idled outside the modern apartment building where Lauren lived, its engine noise echoing off the cars around them until he switched it off.

  Once the moment-that-wasn’t faded, her mind returned to the Lauren question. Sela said she’d seen Lauren—well, she hadn’t said “Lauren,” but Chess couldn’t imagine who else it could have been—in a vacant lot two weeks before. But Lauren shouldn’t have been there, because Lauren should have still been in—well, whatever city it was she came from. New York?

  Surely there was a reasonable explanation for it. It wasn’t really a big deal. But it made Chess uncomfortable just the same.

  “Want me give you the wait, or what?”

  “Huh? Oh. No, I guess not. Lauren can give me a ride home.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You heading back your place? After them in the alley and what you tell me on the earlier, about—about them tunnels?”

  “I’ll have her take me to Church. I can spend the night there.”

  The minute she said it she wished she could take it back. She’d lied and told him that before, let him think she was spending nights in one of the cabins o
n Church grounds when, in fact, she was in Lex’s bed. Told him that lie more than once. And he knew it; she saw it in the way his expression hardened, saw him looking back and remembering every time she’d said that, wondering if she’d been honest about it.

  “No, I mean it. Really. Unless … could I stay at your place? On the couch, I mean, I’m not asking to—” Fuck. She should have stuck to her earlier resolve not to ask him.

  He hesitated. “Ain’t thinkin that a good idea, aye?”

  “Oh. Right. Yeah, of course, I understand, it’s no big deal. I’ll be fine.”

  “Shit.” His hands twisted on the wheel. “I give you a ring up an hour on, aye? Iffen you ain’t got yourself a bed, you come to mine. My couch, dig. Ain’t can have you crashin your place, not with them after you. Cool?”

  “Yeah, that’s—Thanks. Really.”

  He shrugged. “Better get you in, aye. Ain’t early.”

  Before she could stop herself or talk sense into herself she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. One more chance to breathe him in. “Thanks, Terrible.”

  He just nodded. She gave him one last look and got out of the car.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Church employees work together, united in their common goals: to protect humanity, to punish the guilty, and to live in the Truth.

  —The Example Is You, the guidebook for Church employees

  Lauren’s hair was as mussed as her apartment; it was obvious Chess had awakened her. Either that or she had a man in there, and somehow Chess doubted that that was the case. Even if it hadn’t been for the events of the night before, she didn’t think Lauren would allow a man to see her in stained sweatpants and a T-shirt with worn-out armpits. It was one of the most unappealing outfits Chess had ever seen in her life, about as sexy as an oozing sore.

  The rest of the apartment wasn’t much better. Lauren had obviously just moved in, so some mess was to be expected, but this place was all empty shelves and empty food containers. Worse than Chess’s place, although Chess didn’t leave food lying around. Even if she ate regularly at home she wouldn’t have left food out like that; she could practically see the germs breeding in the congealed bits of yuck clinging to the sides of the cartons and bowls scattered on every surface.