Stacia Kane - Chasing Magic

Elder Griffin watched her, his eyebrows a little higher than usual over his blue eyes. Right. It really shouldn’t take so long to give him a piece of basic information.

Shit again. “Well, see, sir, he … he grew up in Downside, you know, and he never had any family or anything. …”

The eyebrows rose higher. “Indeed? I had no idea.”

Shit, he was right, wasn’t he? Stupid that she hadn’t thought of it before, but she’d never specifically told Elder Griffin that the man she was “seeing” was from Downside. She had no idea if he’d assumed so or what, but his expression—well, his expression and the fact that he’d just fucking said he didn’t know, duh—told her he hadn’t.

But she didn’t want to lie to him, either. She wasn’t going to lie and she wasn’t going to try to hide Terrible or who he was. She loved him and he was hers, and that made her so proud her chest hurt, and if anybody didn’t like it they could go fuck themselves.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. So he never actually—nobody ever named him. But he used to get into fights a lot, and people started to call him Terrible. So that’s what he’s called.”

Pause. “I see.”

Did he? She scanned his face for signs of disapproval or criticism but found none. A weight she hadn’t realized was there lifted from her chest. No, of course Elder Griffin wouldn’t do that; he wasn’t like that.

He nodded. “I shall look forward to meeting him, indeed. I take it things have gone well, since your … disagreement?”

Her face warmed. “Um, yes. And he’s, he’s looking forward to meeting you, too.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Well, I should get back to trying to work, I suppose, while I am still in this position. Have you heard from the Elder Triumvirate, to schedule your interview?”

“Wednesday.” She hesitated. “I’ve never done an interview like this before. Is there anything specific you want me to say, or …?”

“’Tis nothing to be nervous about. They shall only ask about me and how you feel I handle my position here. Please say whatever you feel is best.”

“Do you know yet where they’re going to send you?”

“I do have some suspicions, indeed, but your interview is part of the process, as they want to determine where I will best fit.”

“Should I tell them you’d be a great warden in the spirit prisons?”

His smile widened. “I confess that is not a position I mentioned as one I should like to fill.”

The light from the window behind him faded as a cloud covered the sun, adding to the unexpected solemnity of his next words. “I find myself growing weary of being reminded so often of the depths to which people will sink, Cesaria. Debunking … ’tis so important, but I would like, perhaps, to work in an area where there is more hope. More proof of the good in humanity, rather than the bad. Does that make sense?”

She nodded, trying to smile, trying to look as optimistic as he did. A place, or a job, where the negative aspects of humanity weren’t readily apparent? Where there was goodness and kindness everywhere?

It sounded great, yeah. Too bad it didn’t exist.

Gordon Samms lived—had lived—at Eighty-eighth and Wood, almost in Cross Town. Still Downside, of course—windows devoid of glass, walls and streets thick with graffiti, litter, and grime made that clear—but close enough that a few of the buildings they drove past appeared almost decent.

More than a few, in fact. Chess noticed a sold sign outside one and fresh paint on a few others.

Terrible nodded when she pointed them out. “Some parts here got new ones movin in, fixin em up. Still cheaper’n Cross Town, dig.”

“Gentrification.”

He glanced around. “Aye. Bump gave me the tell on the other day, gots people askin on a few him places. Them all lookin for cheap.”

“But he’d never sell.”

“Fuck, no. Glad on it, too. Don’t even wanna think on living any elsewhere, aye? Be all bored up.”

“Me, too.”

He smiled at her, the kind of smile that made her breath freeze in her chest for a second because happiness had exploded there and squeezed out everything else. “Aye. Know that one.”

He did, too. She remembered him saying it—sizing her up so neatly—in her bathroom one night, only a couple of days after they’d started investigating at Chester Airport. Some of us needs an edge on things make us feel right, he’d said, and she’d blushed and fidgeted and got all weird and uncomfortable, because it sucked to think someone could figure her out so easily, that someone could understand her so quickly.

But he had. He still did. And despite the tiny prickle of nerves in her stomach—if he could figure that out so fast, if he knew so much about her, sooner or later he’d know all the bad stuff, too, and how could he understand then, how could he stay with her?—it made her feel good.

What didn’t make her feel good was thinking of what he’d just said about not wanting to live anywhere else, and thinking about the sigil, and where they were headed at that very moment. Terrible had touched Gordon Samms and passed out. Dark magics did that to him. And if word got out, if news of that spread … how could he stay in Downside, even if someone didn’t take advantage of that weakness and kill him outright?

What would he do if he had to leave Downside? What would he do if he couldn’t fight anymore—if he couldn’t do the one thing he was proud of being able to do.

And she’d stolen that from him.

Well, she’d just have to fucking fix it, then, wouldn’t she? He pulled up against the curb, taking his hand off her thigh to shift into neutral. “Hey, Chess. Maybe—I been thinkin, maybe I ain’t should go along with you. To that wedding, dig. Might be—”

“What? Why?”

“Just—you don’t need me there, aye? Thinkin they all give you the squint-eyes iffen they see me.”

Her first thought was to wonder where this had come from, why he was bringing it up now, but then, she knew, didn’t she? A look at how regular people lived, a bit of thought about the difference between Downside and the rest of Triumph City, between Downside and Church headquarters, and it was clear enough. Or at least why he was talking about it at that moment; he’d probably been thinking it already. Shit. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You oughta, though. ’Speople you workin with, it matters.”

“No.” Damn it. They were out in public, where she couldn’t touch his face or climb into his lap or whatever else to change his mind. She grabbed his hand instead, low, where no one would see. “What they think doesn’t matter. They don’t have any effect on how I do my job or what cases I get or anything else, and even if they did I don’t care. I want you there with me. I want you to meet Elder Griffin.”

“Have he thinkin you lost yon mind.”

“No, he won’t. And you know what, even if he does, I still don’t care.” She squeezed his hand to make him look at her, so she could look in his eyes. Or where his eyes were, because his sunglasses were on. “I care what I think, and I want you there.”

He hesitated. “Don’t wanna fuck things up for you—”

“You won’t. You’re not.” She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. It wasn’t that big a deal, really, it was just … just that she finally had a chance to be with him in public, to show everyone that she belonged to someone, that she mattered to someone, and that she was proud of that. Because she was. “I want you to be there.”

“Maybe you—”

“It’s—it’s important to me, okay? Please come with me.”

“Don’t think you need—”

“Terrible. You are coming. And if anybody doesn’t like it they can fuck off. That includes you.”