Stacia Kane - Unholy Ghosts

Chess didn’t recognize the man standing in the doorway, his hair standing up in short black spikes. Everything about him was black except his skin, the silver chains he wore, and the chunky silver skull ring on his right hand. The black Chinese character tattooed on the back of his left hand would have identified him as one of Slobag’s even if his features already hadn’t. His people all carried the mark, something like the tattoos that granted her some protection against spirits and gave her additional power to fight them. She suspected there was some power in that ink, as well. Maybe not the kind of power hers carried, but who knew?

Through the gaps around his body in the doorway she saw a few others, their arms folded neatly in front of them. No chance at overpowering him and escaping, then. Of course, even if he’d been alone she probably couldn’t have accomplished it, not in her state. Not in any state, if the rumors about this crew could be believed.

“Why the face, tulip girl? You look moanworthy indeed.” His voice was deeper than she would have expected, and not accented like street no matter what the words were.

She bit her lip and turned her face away, hanging it forward so her dark hair could cover it. Not much choice except to look and act as docile as possible so they’d let her go. At least until she knew what they wanted.

From outside the doorway he produced a chair and sat down in it a few feet away from her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m Lex.”

She glared at him.

“Don’t feel like making the speech? Okay by me. Only maybe I got something might loosen your tongue.” He reached into his jacket. Chess tensed. She didn’t have her knife, didn’t have any weapons at all, but if she had to, she could probably at least get him with her fingernails or a good solid kick in the balls.

He didn’t pull out a weapon. Or rather, not a weapon that could hurt her. But nothing could have controlled her as effectively. Just as Bump had done, Lex produced a Baggie full of pills. Unlike Bump, he held it in his fingers, dangling it in front of his face. Her mouth watered.

“What you think, tulip girl? Maybe you want to talk, I let you have one?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a Cept, gleaming white between his burnished fingers. “Maybe two?”

The pill loomed in front of her, shining like a diamond. Her stomach was starting to cramp, her legs to feel weak. If she didn’t manage to get something soon…

“I got all night. My guess is you don’t.” He leaned forward a little more, his voice dropping to a caressing whisper, an insinuating one. His black eyes never left her. “You feeling that pinch, hmm? Them itches? They get right in, don’t they? Like you’ll never stop itching. And the belly gets all fratchy there, those long legs turn rubber…”

She wanted to sink into the wall and disappear. She should have let the psychopomp take her. She knew it was a mistake to stay alive.

“Ain’t gonna get better with time, tulip.” He tossed the Cept into the air, caught it. Tossed it again, missed. It hit the stone floor with a small ticking noise.

Chess dove forward, but she was too late. His boot snapped down over the pill and ground it into powder. That was okay. If he would just leave…It wouldn’t be pretty, but the floor seemed reasonably clean, right? She didn’t know if they’d taken her cash as well as her knife. She could roll that bill up just fine, even with her stiff and aching hand. If he would leave, if he would please just leave.

No such luck. He produced a bottle of water. “Jarkman.”

The door opened, admitting another, smaller man. “Aye?”

“Fetch us some towels. I made a spill.”

Lex uncapped the water bottle, lifted his foot, and slowly, deliberately, poured liquid over the crushed pill. Chess bit her lip so hard she drew blood.

Jarkman was back in a moment with a roll of paper towels. He wiped up the mess in silence and left.

“Want to try that one again? I got a whole bag here, it don’t mind me if I crush them all. Jarkman needs the exercise.”

He plucked another pill from the bag. “You know the worst part, aye? You been there? When the belly gets mad. Starts turning upside out. Methinks nothing in this world so bad as—”

“Stop.” The word came out before she realized it. “Just stop, okay?”

He blinked. “And that’s four words, ain’t they nice. Here you go, tulip. You have that.”

He tossed the pill to her like a bread crust to a duck. Not picking it up was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“Aw, you think we give you poison?” She might have appreciated the smile he gave her if she hadn’t been about to burst into tears. He wrapped his fingers around the top of the bag, shook it up, and plucked a pill out of it. She watched it disappear into his mouth, watched him wash it down. “No poison. True thing, tulip. Take it.”

She wanted to be cool, but coolness was impossible in the face of her screaming, throbbing body. The words were barely out of his mouth before she snatched the pill up from the folds of the quilt and gobbled it, grinding it between her teeth, turning it into a slick, bitter paste on her tongue.

Without a word he passed her the water, and she gulped it down. Some of the tightness in her chest eased.

“Ready to talk now?” He held out his hand, flat and open. Another Cept rested in the middle of his palm.

She took it, crunched it, washed it down. “Depends on what you want to talk about.”

“What you suppose I want to talk about?”

“You think you have a ghost?”

His thin lips stretched into a smile. “Not bad, tulip, not bad. Tougher than you look.”

“Why do you keep calling me tulip?”

“Ain’t that the tattoo?”

“No, these are—you asshole.”

She did have a tulip tattoo. Low on her stomach, just above the juncture of thigh and groin. Which her pants covered.

He shrugged. “Some dames hide weapons, aye?”

“So you had to strip-search me to make sure I wasn’t?”

“I don’t strip you, nay. Not me. Not the men. My sister Blue, she done the job.”

Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to thank him.

The knock at the door startled her. Lex turned. “Aye?”

“Seven.”

“Right.” He looked back at her. “Hungry?”

“What?” The shakes were only just starting to fade, how could she be hungry?

“I gotta be somewhere, have a talk to someone. Jarkman show you the bathroom, got a good strong waterfall. Then we talk.”

“What the hell is going on? Those goons kidnapped me and threw me in here, then you show up and taunt me, now you want me to have a nice hot shower and some food? Are you insane? Seriously.”

He shrugged. “Don’t suppose so, nay. You stay here if you like it. But you don’t leave this house until we talk. Your choice.”

The shower was good, she had to admit. By the time she got out she felt almost normal again.

Obviously they hadn’t brought her here to kill her, unless this was part of some ritual she didn’t understand. But why they would want to talk to her—what possible reason Slobag or any of his men would have for bringing her here—she had no idea.

The Asians hated the Church and anything or anyone who worked for it, as a rule. Since so much of their old religions were based on venerating the spirits of their ancestors—despite the fact that those same ancestors rose from the grave and killed them, just as they had everywhere else in the world—she couldn’t really blame them, but it did mean that when she emerged from the bathroom and put her clothes back on, her hands shook a little. The clothes weren’t clean, but it was better than not having showered at all.