Chasing Magic (40 page)

She trudged across the roof. The slight breeze felt like a hurricane trying to force her back, strengthened by her own reluctance. Her hair tickling her face annoyed her; she grabbed a ponytail holder from her bag and twisted it on.

As she finished with it the street below came into view. What had been the street. She didn’t see the cement anymore, or the docks. What she saw—what they all saw—was a mass of silent humanity moving in unison. Swarming across the dock, swarming between the buildings, a slow-moving river of death claiming the streets inch by inch.

They were coming, indeed.

They didn’t shout or groan; they didn’t stumble. They just walked, like tired commuters at the end of a long day, but instead of briefcases and bags they carried knives and sticks, hatchets and steel pipes, that caught the moonlight and sparked it back.

Their stillness was echoed on the roof. Nobody moved; her breath caught. Even Bump looked shaken when she glanced sideways at him.

But only for a moment. He leaned back and lit another hand-rolled, letting smoke drift from his mouth as if he couldn’t even be bothered with the effort of exhaling. “Well, lookee there. Be a fuck of a night, yay?”

She laughed. They all laughed. Not because it was funny—it wasn’t, particularly—but because they wanted to, because it broke the tension in some indefinable way as they watched the steady flow of quiet horror wend its way along the narrow pavement. All they could do was laugh, really. Otherwise … well, she would scream, but that might have been just her. Probably was just her, at least where Terrible was concerned, because when she looked at him he stood perfectly relaxed, his anger and anxiety gone, watching the death-shrouded streets with
the kind of calm that always made her feel safe. Made her feel safe then. She reached out and took his hand, and he squeezed it in return.

The first wave of sound had crashed through the silence below, the first wave of Bump’s men shouting as they started trying to hold the horde back.

Chess broke out in goose bumps as she looked at Terrible. “You have to go now.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. Slowly, his eyes holding hers in a tight grip she felt through her entire body. “Aye. Gotta get down there, baby. Gotta get moving.”

He meant it regretfully, she knew, and she felt his regret and his worry for her. But at the same time she felt his excitement, his anticipation. He wanted the fight. Wanted it the way he wanted her in the darkness, in bed. He wasn’t scared of Devil; he wanted that fight, too.

Fear shot up her spine. Despite what she’d said to him she was scared, was afraid he wouldn’t win. It wasn’t fair of her, no, but what was she supposed to do, how was she supposed to feel? He was … everything to her, everything, and she’d given up everything for him. Even Elder Griffin. Her heart, her honor, the Church, everything. And if he went, if something happened … He couldn’t die, really; the sigil on his chest meant it wasn’t possible. But how would he survive in a broken body, a destroyed one?

She didn’t want to think about it. Luckily she had skill in pushing unpleasant thoughts aside, in “forgetting” things difficult to forget. But as he separated from the small group at the rooftop wall, as the group itself broke up, her hand caught his arm anyway. “Terrible. Be careful. Okay? Be careful.”

His gaze passed over Bump, still watching the crowd below, and Lex, picking up his cellphone. “No worryin on it, Chessiebomb. Be all right up, aye?”

Like she believed that. His gaze faltered as she stared at him; she caught a glimpse of his own worry under that excitement. Not worry because of Devil or the enormity of the fight before him, at least she didn’t think so. Worry because he wasn’t stupid enough to believe there was no reason to worry, and worry because he knew what she was going to do and what the risks were. “The City ain’t so bad, anyroad, aye? Like you gave me afore. Don’t plan on endin up there, dig, but iffen it happen … guessin it happen.”

He leaned forward and kissed her then, a hard, strong kiss that made her knees weak even as it stiffened her body with terror. She knew that kiss, even though she’d never felt one like it before, not really. Knew what it was. It was goodbye, just in case. It was a memory being made, words going unsaid.

It was a farewell based on a lie, and when he started to walk away she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t hide it anymore, the thing she’d kept hidden from everyone, even from him, for so long. The last secret she held. He knew so many things about her, knew so much, but she’d never admitted this to him. Never admitted it to anyone.

She followed him to the edge of the roof, to the open hole from which descended a staircase to the lower floors, with her heart in her throat. It sank further down when she grabbed his arm. “Terrible.”

“Aye?”

How the hell could she say it? Or how could she say it without crying, because her eyes stung and the words seemed to come from inside her stomach, forced through her throat by sheer willpower. “Terrible, I … I lied. I lied to you before. I lied.”

Shit, she hadn’t even touched the bag of speed and already she was crying. Maybe the tears weren’t running down her cheeks yet but they were about to; she
could feel them waiting behind her eyes, burning in their desire to escape.

“What?”

“What I told you earlier. It was a lie. The City—it’s an awful place, it’s scary, Terrible, and I’m scared to go there, I’m scared of it. I’m sorry I lied but it’s so fucking cold, it’s so awful—”

The tears weren’t waiting anymore, weren’t staying behind her eyes. They spilled down her cheeks and her voice cracked, and she hated hearing it. Was ashamed of hearing it, not because she knew Bump and Lex could see she was upset—who gave a fuck about them—but because Terrible could see it. And Terrible mattered.

His strong arms closed around her, pulling her to him so her head pressed against his chest. “Naw, naw. Ain’t so bad, aye?”

“But it is.” Now that she was saying something, now that she was admitting the truth—the truth she’d never even hinted to another living soul—she couldn’t stand to have him not understand her, not get what she was telling him. “What you saw that night—it’s so much worse, it’s all like that. It’s so—it’s so cold and empty, it scares me, the thought of being there forever—it’s not supposed to scare me, it’s my job and I’m supposed to think it’s peaceful but I can’t. I don’t, it’s—”

“Hey.” His big hands curved around her face, his fingers catching her pulled-back hair and tilting her cheeks up so her eyes met his. “Ain’t so bad, Chessie, causen you ain’t be alone, dig? You ain’t go there on your alones. An I figuring, I end up there maybe you come down see me. You can do that, bein a witch an all, aye?”

“What? I mean, yeah, I’d come down to— Of course, but—”

“An that’s the only one matters, dig. Can deal with it on my alones, baby, causen you visit me. But the other
way … you thinkin I let you stay there by youself? Thinkin I stay here iffen you ain’t around no more?”

“What?” Her voice sounded so thin, so dry. She had to be hearing him wrong or not understanding what he said, because it sounded … it sounded as if he was saying something huge. The noises around them, the shouts and the clangs of metal on cement and the shrieks of frustrated psychopomps whirling and diving in the night air, disappeared. “I don’t … What?”

They shouldn’t be standing there talking like that; they shouldn’t be standing with their bodies pressed together on the rooftop, in the open. But she couldn’t think about that or about anything else as his eyes met hers, serious and dark.

“I ain’t … Don’t know how to say it up right. Never—Fuck. Thought you was dead once before, you recall? Never felt so bad in my life, not ever. Then on the other day, thought you was gone an just … I ain’t can do it, bein without you.”

He rubbed his neck, pressed his palm into his furrowed brow and took a swipe at his eyes. Cleared his throat, twice. “Don’t want to. An even if I did, ain’t can leave you down there on your alones. How I can do that one, aye? Leave my Chessiebomb there without me. ’Specially knowin you scared on it.”

The words kicked every other thought out of her head, so they echoed in the empty space. The empty space in her soul, the empty space she’d filled with drugs and shame and misery, suddenly full of something else. Full of those words.

Full of fear, too. This was what scared her. This was what she’d been running from deep inside, the knowledge of what kind of commitment he was making to her, what he wanted in return, and her uncertainty that she was capable of giving it to him. Her fear of what it meant to give it to him. This was what she’d been
fighting with herself over since the day he’d come to her apartment and told her he loved her—hell, since the day he’d come to her apartment and she’d washed his shirt in her sink and realized that he understood her, since the day on the beach when she’d realized she trusted him, since that night at Trickster’s when she’d realized she wanted him, that she felt something real for him.

All that time, this was what she’d been scared of. And as she stood there looking into his eyes, seeing the dampness of hers echoed there, she understood—fully understood for the first time—that what she was truly afraid of was that if she could be happy, if she could love someone and be loved back, that meant maybe she wasn’t as bad as she’d always thought. Maybe she was worth something, and if she was worth something, it might mean making some changes.

And maybe those changes weren’t about becoming some strange different person but about being herself in a different way, and there was nothing to be afraid of in that at all. She was ready for that. She could try to be ready for that.

All of that flashed through her mind, the sort of lightning-strike understanding that only happened when it could change a life, when the answer to a question had been there, ignored, for so long that it finally burst into existence.

Just as the words burst from her. “I don’t want to be here without you, either. I can’t— I don’t want to be anywhere if you’re not there.”

“Naw, naw, Chessie, ain’t wanting you— Only had the thought you come down see me, ain’t meant—”

“No. No, I don’t want that. Being here without you—I’d rather be in the City. With you. I don’t want to be without you. I don’t care where, I can’t do it, I don’t—”

His hands on the side of her face lifted her to her tiptoes, lifted her almost off her feet. Maybe he actually
did; she didn’t know, because she was floating, flying, his mouth on hers sending her off the roof and into that blank lonely sky above. The sky that suddenly didn’t look so lonely, the sky that was maybe … peaceful.

“Love you, Chessie,” he murmured. “Ain’t never … Fuckin love you, more’n anything.”

“I love you, I love you so much.” Her eyes still burned; her cheeks were wet with tears. She stood on a rooftop in Downside not too far away from Bump and Lex, who were probably standing there watching her, while a paid murderer waited to earn his money by ending Terrible’s life, while an army of unkillable magic-enthralled junkies waited on the streets below, while she was about to join their ranks and try to end the magic holding them all by herself.

It was one of the best moments of her entire life.

Not a long moment, or not long enough; she could have stayed like that forever, pressed against Terrible’s strong warm body with his lips on hers and his back solid and hard under her palms. But he pulled away, his hands cradling her face, and rested his forehead against hers. “Needing somethin from you, though. One thing.”

“What?”

“Rather be with you
here
. So whyn’t you make sure you stay yourself alive, dig? Don’t get dead, Chessiebomb.”

She made a sort of half laugh, half sob, as she dug her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t you, either. Please. Okay?”

“Aye.” He lifted his head and took a small step back. Her body felt cold without his against it. “Ain’t gotta worry on me. Ain’t even can die with this thing on me, aye?”

It might have sounded like an odd question given what they’d just discussed. But she knew what he was really saying, what he was asking. And maybe it was wrong
of her to answer it honestly, but she couldn’t help it. “I don’t think you can die with it on you, no. But if it was gone—yeah, that would do it. Without it— Removing it would kill you.”

He nodded. “Aye, figured so.”

They stood looking at each other for another few seconds; there didn’t seem to be much more to say, not at that moment. Not when the enormity of what they’d said still pressed its weight on her, terrifying and exciting and comforting all at once. So many feelings, too many; normally she’d be reaching for her pillbox right about then to dull them out so she could breathe.

That was what she wanted to do. But she didn’t, because she was about to take a dose of something that very well might kill her, and because … well, because for some reason those feelings—the love and trust and commitment ones—didn’t seem unbearable, scary as they were. She could handle them. So she would.

At least for now.

And they needed to go. They’d already taken too much time. Not wasted. She could never think of it as a waste. But they’d taken it, and they couldn’t take any more.