Stacia Kane: Close to You

Chess hoped Vincent didn’t have very high hygienic standards. But then, if he was married to this stranger-by-the-second woman, he must already know what sort of state that house was in. Chess had been inside some shitty buildings in her life, but this place went beyond even some of the “homes” she’d lived in as a child.

Mrs. Hudson gestured toward the kitchen table piled with papers and plastic containers and dirty clothes. “You can sit there, if you want.”

Yeah... that wasn’t going to happen. Chess didn’t much feel like sticking to a chair, and she definitely didn’t feel like inviting diseases to set up camp on her clothes. She took a few steps after the woman instead. The magic she felt increased. Still not strong, but still there, and still worrying. Had Mrs. Hudson been doing magic, or did she just have some magical objects—spellbags or whatever—buried in the mountains of junk?

It wouldn’t be unusual if she’d been doing magic; lots of people did, trying or buying little spells or glamours, and the Church encouraged it. Every time some citizen used a spell that worked, it proved the Church’s Truth that magic was real. But most spells done by ordinary people didn’t feel as... complete as whatever it was Chess was feeling. Magic done by non-witches tended to have an unformed sort of feel to it. It was weak.

The magic Chess felt may not have been strong, but it also wasn’t unformed. She didn’t know for sure what kind of magic it was—except that it wasn’t sex magic, which tended to be the amateur magic she encountered most, since any idiot could get turned on—but it wasn’t good, and it wasn’t unformed. It was like a spell waiting to be finished, like a trap ready to snap shut over a fragile bone. Waiting. Ominous.

Of course, Mrs. Hudson seemed so out of it that it was entirely possible that gangs of random witches were holding full-blown rituals in the yard every weekend, and Chess was just feeling the residue of that.

She didn’t think so, though. And that wouldn’t be in the house. Mrs. Hudson might not notice, sure, but where would they find the space?

From the mouth of the kitchen Chess could see slices of three rooms, and all three were stacked to the ceiling with old newspapers, plastic bottles, broken toys—the rocking horse was particularly creepy—and furniture and boxes and... just junk, piles of junk that must have taken years to collect. Yes, they were in a junkyard, but that seemed like taking the concept a little too far.

Terrible didn’t seem any happier about being in there than Chess. His gaze darted up and down the hall, checking the doorways, the ceiling, the floors. His right hand sat warm and heavy on the back of Chess’s neck; she knew his left was probably on the handle of his knife behind his back.

But why? Why was he so uneasy—why were they both so uneasy? Despite the uncomfortable twitch of magic, which could have been almost anything, nothing about the woman seemed particularly threatening. She was just a crazy, rather creepy old woman, so scrawny that Chess was surprised the wind hadn’t blown her away. And Terrible was cautious about everything, especially when she was around, but grabbing his knife seemed a little excessive even for him.

She guessed he just couldn’t shake the sense of unease, and she couldn’t, either. His broad, strong chest warmed her back as she leaned against it, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to feel the steady, reassuring movement as he breathed. His chin rested on the top of her head for a second.

The song started again. The contrast between the schlocky soft-rock ballad and the utter filthy chaos surrounding them made the whole thing even worse. It just didn’t seem to fit. But then, what would Chess know? She’d never fit anywhere, either. Not until Terrible came along, anyway.

Curiosity about other people had never been something Chess had much of. She knew all she needed to know about people: they were shit. This woman was probably no exception, which meant whatever was going on—she was delusional, she was squatting in the house, she was hiding a dead body in her bedroom—was really not something Chess needed to get involved in. The best thing to do was pay her what she wanted so they could go home.

But she still felt on edge, and uncomfortable. Her phone told her it was just past eleven in the morning—they’d gotten up early for various reasons—which meant it had been about three hours since she’d last taken her Cepts, and that was long enough. She dug into her bag for her pillbox, grabbed two of the little white keys to peace that sat inside, and popped them into her mouth, washing them down with water from the bottle she always carried. They wouldn’t start kicking in for a few minutes, but she still felt better. Calmer.

“I guess we can sell those for twenty.” Mrs. Hudson slid past Chess and Terrible to walk down the hall. She smelled like something a dog had thrown up. Ugh. “It being the holiday and all, I didn’t expect to see anybody here today, but I guess a day off work is a day off work.”

“Holiday?”

Mrs. Hudson shot her an are-you-fucking-crazy sort of look, which was rich coming from her, but whatever. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Oh. Well, oh shit. Christmas.

“It’s Vincent’s favorite holiday,” Mrs. Hudson went on, drifting farther down the hall and turning into a doorway. “It’s his birthday, too, you see. That’s why we got married on this day. He’ll be back tonight. Oh, how I miss him when he’s not here.”

Chess almost didn’t hear that last part, and not just because backup vocals were aah-aah-aah-aah-aaaah-ing from the speakers across the room. She was too busy returning Terrible’s confused look, and wondering what the fuck to do.

There was a ritual space in the house after all. But not a magical ritual space, at least, not the kind Chess was familiar with. This was a very different sort of ritual, one illegal since 1997 when the Church of Real Truth defeated the dead and in exchange was given control of the world. It was a ritual celebrated by families and friends, and while Chess guessed it was magical in its way, it wasn’t a magic she’d ever felt or experienced—at least, she’d never felt or experienced that kind of magic until Terrible came along.

He leaned down so his lips were close to her ear. “Ain’t legal, aye?”

“No.”

She waited for him to ask if she was going to report the Hudsons, but he didn’t. He probably knew she wasn’t sure what to do; he usually did. “Maybe oughta just get us outta here.”

“Yeah, I think so.” But despite her unease, Chess couldn’t help being honestly fascinated. She’d never seen anything like the room in front of her, not for real anyway; the Church’s museum housed a few items related to the day, and she’d seen pictures in books, but this was an actual room in an actual house, decorated by people who were actually celebrating.

It was beautiful. Even more so than the exhibit in the Church’s museum, because this was real; this was a personal home decorated for an important holiday, with personal items and touches. And it was spotless. The scent of pine filled the air from the tree in the corner, which rose almost to the ceiling. Strings of colored lights wound through the dark green branches heavy with bright ornaments. Beneath that tree were piles of presents, bright shiny wrapping paper faded and covered in dust—that didn’t seem to make sense, but hey, maybe Mrs. Hudson didn’t have any clean paper. Wouldn’t be a surprise, in that house.

Paper cut-outs of grinning snowmen and angels—wow, shit—covered the walls, along with a big banner that said “MERRY CHRISTMAS” in red and green letters strung together. A wreath hung over the roaring fireplace; Chess had a moment of panic before she saw the wreath wasn’t mistletoe, and so couldn’t open a doorway to the City of Eternity.