Stacia Kane - Finding Magic

Yeah, that really gave Chess incentive to hurry. The thought made her feel even shittier. What was the matter with her? Jillian was being nice to her, she genuinely was. Chess had little doubt that yes, her classmates would be jealous if she got to visit the City before they did. What Jillian was offering was a Big Deal. And here she was, being a fucking bitch about it just because … well, who the hell knew why. Because she was a fucking bitch, really.

Vaughn and Trent—oh, goody—stood outside, smoking cigarettes and squinting at the sun. They nodded when Chess and Jillian crossed the yard. “Hey.”

Jillian glanced around. “Anything?”

“Not really. Just what we saw yesterday.”

“Gloria Waring is on her way—” Trent started, but stopped when another car, a dark green sedan of some kind, pulled up behind Jillian’s. “Ah. Gloria Waring is here.”

Not just Gloria, either. At first Chess thought the man with her was her husband, but no. This was a different man, older. Maybe not as old as the Warings—definitely not, she saw as he drew closer—but he had a good ten years or so on Gloria.

What was he doing there? Who was he?

Uncle Mark was who he was, at least according to Gloria. “Well, he’s not really my uncle, he’s just—he’s been friends with Mom and Dad for … my whole life.” Her lip trembled; Uncle Mark put his arm around her.

“Why did this happen?” He looked at all of them, even Chess, like she had any answers. “How did this happen?”

Jillian spoke. “Sir, the rate of ghost-related deaths in the District is one of the lowest in the world—”

“But it still happened,” he snapped, and real malice flashed in his eyes, solidifying Chess’s initial instinct. Something about him bothered her; something about him set her on edge. She didn’t like him one bit.

“Yes, it happened.” Trent stepped forward. “And we’re sorry for your loss. But that’s no reason to get nasty with Inquisitor Morrow. Is it.”

A moment of stare-down. A moment of something flashing in Uncle Mark’s eyes. How could Gloria stand there and let him touch her, how could she not see—

Maybe there was nothing to see. Maybe she stood there and let him touch her because there was no reason not to, right? She knew the guy. Chess didn’t. And just because something about him made Chess uncomfortable—well, shit, a lot of people did, didn’t they?

And she needed to pay attention to what was happening, because Trent had clearly won the little mental battle and the conversation was moving on.

“Shannon and Joe would never do that sort of thing,” Uncle Mark was saying. The sun hovered just over his head like a halo. How appropriate. Or not. “They were kind of afraid of magic, really. You know, they had very strong beliefs before Haunted Week and never really—”

He stopped, apparently realizing to whom he was speaking. “I’m not saying they kept believing after Haunted Week or anything. They didn’t, of course they didn’t. Just that they were kind of set in their ways.”

Chess started to ask how he knew that, how long he’d known the Warings, when Jillian asked for her. Which was good, because Chess didn’t figure she should really be asking any questions.

“They worked at a mission,” Uncle Mark said. “A religious charity. I was—well, I lived there. I was an orphan, and they took me in, gave me a job.”

“When was this?” Jillian asked.

“Oh, um … I was thirteen, so that would have been in 1993. They helped a lot of people. Too bad it was all a lie, really.”

A lie? Chess looked at him more closely. Yeah, a lot of people who’d believed in the old religions had felt betrayed after Haunted Week; well, of course they had. That was one reason hardly any of their churches or whatevers still stood: angry hordes of ex-believers vented their rage on anything and everything they could, and the fires had burned all over the world for weeks after.

When the—what was it, the New Hope Mission?—had burned, had Uncle Mark poured the gasoline? Had he stood and watched? Cried? Smiled?

Jillian didn’t ask, damn it. “And what happened to the mission after Haunted Week?”

A shadow passed over Uncle Mark’s face. “It closed. Well, of course it closed. They all did, didn’t they?”

“Uncle Mark stayed with us for a while,” Gloria said. “Before he got a job and got his own place and everything.”

“I just can’t believe they’re gone.” Mark wiped his eyes, took a few deep breaths. “They—they taught me everything, they made me feel like a real person. They told me anything was possible, and I believed them.”

The others nodded and made sympathetic noises. Chess didn’t. He sounded … bitter, didn’t he? Again she inspected him; again she saw something in his eyes that she didn’t like, something that made her uncomfortable.

It wasn’t until the conversation had ended that she realized what it might be—what it probably was. He held out his hand to her; her first instinct was to ignore it, to pull away, even, but with everyone watching she really couldn’t. So she took it. She let his skin touch hers, and his energy shocked her, made her breath catch in her chest and her heart give an unhappy leap.

He was the one who’d made the sex spell.

“Maybe he did,” Jillian said. She glanced at Chess. “Sorry. He probably did, if it felt like the same energy to you. And that’s cool, you know? Actually, it’s doubly cool, because it means you made an energy identification, and we learned something more about his relationship with the Warings. About him .”

Yeah, something gross. Chess hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to ask; maybe she was being weird wondering. But she couldn’t help it. “Isn’t that kind of … strange, though? To have a friend you’ve known since he was a kid make a sex spell for you?”

“Maybe, but maybe not. Maybe he’s good at it. I mean, they were married and they had a kid, it’s not like it’s a secret that they had sex.”

“I know, it just seems—”

“Takes all kinds, you know?”

“Sure.” Chess nodded. It was still fucking weird, but whatever. “The spell was strong. Why isn’t he working for the Church?”

Jillian tilted her head. “You seem really interested in him and that sex spell.”

“What? No, I just—”

“Oh, come on.” Jillian patted Chess’s thigh, patronizing and creepy all at once. “I understand. We’re both girls here, right? I can … I can help you, you know. Like, to meet men. I know the Church doesn’t cover that stuff, so … you know, if you want to talk to someone …”

Why would Chess want to—? Oh. Oh, ick. And oh, like she needed help in that department. The only thing she ever wanted from men was easy to get. “Um, thanks, but, I’m really just wondering about the case. It’s not—it’s not about that.”

“Well, just the same … you know, your mom probably talks to you about all of this, but—”

“I don’t have a mother.” They were on the highway again, heading back toward Church—back toward the City of Eternity, shit—and cars zipped past them, flowed around them. What were those people thinking of, talking about?

If only she was with them instead of trapped with Jillian and her concern.

Again, not fair. Jillian was being cool. She was a nice person. It wasn’t her fault that Chess felt like Jillian was trying to crack open her soul and poke around inside.

“Oh. Well, of course, lots of people—did she die during Haunted Week?”

“I don’t know.” Chess kept her gaze pinned out the window. “Um, I don’t know who she was or anything, I never knew her name. They found me when I was a newborn, outside a hospital. Before Haunted Week.”