Stacia Kane - City of Ghosts

“He’s trying to push them out and take over.” Her phone had fallen into the bottom of her bag; she’d forgotten to slip it back into its little pocket. She dug around for it, found it and pulled it out. “That’s what he’s doing. It’s not the—Not them , I mean, maybe it still is, but it’s him too, he’s taking over their plan.”

“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.

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.