Stacia Kane - Unholy Magic

Then they ran.

They flung themselves down the stairs, the wood splintering beneath them as the building’s magic died. Oliver’s hand still rested in hers; she felt how weak he was, how much he’d given her, and had time to feel thankful and a little sorry before the ceiling collapsed behind them.

They spun around the corner and ran faster, the door in sight. Freedom beckoned, freedom and air and even the dim moonlight again, the normal world. Her lungs ached, her entire body hurt, but she ran for that door as hard and fast as she could, dragging Oliver with her, dragging them all with her.

Out the door and onto the pavement, turning in time to see the house fall. It collapsed all at once, like an object dropped from a great height. One minute it was there and the next it was nothing but a pile of rubble, housing the fading, pitiful shouts of the ghosts’ victims. Beside it, birds carried their souls into the still-open hole, dim, flickering light catching their bodies.

Chess took a breath. The stench of sour water and garbage had never smelled so good, so fresh. She couldn’t get enough. One more breath and she would free the birds, then they could leave.

She had just enough time to register the figure emerging from around the side of the wreckage. One second to realize it was a man, his naked body scrawled head to foot with magical symbols and runes.

Then something hard and heavy slammed into her, knocked her down. Her wounded arm, still spiked with glass, hit the concrete; she tried to scream, but there was no air in her lungs.

Gunshots echoed, shouts. More gunshots. Something hit her in the leg, too hard and deep for pain. All she felt was shock—shock and dizziness and the certainty that something bad was happening, something unforeseen—

Terrible. His body above her. More shouts. Wetness oozing through her sweater to her skin, and she knew what it was and what had happened and now she could scream, she pushed his heavy weight from her and could not stop screaming.

His eyes were closed. His body was still. She picked up his hand, tried to get him to look at her, to talk to her, but he would not, and her mind refused to accept it and her eyes refused to see it and she heard wings, heavy wings, and she looked up and knew the birds had left her control.

The hawk was coming.

Its powerful wings stretched wide as it soared down, not in a hurry, ready to claim its soul. Terrible’s soul. He was dying, he was dead. The knowledge hit her so rough and deep it made the gunshot wound in her leg seem like nothing at all. She could not let this happen. Would not let this happen.

Her hands didn’t shake as she reached for his gun, tucked into the waistband of his jeans against his still-warm skin.

“Chess, what are you—”

“Tulip, c’mon now—”

Hands on her shoulders, gentle hands. They were trying to help, she knew, but they were wrong. They didn’t know how to help her. She shook them off, lifted the gun, pulled back the slide. He’d only let her shoot this one a couple of times, but she could do it. Oh, yes, she could do it.

Oliver shouted again, but she barely heard it. Heard nothing but the beat of her own heart, pounding triple-time like she’d snorted a bagful of speed, as she raised the gun, sighted down the top just like he’d shown her, and fired.

Missed. The hawk swerved off to the left, still coming. Any second now it would claim its prize, any second. Fuck, she couldn’t—

She fired again. The hawk fell without grace, its head gone, its wings useless to stop its descent. It hit the pavement and lay still.

“Chess! You can’t do this, you can not —”

Chess spun around, still holding the gun, and put Oliver Fletcher right in her sights. Gave him her eyes, let him see she meant it. The sound of the slide pulling back again echoed off the street. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

“You don’t know what—”

“Fuck off, Fletcher.” It came out as a moan. How much time did she have? He was wasting her time. “Just fuck off.”

“Chess, I know how you feel, fuck, you know I do, but you can’t—”

She switched the gun into her left hand, grabbed her knife with the other. “I can’t lose him. That’s what I can’t do. I can’t—I can’t—”

Her fingers scrambled at Terrible’s shirt, ripped it open. Blood on her fingers, blood on his chest. So much blood, she was too late, another psychopomp would be on its way, she had to hurry.

Someone grabbed her arm, tried to pull her away. She yanked herself free—it seemed so easy—and dove forward, the point of the knife over his heart.

“Chess, please,” Oliver said. “Please.”

She ignored him.

She’d studied that sigil, traced it with her eyes. Knew it by heart. The knife moved as if by its own accord, making the triangle, adding the runes, swerving over the top. She left out Oliver’s modification, used only the Church sigil, the one they used before. It was safe—surely it was safe—and if it wasn’t, she didn’t care, because if she lost him, she would die.

“Kesser arankia,” she whispered, in a voice that barely sounded like hers. “By my power I bind.”

Nothing happened. She heard wings. Too late. She was too late, she’d done it too late, she’d committed a capital offense in killing a psychopomp, and she’d done it for no reason at all because she was too late, and her entire body convulsed on itself and the knife fell from her stiff fingers and she couldn’t breathe.

Terrible’s chest rose beneath her hand.

The last person she expected to see by the side of her bed was Oliver Fletcher. At least, he was the last person she expected to see until she realized Roger Pyle sat next to him.

“Hey,” she croaked. Roger grabbed the glass of water by her bed and handed it to her.

“No, thank you ,” he said, cutting off her next words. “For keeping my family and friends out of prison.”

What?

“He knows,” Oliver cut in. “About our deal.”

“I could hardly help but find out something was going on, what with my wife and daughter being shot in my home, right? And the doctor told me about … well, that I’m going to be a grandfather.” Roger shook his head. So he still didn’t know Arden wasn’t his, then. “I still can’t quite believe that.”

Chess had no idea what to say. He was glad his family and friends had worked together to trick and terrify him? On what planet was that good news?

He must have known what she was thinking, because he said, “I know it’s hard for a girl like you to understand. But … they’re my family. They never meant to hurt me, they just couldn’t get me to listen to them any other way. I made a mistake, forcing them to move out here. They made mistakes, too. Just because you make mistakes doesn’t mean you don’t love someone.”

Yeah. She knew that. She focused on the cup in her hands, wished they weren’t in the room so she could grab a couple of Cepts from her bag. The one good thing about the hospital was the free drugs. The bad thing was they were so damned careful in handing them out. No matter how much pain she pretended to be in, they wouldn’t give her the pills until exactly six hours had passed. Pedants.

But she had a secret supply, courtesy of Lex. That meeting had been awkward, to say the least, but he’d come, he’d given her her pills, given her a kiss. What happened next they’d just have to see.

And her leg and arm didn’t hurt that badly anyway. The only reason she was still there was her job. No way the hospital was going to take a chance on letting a Church employee go until she was completely healed.