Stacia Kane - Wrong Ways Down

And she did look happy. Relaxed. He’d been right on that one. He wouldn’t ask why—she’d tell him iffen she wanted him to know—but it was good to know he’d been right. Seemed like he got smarter and smarter on her every day, knew more and more.

Maybe he weren’t the only one getting more knowledge. Chess looked at him close, with narrowed eyes pale behind black make-up. “You okay?”

He shrugged. “Ain’t slept much on the last night.”

That weren’t all bothering him, or, it were a side effect of what bothered him. Hearing all them ghost rumors bothered him. Hearing on Slobag’s men wandering around in Bump’s territory bothered him. The frustration—the sick feeling of being too stupid to figure out what was happening, of knowing if he were just a little smarter he’d be able to get it—ate at him like street-dogs on garbage. He bet he weren’t looking too good.

Not that he ever did. He knew what he looked like.

But just like always, having her in the car made him feel better. No matter who he was or how he looked, Chess was willing to ride around with him, be seen with him. Spend her time with him. That was pretty fucking cool.

“Well,” she said after a second, “maybe what I found out today will help. I hope so, anyway.”

“Aye? What you got?”

She bobbed her head back and forth, an “eh” kind of movement. “I don’t know. Not a lot, but it’s interesting. I think it’s interesting.”

He didn’t bother to say that if she thought it was interesting, he probably would, too. Instead he stayed silent while she pulled some sheets of paper from that big bag she carried. Printouts, looked like. “Thought you ain’t could get any reports on them from you Church.”

Printouts, turned out to be. She angled them so he could glance over. “I looked at their website. What places like that put out in public can be as useful as the private stuff, you know?”

“Aye,” he said, not really thinking, as he parked outside Dunk’s. Part of their protection deal was they gave him decent food, like real quality; well, lots of places made that same deal, but Dunk’s were his favorite, and close to Chess’s place. Besides, she seemed to like it, so even if he didn’t he’d take her there. “Everybody gots shit them hiding.”

“Yeah. Well, what they’re hiding is a little Church trouble they had last year. See here, where it talks about a ‘revamped product line?’ And acts like it’s just part of their big quest to help people? That’s because they were using illegal power methods to charge their stuff, and some of their customers got hurt.”

“Illegal power? Like with dead bodies or ghosts or whatany?”

“This was illegal spells and sources, but yeah. Stuff they shouldn’t have done, that only Church employees are allowed to do.”

“What you meaning, sources?” The whores ain’t said any got stolen from their purses, but maybe something—no. Whores never lost track of their shit. Had minds like bankers, them did.

“Illegal energy raisings, or using forbidden materials.”

Energy raisings. “Like what you say me before, on death curses, needs a killing to start it up?”

She smiled at him, and ain’t even looked surprised that he remembered. “They weren’t killing people, but yeah, basically. You commit a crime, and feed that energy into the spell to start it. Illegal or immoral acts can raise a lot of energy.”

Acts like rape. He examined the pages she’d handed him. A list of “products,” with pictures. A history of the company; he’d read that later. And a few pictures of the owners or bosses or whatany of the place, with them bullshit paragraphs next to each to tell people how smart they were and how they’d achieved everything they’d ever planned to do or whatever the fuck those things said.

“Why come this one ain’t got a picture?” he asked, showing her the name he meant. Brian Tyler, Head of Product Development.

Chess shrugged. “There wasn’t one on the site.”

“You get any—”

She was already shaking her head. “That’s stuff I’d have to ask an Elder for. Sorry. I did a regular internet search for him, too, to try to get a picture, but nothing came up, really. No images or any real information, except that he graduated from the University of Truth in Springfield six years ago. His name was listed as part of the graduating class.”

He nodded, folded the papers, and got out of the car. New Year’s Eve weren’t much different from any other night in Downside; drunks stumbling around, people screeching and playing music, but it started earlier than usual. The noises were like an assault.

When he opened her door for Chess she started talking again. “There’s nothing about any other employment, so I don’t know what he might have done between graduation and now.”

“See what else I can find,” he said, as they started walking toward the diner. “Address and all that shit, dig.”

“Where? I mean, I can’t—”

He smiled at her. “Thinkin you the only Church worker we get knowledge from?”

Her head tilted back, letting him know she got it. “Right.”

“Only you the best one,” he said, ushering her into the diner ahead of him so she didn’t have a chance to react.

After they’d sat and ordered he unfolded the pages; they sat at his usual booth, the last one on the right, so nobody were behind him or could see what he was doing. Not really much use, any of what she had. Well, no, it were useful—it gave him something, and since he ain’t had shit before that mattered—and he was grateful for it, but he’d hoped for more.

“People buy this shit?” he asked, scanning the list of products. “Spells to make kids obey? Spells to make worries better?”

“Pretty sleazy, huh?” Her smile, the way her dark red lips curved, made him feel like he was in on some secret with her. Like they were the smart ones. “Those places will sell anything.”

“It ain’t work, aye?”

“Nope.” She lifted her right arm and curled it behind her head, curled her fingers, to gather up her hair and pull it off her neck. Her head tilted to the right as she did it, so her throat was a long pale line rising from the collar of the blue shirt she wore over a black long-sleeve t-shirt. He knew he shouldn’t stare, he should look away fast before she noticed. But he couldn’t help it. It was so … she weren’t even aware of it, how pretty the movement was, how graceful it was, how it made his breath stop.

Then he saw the mark. The bite mark, down low, more on her shoulder than her neck. But definitely a bite mark. No mistaking that one.

Seeing it felt like being punched. Now he knew why she were in such a good mood. That hadn’t been there that morning, neither, and she didn’t seem to realize it were there, like it were brand new. So now he knew—probably—why she’d got home later than usual.

He wondered who the guy was. If she even knew his name. He hated himself for wondering. Weren’t his business. Hated, too, the way before he could stop it he imagined his own teeth sinking into that soft pale skin, remembered the taste of it and her hands in his hair, imagined her gasping under him—

Fuck. He looked away, fast, feeling heat creep up his neck and below his belt. The papers in his hand shook; with effort he stilled them, stared at em like they held the secrets of the fucking world, cleared his throat. He couldn’t look at her.

Not even when she spoke. “What’s up? Something on there I missed?”

It took him a second to come up with an answer. “Naw, naw, just … wonderin about this place, is all.”

The food arrived. How much would Chess eat? Not his place to say on it, but he still watched, carefully avoiding looking at her throat again. She was too thin—well, no, she was perfect, but he worried maybe she ain’t ate enough for health.