Chasing Magic Read online

  The witch dropped his shoulder, ready to hit her again. To hit her properly this time, while Mr. Darnell held her defenseless. Nice.

  And, nope, she wasn’t going to let them do that.

  The witch checked his swing when she leaned forward as much as she could, trying to bend over completely so Mr. Darnell would rise from the floor. He pulled back harder, his arm tightening around her throat. She kept leaning. Lights started sparking behind her eyes, red and green fireworks of imminent death bright against the figure of the witch, the tackily tasteful living room.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it one more second, she stood up straight. Fast. So fast Mr. Darnell didn’t have time to react; he kept pulling her, and they both tumbled to the floor, the witch’s fist barely missing her.

  With Mr. Darnell beneath her and the witch leaning over, she kicked out with her right leg, managed to catch the witch in his rather ample stomach, and sent him stumbling a few steps away. Her elbow dug into the soft space below Mr. Darnell’s rib cage. His arm around her loosened—not a lot, but enough for her to sit up and start to roll off him.

  Roll right into the barrel of the gun.

  “Stand up.” Mrs. Darnell’s voice didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t leave Chess’s face. “Come on, get up.”

  Great. This was just great. How many people had she busted in her four-year career? Almost exactly four years, in fact. Dozens. Dozens of people. None of them had ever tried this shit with her.

  That could have been because if she had any suspicions they might, she asked the Squad for backup, of course. Where the hell were they?

  Her legs still felt weird from the spell. That energy hadn’t faded completely. She risked a glance at the witch, saw him standing with his fists clenched, whispering something. Another spell. Wonderful.

  “Mrs. Darnell, I don’t think you want to do this.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” Mrs. Darnell’s narrowed eyes shot beams of cold hatred at Chess. “I think you’re really, really wrong.”

  “Killing a Church employee is automatic grounds for execution. Not to mention we get a special dispensation so we can haunt you until that execution happens. I really—”

  “You idiot. How the hell did you manage to catch us, being that stupid? I don’t want to kill you, no. But I will, unless you sign those forms and give us our money.”

  “They won’t—”

  “Shut up.”

  Chess shut up. What was she going to do, argue with the woman holding a gun to her face? Besides, she wanted to think.

  Mrs. Darnell had obviously held a gun before, used one before. Both of her hands wrapped tight around the gun’s butt, and her arms bent slightly to absorb its kick. Her entire stance indicated complete confidence. The safety was off. “Now. Get the forms or whatever you need. Slowly.”

  “You won’t be able—”

  “Oh, but we will. We’re all ready to go. You didn’t think we’d stick around here, did you?”

  Mr. Darnell stood up. “I’ll take the gun, Lois.”

  “No. If I take my eyes off her, she’ll move.”

  No, she wouldn’t. The witch’s spell grew stronger again, and this time she knew if she tried to say the Banishing words she’d be shot. This was ridiculous. She did not spend her whole life fighting to end up shot in some over-mortgaged suburban ranch house.

  Might as well take a chance. She dropped to the floor, pushing herself forward so she hit Mrs. Darnell’s legs. The gun went off as Mrs. Darnell staggered back.

  Chess hadn’t been hit. Excellent. She was deaf but she hadn’t been shot.

  She raised her fist—like lifting a ten-pound weight through a tub of dense foam—and punched Mrs. Darnell in the knee as hard as she could.

  Another explosion from the gun. Mrs. Darnell fell on top of her. Chess tried to roll over and push her off; the woman was surprisingly heavy, but she slipped a little. Enough for Chess to shift herself to the left, enough to find Mrs. Darnell’s right hand still clutching the gun.

  The witch’s voice grew louder, the energy in the air darker and thicker. If Chess didn’t get that gun away immediately, she was going to die, no question about it.

  She kicked back with her right leg, catching Mrs. Darnell somewhere, she didn’t know where for sure. Mr. Darnell had joined in the struggle, trying to pull his wife away and help her up, but Mrs. Darnell was apparently having too much fun trying to bite Chess and punching her in the legs and side. Chess kicked again, and again, her leg screaming from the effort—it was so heavy, so fucking heavy—until she somehow managed to hit Mrs. Darnell in the face.

  The woman’s grip on the gun loosened. Only for a second, but it was enough. Chess snatched it away, raised it above her head, and pulled the trigger.

  The picture window at the front of the room exploded; shards of glass filled the air, a deadly tidal wave of sharp edges and splinters that could slice veins, dust that could choke.

  For a second everything stopped. Everything except Chess; she’d been waiting for that pause, hoping for it, and she used it—it and the power rushing back to her, since the witch had stopped speaking—to push Mrs. Darnell away once and for all, to stand up and hold the gun on the two of them still on the floor.

  The front door flew open—the Black Squad, their own guns drawn, their all-black uniforms and helmets like moving ink spots against the pale walls.

  Chess lowered the gun, looked over at them. “You’re late.”

  One of the Squad members glanced around the room, then back at Chess. “Any problems?”

  She grinned. Now that she had the gun, now that the Squad had arrived, relief and adrenaline buzzed through her body, and she felt cheerier than she had since … well, since that morning, anyway. “No. Not really.”

  Her body still ached three hours later, when she trudged up the stairs of her apartment building—a former Catholic church, renovated after Haunted Week proved all religions false—to the hall.

  Hers was the only apartment on that side of the L-shaped building, and the stained-glass window that made up the entire front wall of her living room was only one of the reasons she loved it. The privacy, the space—it was hers, something that was only hers, for all that it was just rented.

  Nobody came in without permission. Not anymore, not ever again.

  That didn’t stop people from visiting, though, at least it didn’t these days. Proof of that stood right outside her front door, slumped against the wall in that elegant lean he did so well. “Hey there, Tulip. Starting to wonder iffen you come home at all on the anymores, aye?”

  “Hey, Lex.” As always, a confusing mix of emotions tumbled through her head, through her chest. Happiness to see her friend, the desire for him to leave before Terrible got there, annoyance at the way he always just showed up and assumed he’d be welcome—what if Terrible had been with her? Just because he didn’t forbid Chess from seeing Lex didn’t mean he approved or liked the fact that she did.

  She didn’t approve of or like it, either. Nor did she approve of or like the small, insistent tingle of arousal low in her belly, but she couldn’t change it. For almost three months, seeing Lex waiting for her had signaled more drugs and at least a couple of orgasms. It took time to undo that sort of conditioning, no matter how completely in love she was with someone else and no matter how much Lex knew it.

  He bent to give her a kiss on the cheek—that familiar Lex smell washing over her—and smiled. “Figured I’d give you the hellos, me, see iffen you needed all anything.”

  “I can always use more.” A minute or so to unlock the three bolts on her door and release the magical wards she’d set up, and she led him into her kitchen.

  “Figured on that.” He reached into the front pocket of his battered jeans and tugged out a wrinkled plastic sandwich bag half full of her little white best friends.

  She took it. Her pillbox was only about a third empty, she’d just refilled— Wait a minute.

  She gave him a sharp look.
“Why are you really here?”

  “Ain’t I can come on a visit? Thinking you ain’t give Blue the what’s-up she brings sheself here, so why I getting it?”

  She washed four Cepts down with water. “Because Blue doesn’t only show up when she wants something from me. And because I know you.”

  “Know you, too. Like how mean you is.” He walked the few more steps into her living room, plunked himself down on her new couch. Well, maybe not exactly new—she’d had it for about two months—but it still seemed new.

  Without asking she grabbed a beer from the fridge and handed it to him.

  He nodded his thanks. “Coursen … now you mentioning it, could be maybe I got a favor you could do me.”

  Uh-huh. She let the totally-not-fooled expression sit on her face another few seconds. “Really. Like what?”

  “Thinking maybe you ain’t mind working me up a chatter with Terrible.”

  If she’d had any liquid in her mouth she would have sprayed it everywhere in shock. Luckily she didn’t, but she sort of sputtered anyway. “What—but—why? Why would you want to talk to him?”

  “Got my reasonings, I do.”

  Right. Like trying to kill him, presumably, since Lex wanted nothing more than to take over all the areas of Downside currently run by Terrible’s boss—her regular dealer—Bump. Without Terrible, Bump would be a lot easier to defeat, and everyone knew it.

  She eyed him with extra suspicion. “Why, Lex?”

  “Gots some stuff to chatter on with him.” He leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “Know what thought you got, I do, but ain’t that way. Just wanna sit us down, is all, nothing on the extra.”

  Terrible would never go for it. Never. The only time he’d even acknowledged Lex’s existence as anything but an asshole he’d enjoy killing was the night three months or so ago when she’d almost died, and the two men had driven around Triumph City to find her. And that had required her to almost die. Nothing short of that would make him agree to speak to Lex again.

  “I don’t think—”

  He sighed. A heavy, put-upon sigh, the kind at which he excelled. “Shit. Gotta give you the swears? I swear on it, Tulip. Ain’t gonna do shit to him, I ain’t.”

  It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. Well, it was, a little, but mostly it was just … shit.

  “Notice you ain’t got so much worryin on me, you ain’t. Gotta give you the thanks for that one.” His tone was dry, barely on the right side of sarcastic, but it pinched her all the same. Yeah, that was kind of shitty of her, wasn’t it? Especially since anyone who would bet on Lex in a fight between him and Terrible—shit, anyone who’d bet against Terrible in any fight—might as well throw their money into the bay.

  She hesitated, and he took his shot. The one shot guaranteed to work on her, and she knew he knew it. “Ain’t never given you the asks on the befores, aye, and seems I recall doing you favors plenty.”

  “Fine.” It went against everything she wanted, but he had her there. He’d done her a lot of favors, done a lot for her. The least she could do was ask Terrible to talk to him.

  It might mean spending a night alone—Terrible didn’t enjoy being reminded that she was friends with Lex, that for a while she’d been naked friends with Lex—but she didn’t have much choice. Hell, she had a full pillbox and a nice-sized backup now, for free, and that was another favor.

  He grinned. “Aye, that’s real good, real good. Knew you gimme the stand-up. Counted on you, I did.”

  Yeah. She was certain of that.

  She was also certain that Terrible would arrive at any minute and that, whatever she’d agreed to, he wouldn’t be thrilled to find Lex there. She was also blessedly aware that her pills were starting to hit, her muscles relaxing, peaceful cheer seeping into her head and making her feel light. Making the situation seem not so bad.

  Good thing, too, because the sound of the Chevelle’s engine drifted through the window. One thing about stained glass: It was beautiful, and it made the room look like the inside of a jewel box when the sun hit it, but it wasn’t particularly well insulated.

  Lex heard it, too. “Hey, lucky chances. Sounding like he got heself here on the right now, aye? Just have myself the wait, catch him he gets inside.”

  “Yeah, lucky chances.” Fuck. Double fuck. For one mad second she thought of kicking him out, pushing him out the door and slamming it behind him. But what difference would it make? Terrible would run into him in the hall or as they both crossed the lobby that had once been the nave.

  Oh well. Worrying about it wasn’t going to make it any better, and there was no way it could be good.

  Terrible’s key turned in the lock; her nerves gave a fluttering twist in her chest as he stepped inside.

  His smile dropped like a guillotine blade when he looked past her and saw Lex leaning back on her couch, with his arm along the back and one foot propped on her battered coffee table. “The fuck you doin here?”

  Lex opened his mouth, but Chess was faster. “Hey. Um, Lex just got here, he wanted—actually, he wants to talk to you, it’s why he came. I didn’t know he was coming, he just showed up.”

  Wow. That didn’t sound guilty at all. She met his dark eyes, hoping he could see the truth behind hers. Trusting that he would, or at least trying to trust, because he needed her to trust and she wanted to.

  “Wanna have me a chatter,” Lex said.

  Terrible glanced up. “No.”

  “Aw, c’mon now, only the speech, dig, not—”

  Terrible shook his head. His left hand rose to grip the back of Chess’s neck, a possessive gesture she wasn’t sure he realized he was making. “Ain’t saying no to chatter. Sayin no to whatany it is you want.”

  “Aye?” Lex lit a cigarette, leaned forward to pick up Chess’s cheap plastic ashtray, and set it beside him on the couch. “Thinking you wanna make Tulip here happy, you listen up.”

  Terrible looked at her, What the fuck? written all over his face. Too bad she didn’t know, either.

  “Coursen, maybe you ain’t wanting her happy? You just gimme the tell, then, I see what I can—”

  Terrible lunged. Chess moved a second before, knowing it was coming. She leapt in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring the weird yelp that came out of her mouth in her amazement that she’d managed to catch him at all. “Don’t, just … just don’t, okay? Please?”

  It didn’t make much difference, really; he could have kept going without even noticing the extra weight of her body. But something—maybe her presence, maybe her words, maybe the fact that it was her house—stopped him.

  “Talk.” His anger vibrated against her skin even as she stepped away from him. This was so not the way she’d wanted the evening to go.

  Lex smiled. He hadn’t moved once. “Only a tease there, aye? Ain’t meaning harm by it.”

  Damn him, that whole fucking thing had been a ploy, a game to see what it would take to make Terrible mad. Information Lex could use, a weakness he could exploit—as if he needed another one of those.

  She hadn’t figured out a way to neutralize the sigil carved into Terrible’s chest, and she couldn’t risk just slicing the skin off even if she could stomach the idea. For all she knew, that sigil, the one whose very presence was testimony to her crimes—killing a psychopomp hawk coming to claim his soul, and using her knife to make the sigil itself—was all that actually kept him alive.

  She didn’t regret it. Never could regret it; if she hadn’t done it he’d be dead. But she did wish to hell it hadn’t made him so vulnerable. Passing out in the presence of dark magic was not a good thing, especially not when Lex knew about it.

  Lex indicated one of her lumpy chairs, waving his hand as if he were lord of the manor or something. “Ain’t you wanting to have you a sit-down?”

  “Talk.”

  “Aw, c’mon now, Terrible, ain’t needing to get all fratchy, aye? Let’s us have a real chatter, friendly-like. True thing.”

  Terribl
e didn’t move. This was not going to go well; Chess knew that, of course, but that stupid hope would never go away, even though she knew how useless it was.

  Lex paused for a second, then shrugged. “Guessing I ain’t gotta give you the knowledge who’s in charge my side now, aye?”

  When Terrible didn’t reply, he continued. “I gots meself some plans, I do. Changes coming, if you dig me.”

  Great. Why didn’t he just threaten Terrible outright? Despite what some people thought—despite what he himself thought—Terrible wasn’t stupid. Especially not about shit like this.

  She glanced over at him, watching him pull a cigarette from the pocket of his bowling shirt and light it with his black steel lighter. The six-inch flame cast a faint glow that told her maybe turning on some lights would be a good idea. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour or two, no, but … it felt dark in there. Dark like Terrible’s anger, dark like the world. Dark like the emptiness inside her.

  “Big changes. Ain’t having no more game-plays, I ain’t.”

  Smoke drifted into the air in a thin, curling stream, hiding part of Terrible’s face behind it, hiding his expression and thoughts in a fragrant, ever-moving veil.

  Chess knew what he was thinking anyway; she could still feel it throbbing in the air.

  Lex lifted his beer. The smirk had left his face, at least. “Aye, seein you dig. Could use me someone worth trusting, gimme the help-out. Someone make heself more on the money side than he getting now, guessing. Like bein a partner, takin he own piece.”

  Oh no. No, he couldn’t be saying that, could he? How in the hell could he honestly think Terrible would go to work for him—with him?

  Terrible looked as if he had the same thought. His eyes narrowed; his head tilted to the left. Waiting. Watching, that dead-eye glare like a snake about to strike.

  “Thinkin you come on over, do you work for me, aye? What you do now, only my side. With me. Make it all worth up, I will.”

  “No.”

  “Aw, now, why ain’t you giving it a thought, leastaways? Make Tulip happy, ain’t you thinkin? Us not tryna make each others dead, be a cheer-up for her.”