Unholy Ghosts Page 21

  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 pleasure 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 panties 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.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “That no god exists is Fact, which is Truth. That the soul exists is also Fact and Truth. That the soul must be protected, that it can be used by the unscrupulous, is a most terrible Fact, and the Church condemns those who would seek to do this.”

  —The Book of Truth, Rules, Article 154

  Not quite an hour later, she followed Terrible across the flat, brown scrub grass at the edge of a long row of dilapidated storage units and down the block. The steady beat of a drum came from the far end of the row; a lot of bands rented places like these to practice, especially in Downside where neighbors with noise complaints used fists and knives rather than phones to make sure things quieted down.

  Terrible’s broad shoulders blocked her view of the inside of the storage space, but the chilly air flowed around him and blasted her before she reached the doorway.

  Cold indeed. Bump had apparently had this place modified. Dull steel lined the walls, broken only by the industrial mesh faces of heavy freezing units. Terrible had said “chiller” but she hadn’t thought he meant this. Her thin cardigan was no match for it. Might have been nice if he’d warned her, but then he looked completely undisturbed by it himself. His bare arms didn’t even roughen with goose bumps as he staked himself a spot off to the left.

  Bump stood in the middle of the room, wrapped in a heavy fur coat, with a black silk top hat covering his fuzzy head and unnecessary sunglasses hiding his pale face. He looked like the Abominable Snowpimp.

&nbs
p; “Well, well. Miss Chess gave up to come here after it all. Why ain’t my fuckin airport runnin, ladybird? Thought we had ourselves a fuckin deal, yay?”

  The words made her head hurt. Or maybe it was the cold. All she knew was by the time Bump finished speaking he sounded like he was talking through a tin can and her temples throbbed.

  “Takes time, Bump,” she managed.

  “Bump ain’t got time. Got shipments. Got them pills waitin, got lashers need goin in my fuckin pockets. I ain’t get my fuckin pills, you ain’t get yon pills. You dig?”

  Without waiting for an answer he stepped to the side, sweeping his arm to the right with the air of a man showing off his new car.

  Slipknot’s body lay on a metal table, covered to the chest with a nubbly brown blanket that looked like it had been wrapped around car parts then wrung out in swamp water before being placed on his ruined skin.

  “Bump thinkin maybe you take another fuckin lookie here, maybe you see all what you needs to see. What you say? Maybe you miss you a clue, it bein dark last time you fuckin see. Leastaways you give Bump some knowledge what thing we after, yay?”

  “He’s a—like a hybrid ghost,” she managed to say. Wanted to say, because her feet felt stuck to the floor and if she talked she could delay the moment when she had to look at the body.

  “What you meaning, hybrid? Bits of other fuckin spooks and all? How the fuck that happen?”

  Chess glanced back, saw Terrible open his mouth. Fine. Let him explain it; she didn’t want to. Felt like trying to would make her even sicker than she already was.

  Slipknot’s heart gave another horrid squelching beat when she stepped closer. The condition of his body had deteriorated further since she last saw him, or perhaps it was simply that without the blazing sunset gilding his body she saw him as he truly was.

  Ghastly white skin like candle wax, covered with a fine sheen of what looked like oil but was probably some sort of secretion she didn’t even want to think about. The cold had slowed the process of decay, but hadn’t stopped it the way it would if he hadn’t been powering a spell; the magic keeping his soul trapped warmed his corpse enough to keep him from freezing.