Unholy Ghosts (19 page)

Her face in the mirror almost made her scream. Her nose and left eye looked mottled and swollen, like someone else’s features superimposed on her face. The pain had lessened some with the pills and the shower, but it was still there, a constant reminder of her confrontation with Doyle. As if she needed one.
She brushed her teeth, applied deodorant and moisturizer, and opened the bathroom door. “Hey, Lex, where are my clothes, anyway?”
He was sitting on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands so his long, wiry torso curved beneath his shirt. “Having them washed. Might be ready soon.”
“So…what, I’m stuck here until they’re ready?”
“Methinks my jeans may be some big on you, aye?”
“How long?”
“Half an hour, hour maybe. How you think we fill that time?” His eyebrows raised, his gaze focused on her bare thighs beneath the hem of his T-shirt. Chess looked back at him, her expression just as frank.
He wasn’t really a nice person, but again, neither was anyone else she knew. He’d kidnapped and taunted her. But he’d also helped, the night he killed that Lamaru in her apartment and, somehow more important, the night he’d driven out to the Morton house to retrieve her Hand for her.
She didn’t care much about him, but she liked him well enough and he was certainly sexy and appealing. He wasn’t—well, he wasn’t anyone she imagined she could ever be serious about, and that was a good thing. If she’d felt anything real for him, any real trust or affection, if she’d had any sense they could have an actual future together, she wouldn’t even be able to consider letting him have what he so obviously wanted. But what connection there was between them was based on nothing more than mutual attraction and mutual semitrust, and she wouldn’t have any regrets if she never saw him again after everything was finished. Which made him pretty close to perfect for the time being.
And in the last couple of days she’d almost been killed too many times to count, and there was a very good chance she would actually die in the days to come. So why not?
“I don’t know,” she said. “Got anything in mind?”
“Aye.” He sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Whyn’t you show me that ink?”

Chapter Twenty-five

“Once a person has begun to break the laws, they will continue unless punishment is received so their souls may be cleansed. For this reason it is important to watch your neighbors and your friends as well as your family, in order to protect them from damning themselves…”

—
Families and Truth
, a Church pamphlet by Elder Barrett

Her breath caught in her chest as she stepped forward, her feet cool on the smooth floor. About a foot away she stopped and lifted the edge of the shirt to her waist.
“Aw, I ain’t see it that well. Awful small, aye? Come closer.”
She took another step.
“Closer.”
Now she was close enough that his face was hidden. All she could see were the thick black spikes of his hair.
His fingers slipped under the top edge of her pan ties and pulled them down far enough to reveal the whole tattoo, the black-and-red tulip she’d gotten when she turned eighteen and entered the Debunker training program.
“Mighty pretty, tulip,” he said. His breath caressed her skin. “Why’s it for?”
She shrugged. “Just for fun.”
She’d had a foster mother once—one of the few who were nice to her—who’d grown tulips, dozens of them, before she died unexpectedly and Chess was sent somewhere else. She’d been only a little girl then, but she’d never forgotten those bright, steady flowers in a place that had almost been her home.
Goose bumps rose on her skin when he pressed his lips to it, his fingers curling and dragging her pan ties farther out of the way. He followed them with his mouth, scraping his teeth along her hip bone. His other hand slid around her waist, dipping down to caress her bottom, then back up to grab her opposite hip. One quick movement of his hands spun her around. Another pulled her back so she landed on the bed beside him. She lost track after that.
Somehow she was on her back, and he kissed and nibbled a line from her hip up over her ribs to her breasts, pushing the shirt out of his way then impatiently tugging it off her altogether. Somehow his lips were on hers, gentle so she could still breathe but sending shivers through her entire body just the same. Somehow her hands were fumbling with the button fly of his jeans, tugging them apart, hooking into the waist of his boxers and pushing them down so his erection bobbed against her thigh.
The scent of cigarettes and spice made their way through her clogged nose as he kissed her neck and shoulders, as he palmed her small breasts and took them into his mouth, and she lost herself in it. She didn’t have to think about anything, her embarrassment about the night before, her fear about facing Terrible again later, her worries about what lay in store when she tried to free Slipknot’s soul. All she had to do was feel his bare chest against hers when he took off his shirt, so warm and solid and male save the cool metal of the chain he wore around his neck. All she had to do was arch her back eagerly when he slipped his fingers between her legs to toy with the wet, swollen flesh there. All she had to do was gasp and bite back a scream when her body clenched and released so hard she even forgot her own name, which was the best part of all.
Somewhere in the hazy fog she felt him pull away from her and heard the sound of tearing foil, then he was back, kissing her, tugging her pan ties all the way off. She waited for that awkward moment she was used to, when it seemed most men forgot basic anatomical fact and attempted to insert themselves into her thigh, but it didn’t come. Instead he slid into her, straight and smooth, while she dug her fingers into his back and wrapped her legs around his.
He was bigger than she’d expected, but not painfully so. Just enough, filling her without making her uncomfortable, and he rolled his pelvis against hers, slowly exploring every inch of her until she thought she might explode. She raised her hips to meet his steady thrusts, begging him to go faster, harder.
“Aye, tulip,” he whispered. “Sweet…damn sweet…”
Chess mumbled some sort of assent and forced his lips back to hers. Breathing didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, because he was speeding up, slamming into her with a single-minded force she understood and shared. His left hand shifted; he slipped his thumb down to caress her most sensitive spot, and she rocked toward him, matching his rhythm, driving herself and letting herself be driven to another mind-shattering climax.
This time he followed her, their voices mingling in the still air of the room, until he finally collapsed on top of her.
“Tulip,” he said, kissing her neck, “You is one dangerous girl.”
“Only if you cross me. I am a witch, you know.”
“Thought y’all weren’t allowed to put the hurt on nobody.” He slipped away, reaching down and pulling the cool sheet over their bodies, then taking two cigarettes from the pack by the bed and lighting them. The movement emphasized the sinewy muscles of his chest and back. Not bad at all, she thought, reaching up to take the smoke.
“I’m just making a point.”
“Aye? I gotta point to make with one of your witches too, dig. You tell me how to find him.”
“What? Who?”
“Mr. Friendly Fist, there. Boil or Doyle or whatever the fuck. Got a few things to say to him.”
“Forget it. He’s in enough trouble. I’m going to have to tell the Elders what he did. The ritual, I mean, not the…other thing.”
“Ain’t no such thing as enough trouble for a guy like that.”
“I did hit him first.”
“Fuck that, tulip. No excuse. Tonight you gonna take me over there, show me him, aye?”
“Lex, really, I appreciate it but it’s not necessary.”
“Is for me. C’mon, tulip. I got me a sister, aye?” He looked up as the doorknob rattled, then leaned in to kiss her throat. “Look like your clothes here now. You want em, or you want me tell her come back in an hour?”
Almost two hours later she trudged up the stairs of her building, her clothes and body clean again but the pleasant sense of relaxation fading with every step.
There would probably be a note. Worse, he might actually be waiting for her. And she had a huge black eye and a swollen—but apparently not broken, thankfully—nose. How in the world was she going to pretend she didn’t remember anything that happened at Trickster’s, but that she did remember who hit her? Because saying she didn’t remember being beaten…that was too much.
Would he believe that she’d fallen down? Probably. That’s what she’d say, then, when she saw him. Meanwhile…she had to call Elder Griffin, tell him she needed to see him and the Grand Elder and find out if anyone had been trapped in the elevator. She needed to figure out how this related to the Mortons. Her initial thought was that Ereshdiran had followed her there, but that didn’t make sense. The first time she’d seen him had been there, and he’d appeared there most strongly. So he had to be somehow connected to the place. Maybe she should stop by there first, or ask Elder Griffin to meet her there. Especially now, with the Lamaru involved. Someone should know about it, someone higher up than herself.
As for Chester…she had no idea what to do. Hopefully Old-timer Earl would give her something she could use, assuming the place truly was haunted, which it seemed to be. Later she would retrieve the cameras she’d set up and confirm it.
Then…she didn’t know. She couldn’t just pretend to be incapable of handling the ghosts. Bump would wonder how she managed to keep her job. Neither could she handle the ghosts, considering the deal she’d made with Lex. Sometimes her addictions were more trouble than they were worth.
Her key ring jingled in the silent hall as she slotted the key into the lock and twisted it. The bolt slipped without a sound. Was that right? Possibly it was still lubed from the break-in. All the same she pulled her knife out of her pocket. The amulet was hidden in her bag, but whoever had come looking for it—be it Doyle or one of the people he was working with—didn’t know that.
She threw the door open, holding the knife in front of her with her free hand, but the kitchen was empty. For a minute she waited, standing in the doorway, until finally she had to take a breath. No one was here. She was being paranoid—not too hard, all things considered.
But the thought failed to calm her. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t remember the lock giving so easily the night before, and she was just as strongly on her guard then as she was now. And that smell, wasn’t there an odd kind of smell in the air? A high, musty, sweaty kind of odor?
She’d tidied up a little before she went out. Now she was grateful she’d taken the time, because she could see the searchers had been back. The stack of books she’d placed on the arm of the couch had been turned so their spines faced the wall instead of the seat. Her papers had been shuffled. The little piece of malachite she kept on the bookshelf had fallen back to the floor. She knelt and pulled out the Blackwood box, then popped the lid.
Everything seemed to be there, though it had definitely been rooted through. Ha. It wasn’t great news, because they would know the amulet had to be on her person, but she still couldn’t help but feel some plea sure at having thwarted them again. Although she’d certainly paid for it. Even smiling made her eye and nose ache.
Everywhere she looked turned up tiny evidences of strangers’ hands, pawing through her belongings. Her skin crawled. They might as well have touched her, stroking their hard, dirty hands over her body. Her amusement at having won a small victory faded as reality set back in. Her home was all she had. The only place that was hers, even if it was rented. It was private. It was where she could be alone. And now someone had invaded that privacy, stolen it from her, as everything else had always been taken from her her whole life.
She didn’t want to look anymore. She didn’t want to do any of this anymore. She just wanted to go to bed.
Someone waited for her there.
He lay on top of the covers, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach. Chess stared, her breath stuck in her chest, her mouth desert dry, almost unable to take in the gaping wound at his throat, the tiny runes carved into the exposed skin of his scrawny chest. The symbol of the Lamaru on his forehead, lurid and bold like a rash.
Brain was dead.

Chapter Twenty-six

“It’s tempting to view faking a haunting as an easy way to earn money. After all, the Church has promised to protect us, and to make amends when it fails. But be warned! You will be caught. Debunkers are among the most highly trained, intelligent, and skilled employees in the Church, and they are not easily fooled.”

—
Families and Truth
, a Church pamphlet by Elder Barrett

She flew to the door and flung it open, interrupting Terrible mid-knock. The sight of him hit her almost as hard as seeing Brain’s poor skinny body on her bed.
“Where—what?” He started into the apartment then stopped dead, his face paling. “They get you, Chess? They waiting for you?”
“What? No, no, nobody’s here, I—”
“Who then? Who hit you?”
“I—” What was she going to tell him? She’d thought of something, but it faded under the blazing fury in his eyes. “No, I fell down, that’s all.”
“It were Mr. Clean, aye? What the fuck, Doyle, you left with last night. Him.”
“No, I—How did you know?”
“Watched you. Watched, damn it, thinking you’d be safe.” He shook his head. “Knew I shouldn’t just let you go, fuck, why’d I just—” The flat of his hand slammed into the wall with enough force to make the whole thing shake, once, twice. He braced his palms on it and leaned forward, staring at the floor.
“He hurt you?”
“What?”
“Did he—did he hurt you. Dig?” He glanced at her, his face mottled with rage, his eyes black holes.
“Oh. No.”
He nodded, then nodded again as if he was trying to convince himself of something. “Right. Right.”
“I’m fine.”
Well, at least her worries about how she would face him again were gone. Tension broken. Maybe she should thank Doyle.
“Right.” He shoved one hand through his hair, resting it for a minute on the back of his neck. “Where Brain, then?”
She led the way, guilt slowing her footsteps. There was no way to look at Brain’s death as not being her fault, no way at all, even if she hadn’t been aware of it at the time. She’d let Doyle in, she’d even given him the kid’s name. She hadn’t searched hard enough for him, had forgotten about him. Yes, she had a lot of other things going on, but still…he was just a boy, and now he was dead, and she could have saved him.
Terrible stopped by the bed. “Them runes, do they trap he soul, too?”
“No. They’re just random. They’re not even from the same set. I think they’re a calling card, you know? As if I need one.”
“Damn. Poor kid.” He shook his head. “You got any ideas who done it? Who in the Church, meaning?”
“Yeah, actually. Um. I think it was Doyle.”
His nostrils flared.
“See, I was thinking about it la—this morning. Brain was here the other day, but he took off right after Doyle arrived. I didn’t think anything of it, I thought he was just nervous to have anyone here, but now…Doyle was snooping around in my apartment, too, one night when I left the room. And he was the one who first told me about the Dreamthief. He said a few of us had seen him and wanted to ask me about it. He wanted me to go to the Grand Elder with him and a couple of other people, to tell them what was going on.”
“Figure he playing you on that? Trying to sniff out your knowledge?”
“Basically.”
Terrible reached over and closed Brain’s eyes. “Poor kid,” he said again, then looked up. “Aye. So here’s the day I got. Bump waits for us out in the chiller, dig, where he got the body resting. Old-timer Earl visit the pipes on Forty-fifth round three most days, we stop there after. Then let’s us head to that Church, see who we can talk to. That fucker give you names? Other people seen the thief?”
She nodded.
“Good. We talk with them. Maybe you check with them Elders, give them the know. Cool?”
The clock next to her bed told it was just past two. “What about Brain?”
“Bump got people take care of it. Might want to buy you some new bedding, though.”
“Yeah. I already figured I would.” Tears sprung to her eyes, stinging the tender flesh, and she turned away lest he see them. Why her home, of all places? She didn’t know if she would ever feel safe there again. Even the wards she’d put on the doors hadn’t kept them out—of course not, Lamaru or Church employees would know how to undo them with ease.
Her small, spartan bedroom with its plain gray walls and watermarked ceiling had never looked so cold. New bedding, hell. She’d have to buy a new bed. She couldn’t imagine ever putting her own body where Brain’s had been.
She cleared her throat, aware he was watching her but unwilling to acknowledge it. The tension she’d thought had disappeared curled around her, around both of them. What was he thinking?
“I guess we should go, then,” she said finally. “Just let me, um, let me change, okay?”
He nodded. “Whyn’t you use a different room. I’ll stay here with him.”
“Thanks.” She opened her closet, gathering a dark red top and jeans, then crossed to her dresser. Feeling a little stupid, she turned her body so he wouldn’t see her adding clean pan ties and a bra to the pile in her arms, then folded the jeans over them.
“Where’d you stay last night, anyways? Not here, aye, and not with Doyle, guessing.”
“Um. No. I got a hotel room.” She glanced back, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead his gaze was fixed out the narrow window.
“Good idea. Hey. You know them people, live there?”
“What people?”
“Cross yon street. I see right in their place. This window awful small, so they probably ain’t see in here, but…how’s the other windows? The living room, say? You think anyone see in?”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
He edged to the side when she stepped near, letting her take over the window. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be so close to her.
He was right about the view. She could see in the window across the street, if the curtains were open. She’d never really wondered if they could see into her room for the very reason he’d mentioned. The window was narrow, the wall thick, and she hardly spent time in here anyway except to sleep or dress. She never brought people here. Never men. Sometimes to the apartment itself, but in her bedroom…no.
“I think I left the curtains open in the living room last night. They’re closed now.”
“How about that big stained-glass window? Anybody see through that?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We ask anyway, cool? Been thinking about the blood on yon floor. When they break in? Only ain’t no blood in the hall or nothing. Only your place. Seems kinda odd, aye, no blood dripping. So I figure maybe they got a place near here they stay, send somebody over to clean up the hall, but ain’t bother with your place whatever reason? Maybe the blood some kind of magic, something like that? A warning?”
Fuck. Why couldn’t he just be stupid, just once? Lex’s men must have wrapped the bodies in plastic or something.
“It didn’t feel like a spell,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe someone interrupted them cleaning up.”
“All the more reason to ask up, aye?”
She nodded and glanced at him. He stood by the wall, almost pressed against it. “Listen, Chess…”
Shit. “Hey, I should, um, apologize,” she said before he could continue. “I think I was pretty fucked up last night, I don’t really remember much of anything. Did I…did I act strange, when I saw you? I did see you, didn’t I?”
His face didn’t move for a long moment. Then he looked down, shaking his head. “Naw. Naw, you was fine. Don’t worry none, aye?”
“Thanks.”
Silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Chess felt sticky, as if her deceit had turned into a thin layer of grime and covered her whole body. “I should get dressed,” she said.
She pulled her shirt over her head, arranged it over her hips, and grabbed the phone. Time to call Elder Griffin, she guessed, waiting while the phone rang, hoping he would pick up his line himself.
He didn’t. Randy Duncan did.
“Chessie, how are you?”
Her brow wrinkled. Why was he answering in Griffin’s office? “Fine, Randy, what’s up.”
“I’ve been talking to Elder Griffin. About…about some of the strange stuff going on lately.”
“Strange?”
Pause. “You haven’t heard?”
“No.”
“Somebody broke into the building last night. Well, they didn’t break in, but they managed to get down to the platform and pull the fuses. The elevator, the train, everything was shut down. It even looked like they’d worked the City doors, tried to get in there. And I thought I…never mind.”
“No, what? You thought you what?”
“Have you seen anything odd lately? I mean…like a ghost, but a strong one?”
She bit her lip. “No, why?”
“I just, I heard about it, then I…Look, have you seen Doyle lately?”
“Why?” It wasn’t original, but it would do.
“I think something’s going on. With Doyle. I thought I saw him last night, around ten, running across the lawn. I think maybe somebody’s after him, Chessie. Somebody who wants to hurt him, maybe hurt all of us. I’m worried about him, you know? He seems really nervous lately. And I thought you might know why.”
“Sorry, Randy. I don’t really talk to Doyle very much, you know.”
She heard him breathing over the line for a second before he spoke. “Right. Okay, well, listen. If you do, or if you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him? But don’t tell him why. I just want to help him, I mean, if we would all just be a little closer to one another, really band together, we could accomplish so much more. And I told Elder Griffin everything I know and he agrees.”
Typical Randy. Next he’d be telling her love made the world go round. What a fucking sap he was.
She rung off and sat down on the couch. So Randy had seen the thief, too. He hadn’t said so in as many words but that had to be what he meant. And he’d seen Doyle right around the time of her attack. Awfully damning.
It should have been difficult to believe Doyle would do such a thing. It wasn’t. Doyle thought he was above everyone else, smarter and better-looking and more skilled. It was that arrogance that had attracted her to begin with, wasn’t it? The unconscious knowledge that he didn’t really give a shit about anyone but himself, wouldn’t put any pressure on her? Was it so strange to think someone so aggressively self-centered might get involved with Lamaru?
If her life had taught her anything, it was that you never really knew what people had going on beneath the surface. People were shit. The only difference between them and animals was people felt the need to hide it.
That was why she hadn’t quite bought it when Doyle showed up trying to sweet-talk her. It was one thing to fall into bed with someone because you wanted to. It was another thing to be duped into it with bullshit.
Oh, Doyle…She shook her head. It was so much better to know you were nothing of importance. She might have done a lot of things she was ashamed of but at least she hadn’t ever gotten confused about that.