Stacia Kane - Wrong Ways Down

That feeling wouldn’t last more’n an hour or two, but it were still nice when he had it.

The big front doors of Chess’s building opened and she appeared, glancing around to make certain nobody were there before she stepped all the way out. She saw him. Even at a distance—her building had steps out front, and a patch of dirt between them and the street—he saw her smile, felt himself smiling back. For a second it were like they were the only people in the world. At least it were until a dog started barking in the distance, and somebody yelled at it, and the street sounds that were always there even early in the morning came back. They’d been there the whole time. He just ain’t heard em.

“Hey,” she said when she got close to him. Still smiling, but confusion touched her eyes. Confusion or concern, maybe. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

He nodded. “You heading you Church now, aye?”

“Yeah, it’s Holy Day, and it’s the New Year service, so … ”

“Aye.” He offered her a smoke, which she took, and lit one for himself too. “Got an ask for you. Ever hear on a place called the Peace Factory?”

She thought for a second. The sun hit the back of her head and made her hair glow. Fuck, she was so pretty. “They make magic supplies, right?”

“Aye, guessing so.”

“Yeah, I think I know who they are. Why?”

“Heared something on em, wondered iffen you had any knowledge. You buy from they, or any at you Church do?”

She smiled a little, rolled her eyes. He wanted to kiss her when she did that. Course he always wanted to kiss her, so … “Ha, no. They make stuff for amateurs. Generic shit.”

“Shit that ain’t work.”

Her smile widened. “Right. The stuff you see at convenience stores, you know? Ready-made sleep spells, that kind of thing, for people who aren’t witches.”

“You got any knowledge on em?”

“The name is really familiar.” She bit her lip. Aye, he’d do the same iffen she’d let him. “It sounds like I should know it, if you know what I mean. You want me to check it out? I can’t get any business records or anything, I’d need an Elder to get that stuff, but I can look at their basic file, if you want.”

“Be a help, aye, iffen you ain’t minding.”

“Sure. I’ll call you if I find anything, okay?”

“Aye, thanks.” He stepped aside so she could unlock her car door. “Oughta get you gone now, aye? Ain’t wanting make you late or aught.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

He grabbed the door as she opened it, letting her know he’d close it for her. Got him another smile. Pretty cool way to start his day; maybe that were why he was thinking this were a good morning. Causen he were seeing her first thing, and he ain’t usually done that.

“Okay, well, I’ll give you a call,” she said. “I know you have plans tonight, though, so … Happy New Year, in case I don’t see you.”

“Aye. You, too.” He closed the door then, fast so he wouldn’t try to lean in and touch her or anything. Fast so he wouldn’t say it ain’t mattered what plans he had, iffen she wanted to see him she’d see him. Then he stood on the curb and watched her drive away.

AYE, WERE FUCKING dumb of him to think a new day could mean anything good. He stood inside a squat on Foster and looked at the bags in his hand, trying to calm down enough to listen to what Bumberjack were telling him.

“Told me them could handle what ghosts be out there, them did,” Bumberjack said. His voice were more slurred than usual; Terrible guessed them bags had been fuller when he bought em. When he bought em off Slobag’s men. “Told me I start buyin offen them, you get me, buyin them product, they help me out an be keeping me safe from that spook out there.”

“Ain’t a fuckin ghost.” It came out harder then he meant it to; Bumberjack shrank away. Shit. Terrible took a deep breath. “Ain’t a ghost, dig? Slobag lyin, tryin get people moving over to he.”

“But be a spook killed Slick, I’m hearing—”

“Weren’t a ghost killed Slick. True thing, aye? Were seen. Were a living one, not dead.”

Bumberjack ain’t looked convinced. “Why Bump ain’t got the Churchwitch in? Slobag men sayin can keep me safe from the spooks.”

Bumberjack weren’t usually so dumb. That bag Slobag’s men gave him musta been stronger than usual. Well, aye, them was tryna steal customers, wasn’t they? Coursen what they offered now were better than normal. Then after people made the switch Slobag’d start cutting their shit deep again.

“Bump ain’t got the Churchwitch in,” he said, real slow, “causen we ain’t needing her in. No ghost, dig? No ghost, no need for the Churchwitch. Iffen a ghost were around, she’d be in it. Aye?”

“But—”

“Naw, no but.” Terrible glared at him. “An no ghost. Ain’t wanna even be hearing that shit again, dig? I hear you saying that shit, I come back. You keep you fuckin mouth shut.”

“Aye, aye, okay, I ain’t saying on it. Swearing I ain’t.”

“He say any else to you? What you saying to he?”

“Ain’t said much.”

“Who else he chattering with?”

Bumberjack shrugged. “Ain’t seen. Ain’t were watchin, aye?”

Terrible pulled out his phone without responding and sent a text to the street-man number; a minute or two later a shadow covered the doorway of the squat, a shadow which became Soft Mike. “Aye?”

“Change these out.” Terrible held up the two bags he took offen Bumberjack. “Give he fresh. I taking these, aye? Ain’t worry on the paying.”

The day ain’t had gotten any warmer out, neither. Last day of the year. And the good mood he’d had that morning were totally gone, replaced by a feeling of … foreboding, he guessed. Foreboding. Had the feeling something weren’t right, like before the day ended he were gonna wish it had never started.

Ain’t helped that when he got outside with Mike, Mike said, “Why come Bump ain’t doin anything on this ghost we got out there?”

Terrible yanked a cigarette out of his pocket to give him something to do with his hands. Something besides punching Mike. “No fucking ghost. Ain’t knowing where you getting that shit. No ghost.”

“Heared be the Cryin Man, I heared.”

“Aw, fuck. Ain’t a ghost, for certain ain’t the fuckin Cryin Man. Cut that shit out, aye? No more.”

Mike shrugged. “Only sayin what I hearing.”

“You hearing it, you tell em be bullshit.”

But he could see in Mike’s eyes that Mike weren’t convinced.

Why the fuck did Slobag think people would believe he could do anything about ghosts? He ain’t had a Churchwitch on he side of town working for him or aught like that. Were possible he’d hired heself some other witch—were some around—but still. As far as Terrible knew Slobag ain’t had any to do with any witches; he ain’t had heard even the slightest rumor that there were anybody magic working for him. And he heard all kindsa rumors, all the time.

But then, nobody ever said Slobag made sense with what he did. And it ain’t mattered much anyroad. He were either killing and attacking so’s he could make Bump look weak, or he were taking advantage of killings and attacks so’s he could make Bump look weak. What mattered was that he stopped tryna make Bump look weak, and to get him to stop Terrible had to make the attacks stop.

“Hearing Slobag tryin hire some dudes away,” Pete said. “Hearing one a his men pull up on Roley on the yesterday, lean out he car onna street and start giving him chatter on how iffen any wanted to come working for he, he make em all be safe.”

What the fuck? Roley hadn’t said a word to him or Bump on that, least not yet. “Any others?”