Stacia Kane - City of Ghosts

“Well.” Lauren dusted her hands together, as though she needed to wash them of Elder Griffin’s kind words. “Now that it’s done, we have some things to discuss, don’t we?”

The picture slid across the polished wooden table, the image’s horror barely contained by the thin white edges of the paper. Chess looked at it, swallowed hard. Looked again.

“He was found three days ago. Well … that much of him was. We expect an ID any moment.” Lauren’s crisp, cool tones cut through Chess’s anger, the overwhelming pity she felt, looking at the ruined body in the photograph. It was an effort not to leap across the table and smack her. How could she do that? How could she look at that—that thing , that lump of flesh and goo that had once been a human being, and just move on with her pat little speech?

“Down by the docks. I believe you’re familiar with the area?”

Chess nodded without thinking of it and reached out a tentative hand for the picture. Her dress was still wet; it clung coldly to her body. But that was not why she shivered.

Another picture slid over, knocked into the first one before Chess could touch it. “Yesterday this turned up, farther south. Fifty-fifth and Brand. Several different victims this time, but not their whole bodies. Just what you see.”

The slick photographic paper threatened to slice her fingers when she picked it up, angled it so she could get a better look. Not that she wanted to. But Lauren and the Elders watched her too closely, sat too silently and stiffly in their chairs. There had to be something they wanted her to see—to notice—and she wanted to know what it was.

Her gaze skittered over the picture, trying to take it in pieces, quadrants, to shield herself from the full horror of it. Across the top first, then down, the lower right corner, the—

Raised black scars interrupted her wrists. Thick and straight, like railroad ties crossing her forearms. Sprouting from them were curving veins of dark purple in a lacy pattern up to her elbows, down over her palms.

Elder Griffin caught her look. “They’ll disappear when the Binding Oath is lifted,” he said. “They remain simply as a reminder.”

Yeah. Like she could fucking forget.

But she just nodded and continued, steeling herself for the full image, until finally she saw what they wanted her to see. It was barely visible, only a linear shadow in the darkness of the black-and-white gore. But it was there, and Chess’s blood ran even colder than it had.

Fuck, she needed her pills. “The Lamaru.”

When no one responded she looked up. “Right? The Lamaru are back. That’s what this is. Who did this.”

Lauren nodded. “We believe so, yes.”

She reached down, lifted a thick file from her lap and plunked it onto the table. “We’ve received information that they’ve re-formed themselves and are operating somewhere in the area known as Downside. Where you live, is that correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. So you’ll be an even bigger help than we thought. When shall I come down? Tonight? Are you free?”

“What?” What the fuck? She was sticky with sweat, she’d practically had a fucking breakdown, she’d watched two Church employees die—and now Lauren Abrams, who hadn’t been through any of that, thought Chess was going to invite her out to wander the streets of Downside? At night? And not even her own neighborhood, where she was relatively safe?

“I asked if you’re free tonight, Cesaria. Every minute we sit here is another minute the Lamaru could be working against us, you know. I think it’s best we start right away.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Unless you’re tired, of course.”

Yeah, Chess was tired. Tired of being poked at by this irritating woman.

Tired physically? Another question entirely. She was exhausted. She was also holding. A couple of Nips, a nice fat line … She had enough pharmaceuticals and botanicals in her pillbox and back at her apartment to keep her wide awake for a week. Ha. The glories of modern living.

“I’m not tired at all,” she said.

“Good.” Lauren spun the file; it skittered across the table and slammed into Chess’s arms. The impact sent the tendrils of purple shifting and sliding, rearranging themselves. Her stomach gave a little twist. Quickly she flipped the file open, shoved the photos inside. She didn’t want to feel them looking at her anymore, and she sure as fuck didn’t want to watch the physical manifestation of the heavy magic in her system wiggle around below her skin like ringworms. Or worse.

The entire file buzzed with energy. Chess couldn’t imagine what kind of shit lurked between those innocuous manila covers. Didn’t want to imagine it.

And lucky her, she didn’t have to, because she was going to become intimately familiar with every page, every word, every smear of darkness, every foul deed.

Just what she needed. More filth in her soul. Someday, maybe, she would explode from it; someday, maybe, every rotten thing that had ever been done to her and every rotten thing she’d ever done would erupt from her in a fountain of sewage and sorrow, all those secrets she kept even from herself spilling out and adding to the muck she could never wash off no matter how hard she tried.

She’d never been bound by magic to keep those secrets. Just by her own shame.

“Okay.” Lauren rose from her seat, her right hand smoothing her skirt behind her. “Shall we take my car, or—”

“No.” Oops, that came out a little too fast; Lauren’s eyebrows rose. Chess could practically see her nose pinch in, her mouth opening—probably to remind Chess that as a Third Inquisitor she was Chess’s superior in rank, though not directly in department. “I mean, I need my car, and I need to change out of this and take a shower. I have blood all over me.” And some pills to take in private, but she didn’t mention that. Her palms were starting to tingle, and she seriously needed some breathing room.

“I’ll follow you.”

Oh, shit. Lauren in her apartment, Lauren poking around in her stuff? No way.

“Actually, Lauren, you should probably change, too. The area we’re looking at isn’t really the safest part of town—”

“I’m a member of the Black Squad, Cesaria. I think I can handle a few catcalls.”

Oh, shit, again. Is that all the woman thought they were in for? A couple of street toughs grabbing their crotches and making kissy noises?

Seeing those pictures, finding out they were dealing with the Lamaru—scary enough in and of itself, without the vendetta she had no doubt they were carrying against her personally for extra fun—was bad. Realizing, as she looked into Lauren’s determined, arrogant face, that she was also dealing with a woman who had no concept of what they were about to get into—that was another thing entirely.

And there wasn’t much Chess could say about it, because if she gave them too much information about Downside, they might rescind her permission to live there. And that didn’t even bear thinking about.

“I think it’s probably best if you wear better shoes for walking,” she said finally. “And jeans. Something more casual, you know? We don’t want to attract attention if we can help it.”

Lauren considered it for a minute. “Fine. I’ll go home and change. You do the same, and I’ll meet you at your house in forty-five minutes.”

It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. “Do you need my address?”