Unholy Magic (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

The choice is yours, to live a life in the light of Truth, or to skulk in darkness outside it.

—
The Book of Truth
, Veraxis, Article 71

Yeah. Her luck lasted just as long as it took to walk down the hall and run into Oliver Fletcher, and to give in to his insistence that she “meet” with him in Roger’s office.

She looked at the pictures in her hand again, shuffling through them as if she could erase the images by rubbing them against one another. Herself sitting on her living room couch, smoking a kesh. Bumping up off her hairpin, hunched over the wheel of her car. On the street with Terrible, his body a huge shadow next to her, tossing pills into her mouth. And again. And again.

Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

She took a deep breath, tried to steady her voice as she tossed the pictures back on the desk toward Oliver Fletcher. Goodbye, new car. Goodbye, bedroom heater. Goodbye, last vestiges of integrity. “What do you want me to do?”

“I think that should be obvious. I have these pictures, and I think they’d be of great interest to your emp—”

“Yeah, I understand. I’m asking what you want me to do. Lie and say it’s a real haunting? Or blame it on someone else?”

Fletcher leaned forward, all business now. “What do you think is best?”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. You’re the one with the experience here. What do you recommend? If you say it’s real, what proof do you need to provide, what documentation?”

Yeah, like she was going to give out that information so he could pull this shit again. Start himself a little cottage business cheating the Church. “It varies.”

“Whatever you need, I can provide. I think it’s obvious I have the ability.”

“Yeah.”

“You have to admit, this was much better than the average fake haunting.”

Was he fucking kidding? “What do you want, a pat on the back? I don’t go to your movies, Mr. Fletcher. Don’t expect me to applaud, okay?”

“There’s no need to be so rude.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She grabbed her bag, fished out her smokes. He had a lighter ready before she even got the butt into her mouth, like they were on some kind of date or something.

She let him light her anyway, though. “So, why? Why do this?”

“Why? I—” He shook his head, reached for the glass to his right. She hadn’t noticed it before; now she smelled the whiskey inside. “I should think that would be obvious. Roger Pyle wants to leave the show and go on to movies—and not my movies. He’s my biggest star, and I need him to get my next script off the ground. I need him out of here and back where he belongs. He owes his entire fucking career to me, he owes me that much. And—but never mind that. How did you not figure that out? You found out how I’d faked it—nice trick, by the way, with the smoke in the bathroom—but my obvious motive went completely undetected.”

“Not completely undetected. I was pretty sure it was you.” Something about that bothered her, now that she was thinking of it. It seemed a little too easy, a little—

“But you had no proof it was me. In fact, you still don’t.”

“I can get it.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I doubt it. Ah, the arrogance of youth. I was like you, you know. Despite my failings, I was so certain I could do no wrong.”

She couldn’t resist. “As opposed to now.”

His lips quirked. “The difference is now I know that what I’m doing is wrong. I’m just determined not to get caught.”

“Which is why you’re blackmailing me.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same, if you were me? Really, you do open yourself up for that sort of thing. If I was able to find evidence of your drug use—it’s more of an addiction, isn’t it, than just ‘use’?—simply by following you home, I can’t believe no one else would be able to. You should be more careful.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” She would, too. “Have you sent those pictures to anyone else?”

“What? Oh, no. They’re all here, with the memory chip. I’ll be keeping that. I’m sure you understand.”

Yeah, she understood. But she didn’t like it. She didn’t trust him. Who was to say he wouldn’t decide a few years down the line that he needed a little Church-related favor? She was already at Bump’s and Lex’s beck and call. She didn’t need another blackmail buddy holding something over her head.

He must have seen her give in, because that irritating smile widened ever so slightly and he gathered the pictures back into a neat little stack. “Let me know what kind of evidence you need, and how you’d like to handle this. I’ll go along with whatever you decide. Here.”

A business card sat between his index and middle fingers, as though he couldn’t be bothered to hold the thing properly. “That’s my card, with my cell number on it. To prove my trustworthiness. A lot of people would pay a lot of money for that number. As long as you keep my secrets, I’ll keep yours. Fair enough?”

The card stock was so stiff and sharp she could have cut lines with it, and the cell number did indeed sprawl across the back, written in thick black ink.

“Just give me a call,” he said, and turned back to the papers on Roger Pyle’s desk. Dismissing her.

Which was no more than she deserved.

Slobag hadn’t wanted to come too far into Bump’s territory, and Bump hadn’t wanted Slobag to see where he lived anyway, so the meeting was being held on the Aceria Bridge, so far west it was almost in Cross Town. From where Chess stood, dead in the middle, she saw the orange glow Downside’s fires cast on the fog and smoke, saw the orderly lights of Cross Town, even the houses on the hills of Northside. It was so quiet, so still. Like being somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere she wasn’t being blackmailed, somewhere she wasn’t scared shitless she was about to get busted hardcore when Lex “accidentally” let something slip. Somewhere she couldn’t feel Terrible’s eyes on her, somewhere she hadn’t fucked everything up between them. Again.

It was cold despite the roaring fire built in a fire can off to the left, and Chess was glad. It gave her an excuse to huddle into her coat, into herself, propped against the railing with her head down.

Beneath them the icy waters of the Eternity River raged, swollen from the snow that had melted during the day, so strong and hard that the bridge vibrated. For a moment Chess imagined it breaking, pictured them all falling, swallowed by the black current. Would it hurt? Or would the water numb her so she didn’t even feel when her lungs stopped working, when her—

“You all set, Ladybird? Gonna get what you fuckin need of they?” Bump’s gold-circled eyes peered at her from beneath his raggedy wide-brimmed purple hat, its gold buckle catching the firelight and throwing it back. He looked far from the Bump she’d seen in ridiculous pajamas the other night; this was street Bump, power resting on his shoulders as casually as the dingy white fur cape he wore. Beneath the cape she saw at least three shirts, slashed in places so the fabric beneath them could peek out, and his bottle-green velvet trousers tucked into heavy fur boots actually looked clean.

He’d painted his fingernails black. The diamond and gemstone rings covering his knuckles clanked when he moved. His gold-tipped cane sparkled and thumped against the pitted cement road when he walked, adding to the dissonant symphony.

“What?”

“Get what you need, make me some spells, yay? Figure Lex be easy, you run them sweet fingers through he hair no fuckin problem. Maybe you smile pretty make he think he got a chance. Slobag, you let Bump handle. Bump gots a fuckin plan.”

“But I thought—” She glanced at Terrible, but his face was impassive and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, flames reflected in the dark lenses. Empty-eyed, fire where his eyes should be. She shuddered, and not just from the image. Beyond greeting her he hadn’t spoken at all. “I thought you’d changed your mind, you didn’t mention it again, and I thought you were going to get whatever you needed.”

“When Bump said that? Ain’t recall fuckin sayin it. You got a memory Bump ain’t got, Ladybird? Them pills messin with your fuckin mind, yay? Never said that.”

She bit her tongue and took a deep breath before replying. Dickhead. “They’re going to know what I’m doing. They’ll know what I am.”

“Just do it, yay? You get what you fuckin need. Insurance, yay? Somethin Bump got for if there’s a fuckin need any else time.”

She guessed it didn’t really matter. He’d come to her for whatever spells he wanted, and she’d fake it, make them ineffective anyway. So she just nodded. “Fine.”

“That’s good. That’s real fuckin good. Ain’t gonna be here long this night, yay? Fuckin cold. Bump ain’t like the cold.”

Another nod. Another glance at Terrible. She’d hoped to have a chance to talk to him alone, but Bump hovered around her like a vulture waiting for its prey to die. Somehow she didn’t think Terrible would appreciate Bump overhearing their conversation, even if she didn’t mind. Which she did.

Wasn’t like she knew what to say, anyway.

Not for the first time she wished desperately she’d never kissed him to begin with. If she hadn’t started it, he wouldn’t have ended it, and she wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. Could have gone on ignoring the undercurrents in their friendship, ignoring the memories.

Why was she so determined always to do the exact wrong thing?

She sighed and huddled farther back into her coat, then thought better of it and reached for her pillbox. Bump wanted her to cozy up to Lex? In front of Terrible? Yeah, great idea. Numb was the only way to get through this.

Three more Cepts would help. She swallowed them and lit a cigarette.

She’d smoked it about halfway when headlights swept across the bridge, bleaching color from everything in their path, and then died. Slobag had arrived.

Her first thought was that he could have been a carbon copy of Bump. Same hat, only in red. His matching cape was covered in tiny gold bells. Both his shirts and blue brocade pants were slashed. But he didn’t carry off the look with the same insouciance as Bump. It looked costumey on him, and she knew from the way he moved that unlike Bump he wore the clothes for flash, because it was expected, not because he really enjoyed wearing them.

Her second thought was how much he looked like Lex. There was no denying the resemblance there, none at all, although Slobag wasn’t as tall as his son, didn’t have the same lazy sense of entitlement.

Said entitled son stood just behind his father, the black spikes of his hair shining like onyx. His gaze scanned the bridge, found her, passed over her. The breath she didn’t realize she was holding left in a sigh.

Chess stayed put while the men greeted each other, but when they neared the spot where she stood—Bump with his usual gliding walk, Slobag stepping as though he was afraid the road would stick to his shoes—she saw there was no point in trying to be unobtrusive. Slobag’s eyes caught her, scanned her ruthlessly. She could read the message in them, and it wasn’t cheerful. A mix between dislike because of her Church position and dislike because of whatever positions she got into with his son and heir, she imagined. His gaze felt like hard fingers on her skin.

“That’s Chess.” Bump waved his beringed hand in her direction. “Helpin we out, yay?”

Lex grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips. She refused to look at him, especially not when his tongue darted out and dove between her middle and third fingers. “You a helpful kind of girl, then?”

She snatched her hand back and folded her arms tight over her chest. Her face warmed; she kept her gaze focused on the bridge railing.

Lex laughed. “Aw, now, no reason to be like that, aye? Ain’t gonna hurt you, girl. Unless that’s what you lookin for, dig. I’m real good at givin the dames what they want.”

Bastard. Sure, he was right. It would look odd if he totally ignored her. And she needed him not to; if Bump saw her refuse to even attempt to do what he wanted, he wouldn’t be happy at all. But now she realized he planned to go as far as he could with this little act. She was the weakness in this gathering, the loose brick in the facade.

Or maybe not. She glanced at Terrible. His expression hadn’t changed, but the dull color he couldn’t control was creeping up his neck.

“You ain’t sayin no, noticing,” Lex continued.

With effort she kept her voice under control. “No.”

“And lookie there, she said herself a word. It always this hard gettin you to talk?”

The words were a sneaky reference to their initial meeting, when he’d had her kidnapped, held her in a room until she started to withdraw, then taunted her with a bag full of Cepts until she agreed to talk to him.

“I’ve got another couple of words for you.”

“Aye? Betting you do. Maybe later you tell me, what you say?”

She glared at him. His eyes sparkled back. Like this was all some kind of game.

Of course, to him it was. He wasn’t the one in danger here.

When had being an addict gotten so fucking hard? So exhausting? It had been so easy for so long; she had a steady supply, she kept to herself, nobody bothered her. Now she was constantly up to her ears in intrigue and complications, being torn in every direction but her own, all thanks to her need for those pills.

She closed her eyes, shook her head. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to change anything, was she? No. So unless she planned to, she should shut the fuck up and focus on getting through this without getting killed.

Slobag cleared his throat. He’d taken a spot by a crumbling iron pillar, adjusting the layers of his clothing with finicky fingers.

Lex left her, swaggering to his father’s side. Bump and Terrible stood on either side of Chess. They were ready to start.

Or they would be, when someone finally spoke. As it was, they all stared at each other, waiting.

The silence started to get on her nerves. Or perhaps it was Lex, who caught her eye and winked. Either way, she was edgy even with the extra pills, and uncomfortable against the railing. She didn’t dare move, though, not even when the wind made her hair tickle her face or she thought, with a sudden sickening thud, that her murderous eye-stealing friends could very well be out there watching. Getting ready to attack.