Sacrificial Magic (32 page)

Pritchard. Bill Pritchard. Why did that name sound familiar?

“Let me guess,” she replied. “He was at school in 2000 or so, right? 2001? Right after the school opened.”

“Yes. How did thou know?”

Fucking hell. Another dead body around Lucy McShane. And this one may have been directly related to her; every chance in the world existed that her ghost had killed that Bill person herself. The bright sunshine dimmed. Why was she certain she’d heard that name before? “Just a guess. It’s when the suicide in my case happened, so … I thought they might be related.”

“Ah.” Pause. “Are you coming in? I know thee wanted to look at Aros’s cabin, and I do believe ’tis more important now that we know he still lives.”

“Yeah.” She caught Lex’s eye, shrugged an apology. Looked like she wouldn’t be having lunch with him after all. “I’ll be right there.”

   Every Church office in every city had its own lab. Or technically, its own labs; DNA, disease, whatever other kinds of labs there were. Chess very rarely dealt with any of them, but if she did it was usually the DNA lab. Sometimes DNA was useful in cracking Debunking cases; people left DNA in the stupidest places. They licked envelopes, they shed hairs, they left fingernail clippings that grossed her out to touch.

That day, though, she bypassed the DNA lab and headed to the door for Forensics. It opened to her tentative knock, revealing a kind-looking older man. From beneath his pale-blue lab coat peeked white stockings and buckle shoes; an Elder, then, not just a doctor. Made sense, but she knew lots of Church offices had regular doctors working in their labs.

She tucked her right foot behind her ankle, dropped a quick curtsy. “Good morrow, sir. I’m Cesaria Putnam, I’m a Debunker.”

His silvery head dipped, returning her gesture. “I have heard of you, yes. How can I help you?”

He stepped back. Beyond him were rows of bodies covered in pale-blue sheets, like rafts floating down a river all facing the same direction. Beyond those were more tables, sinks and Bunsen burners and machinery she couldn’t identify.

She held up the Styrofoam container. “It’s rather private, sir. I believe … I believe this food may have been adulterated, that I was targeted by a subject of my current investigation.”

The Elder’s eyes widened. “Indeed? Shameful. Thou would like me to analyze the food, is that correct?” She nodded.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, and Chess took the opportunity to peek at the small ID badge pinned to the pocket of his coat. The cards weren’t necessary to access most of the building, but for the labs, the prisons … Gordon Lyle, the tag said. Of course—Elder Lyle. She’d heard of him. “I do believe I have time now, for something like this. Does thou care to stay here for fifteen minutes or so?”

Yes! “Of course. I thank you, sir.”

She followed him to the back, through the unsettling sea of corpses. She kept expecting spirits to rise, or the bodies themselves to move. Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag, reassuring herself that she had her supplies. Seeing the row of skulls on the far wall, all psychopomps, reassured her as well. Elder Lyle didn’t play around, it seemed. But then she wouldn’t have expected he did.

“Please sit,” he said, motioning to a stool.

Chess did, sliding it a bit farther away from the dead. “Sir, may I ask if Bill Pritchard’s body is here? I was the one who found him, he’s connected to my case.”

“Indeed.” Elder Lyle scooped some of the food from the Styrofoam, placed it in some sort of container in one of the machines. Water started pouring into it. “My, that looks like good food, too. Such a shame someone played with it.”

“Yes.” She sat silent for a moment, long enough to give him a chance to reply. Showing proper respect.

When he didn’t speak, though, and started pushing buttons on the machine, she went ahead. “Have you happened to complete your analysis of Mr. Pritchard yet? Cause of death, I mean, or maybe if he had any drugs in his system?”

“I have.” He pushed another button; the machine started to shake like a paint mixer.

“There were a lot of medications found in the apartment. I just wondered if those were in his bloodstream or not. Do you maybe have a report I can look at while I’m here, or—”

That was it. Medications. Beulah had said the prescribing physician on the pill bottles in Aros’s apartment was named Pritchard.

How the fuck did he fit in, then?

“He had medication in his system, yes. A very strong dose,” Elder Lyle continued, oblivious to her mental calculations. “That’s what killed him, at least indirectly. His lungs were mostly full of fluid. But the damage to the body … quite a bit of that was self-inflicted, pre-mortem. Drug-induced psychosis, I believe. Must have happened after the woman left.”

“What med— What woman?”

The machine stopped shaking but continued to emit a low-level whirring sound, broken by an occasional beep. “The woman with whom he’d had relations shortly before his death. She must have left before the psychosis kicked in. Either that, or she was a very sick individual.”

“You have her DNA? Could you get that from his— I guess that’s how you knew about her being there and—everything?”

Elder Lyle gave her a wry smile. “Indeed. I did get her DNA, at least partially. Sadly, it had deteriorated so I couldn’t get a full identification.”

Shit. So much for that, not that she’d expected anything different. Why would something work out right?

Chelsea’s energy had felt like Lucy’s, though. And Lucy’s DNA was on file. It wouldn’t matter so much, but it would be something. “But if you had one to match it with, could you?”

“To within close probability, yes. Not completely, but very close.”

They didn’t speak for another minute or so. Chess inspected the rest of the room; high iron-barred windows along the far wall above the psychopomp shelves let dull afternoon light in. The morning had started sunny, but as the hours passed, the clouds had started to threaten. She didn’t think the rain would wait much longer.

Just what she needed, a nice stormy afternoon to match her mood. “What drugs killed him?”

“He had a few in there.” Elder Lyle reached out, hit another button. “Chiefly, though, it seems to have been vanaprestone. That would be Vapezine, which I believe from the report I was given was what you found in the apartment?”

“Was that what they were?” Hey, it never hurt to look naïve in front of an Elder, or at least, to look as if she didn’t recognize most medications at ten paces.

He nodded. “They were, and … Oh, dear.”

She knew. She knew from the look on his face, from the insistent beeping of the machine beside her, the one he’d been analyzing her food in. “Vapezine? In my food, right?”

“I’m afraid you are correct.” Muted shuffling whirs came from the printer in the corner; he crossed to it, plucked a sheet off the tray along with a file that sat beside it. “I hope you have a suspect? You know who did this?”

She took both from him when he handed them to her, the report on her food—a quick scan showed her someone had upended like thirty capsules into it, fuck—and the report on the body, which she could copy down into her notes before she handed them to Elder Griffin to pass to Goody Tremmell for the main files. “Yeah,” she said, giving him a quick smile of thanks. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”

She was lifting her fist to knock on Elder Griffin’s office door, her head spinning, when he opened it. “Cesaria! I have been waiting for you, dear. I am free at the moment, should you wish me to accompany you.”

Shit. Much as she liked Elder Griffin, she really didn’t want an escort just then. But what was she supposed to say? Fuck off, I feel like being alone? Sure, that would totally work.

Instead she nodded. “That would be great, I was just about to head over there.”

She filled him in quickly on the latest developments as they walked, and made a mental note to find out what the relationship between Lucy and Bill Pritchard had been like, if they even knew each other at all. Wen Li said he’d grown up there, right? He wouldn’t be happy to talk to her, but she bet he would. Hell, she’d make him. What was he going to do, dislike her? Boo hoo.

For that matter, what was he going to do, argue with the girl who dated—or whatever— Slobag’s son? Hey, there ought to be at least some compensation for her life falling to shit around her.

They’d reached a fork in the pathway. Behind the Church building proper, the cottages had been arranged in groups, from the smallest, farthest from the building, to the largest, the residences of higher-ranking officials, closer. Chess started to turn right, to head toward the Debunker cottages, but Elder Griffin stopped her. The breeze rippled the brim of his hat; he clamped it down with his right hand. “Care you to take a short detour with me?”

Her first instinct was to say no, she didn’t have time. Well, she had time, she just didn’t want to spend any more of it even semi-sober. And she didn’t know how long she might need to spend in Aros’s cottage, while the skies above them darkened further with every second.

But he looked so hopeful, so happy, and she hadn’t actually finished writing his recommendation thing, and … he was Elder Griffin, and she couldn’t say no.

“Excellent.” He smiled, pointed to the left. “Come, I’ll show you—well, it’s the home I’m hoping they’ll give me. After the marriage ceremony. You’ll be coming, won’t you? I’d like all of the department to be there, of course, but—Cesaria? Are thee well?”

Shit, was she being that obvious? She blinked, fast, cleared her throat. “Yeah—yes—of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His blue eyes tried to pierce hers; his head tilted, his mouth turned down. “Forgive me, Cesaria. You seem, well, you have seemed rather cheerful of late, but today that cheer is gone. I wonder why, and if there is any way I can help you.”

To her horror—more than horror, shame—her eyes started to sting. Oh no, oh no, she couldn’t do this, not there, not then. “I’m fine,” she managed.

“Are thou certain? I do understand if you don’t wish to discuss it, but—”

“I was, um, I was seeing someone, and now it’s over, that’s all.” The words tumbled out, fast and monotone, before she turned away to stare down the left-hand path, hiding her face.

Something touched her shoulder. Elder Griffin’s hand, light and hesitant. It rested there for a second or two, then disappeared. “I am sorry, my dear.”

“Yeah, well … yeah.” She managed to turn the choked sound her throat made into a cough. “I guess, you know, what can you do.”

“I take it you did not initiate the … ending of the relationship.”

He had to ask that, didn’t he? Way to go right for the fucking jugular. “No. I didn’t—we had a fight, a big fight, and it was my fault and I’m sure he never wants
to talk to me again and I just—can we not talk about this? I’ll be fine, sir, I swear, I just, I don’t feel like talking right now.”

“Certainly. Of course, dear.” Silence for a minute, while they began to walk. Then he stopped. “Perhaps we shall do this another day. Come, let’s go back to Aros’s cabin.”

“No, no, this is fine.”

“Are you—”

“It’s fine, show me the house you want.” It wasn’t fine, of course. Just knowing they were going to look at it made her feel as if someone had slit her open and started stirring her guts with a red-hot poker.

“ ’Tis that one.”

Chess followed his pointing finger to a modest cottage—well, not really a cottage, it had two floors, but it was still small and built like the others, with pale-blue paint and dark-blue shutters, an iron fence outside and iron bars over all of the windows. A cute house, yes. But one that still made her shudder just a little.

What was the matter with her? Why did the thought of living on-grounds make her feel so ill, why did the thought of living somewhere nice and clean make her feel so ashamed? Why did looking at that house make her want to hide?

She didn’t know. She didn’t think she wanted to know. And she sure as fuck didn’t want Elder Griffin to know. So she smiled and nodded. “It looks great, I’m sure you’ll be happy there, you and …”

“Keith.”

“Keith.”

He looked at it again. “I surely do hope so, Cesaria. I believe that when something is meant to be, it is meant to be, and I truly feel this is.”

Maybe if she leaned forward a bit he’d go ahead and slice off her head for her. “I’m really glad for you.”

He took her arm just long enough to start leading her back down the path toward the Debunker cottages. “But you see, Cesaria, because I believe that when something is meant to be it will be, I also feel that perhaps your fears about your own relationship are unfounded. Perhaps you should call him.”

“He hasn’t called me.”

Her hair rose off her shoulders in the rain-scented breeze. The clouds above grew darker by the second; it was tempting to call off the search of Aros’s cottage and just leave.

Chess actually enjoyed storms, as a rule, and she had some keshes at home. She could sit and watch the water hit the stained-glass window, smoke until her head left her neck, maybe listen to some Cringer or the Undertones, something cheerful.

But she couldn’t ditch Elder Griffin, especially not when she knew he’d feel it was his fault for asking her about her mood. And she wanted those files. She still hoped to prove Aros had summoned Lucy, and those files might help her do it.

The path led them through a small copse of oak trees, past a few cherry trees and dogwood trees in glorious bloom. The Church grounds certainly were pretty enough.

“Perhaps he hasn’t called you because he believes you’re angry at him. May I ask, Cesaria, how the argument began?”

Ha. Yeah, that was a story she was not going to share. What was she supposed to say? “I got totally fucking high and wanted to have sex and he turned me down because I disgust him and he doesn’t trust me because I fucked him over before?” No. No way.

Instead she said, “Hey, I really appreciate you asking and everything. But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me again, I said some awful things, and it was just,
it was kind of horrible. So I’m, um, I’m just going to try to move on.”

“Perhaps you’d feel better if you apologize.”