It exploded.
Chess hit the cement with a thud that would have hurt if she hadn’t been so fucking grateful that the pain inside her had finally stopped. Would have hurt, too, if she wasn’t just a bit loaded. Too bad her pills didn’t do much for magic-induced pain, but she couldn’t have everything.
And that almost didn’t matter, not at that moment when the pain had disappeared, the symbol had disappeared. That the memory never would was something she’d just have to deal with; hell, it could join the gang already in her head, the gang that poked her and slapped her and yelled at her every chance it got.
Her legs felt limp and disjointed, like stilts rather than her own body, but she managed to stand on them anyway. Before her lay the charred remains of the symbol, Jia’s body like a misshapen lump of coal inside it. No longer a symbol but a scar, a black wound in the cement, crusted and bubbled like the pipe room floor. Heat still radiated from it, too, and the sharp too-dry smell of burning hung so thick in the air she tasted it.
The others stirred, moaned. Tried to rise themselves, all of them looking like animated scarecrows, wobbling and leaning on awkward feet.
She waited until Beulah was standing. She could at least do that. But the second that woman was upright, she was ready. No discussion; Chess didn’t trust the discussion to any of them. But she knew what she’d felt.
“Okay, Beulah, can you take me home now?”
Air-conditioning blasted from the dash of Beulah’s car—the sleek expensive one Chess had noticed in the school parking lot. She should have guessed.
They’d been driving in silence for ten minutes or so, broken only by the Operation Ivy disc in the stereo. Discomfort grew in Chess’s stomach, in her head, creeping down her arms and legs. Damn. She thought she’d be over that, that her exhaustion and the memory of pain that made her muscles feel like hot wet rags would erase it, but apparently not.
She hauled her bag up from the floor. At least there were pills. Just holding them made her feel better; swallowing them made her feel a lot better, and in fifteen minutes or so she wouldn’t care about anything or anyone. She couldn’t fucking wait.
But for now … “Hey. Um. I’m sorry. About earlier.”
“Why are you sorry? Is it because you realize you acted like a cunt, or is it because of my brother?”
Chess stared at her for a second, at her smooth profile sharp against the candlelit windows and fuzzy streetlights. “Are you serious?”
“I think so, yes.”
Ridiculous. Whatever impulse had led her to apologize, it was well and truly gone, and wasn’t she grateful for that. She should have gone ahead and talked about Slobag’s witch and the pipe room instead. “Forget it.”
“I don’t think it’s such a bizarre question. Just because you do doesn’t mean it isn’t valid.”
“It means I don’t have to answer it.”
“No, you don’t. Just like I don’t have to give you a ride. I could have let Lex drive you. Hell, I could have let you fucking walk. But by all means, don’t worry about your apology.”
For a second Chess wished she had let Lex drive her; the only thing that had stopped her was knowing Terrible would probably be watching, would be waiting for her. Having Lex drop her off in front of him would not be a good idea.
Too late, anyway. “Why are you like this?” she asked.
Beulah glanced at her; the light caught her face for a second, gave Chess an impression of drawn-together brows and a frown. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means why are you like this? Are you always this big a bitch, or am I just lucky? I said something kind of shitty. Sue me. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you, a total stranger who hasn’t exactly been cheering me on so far, were trying to be pally with me and not just get something out of me like the rest of your family does.”
Beulah breezed the red light at Thirty-seventh and Ace. “I’m not a total stranger.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. You fucked my brother for months, in my house. He talked about you. I’ve washed your clothes, don’t forget. I’ve seen you almost naked.”
The words fell on Chess’s head like cold raw eggs. Fuck. Beulah had seen her almost naked, at least in her underwear; that first night, the night Slobag’s men kidnapped her from her building. He’d told her then that he’d had his sister Blue search her.
“Didn’t know the search was that thorough,” she said, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Give me a break. It’s not like I gave you an internal or something.”
“Oh, thanks. I’m really grateful for that.”
“Hey, be glad I did it and not one of the musclemen. How’d you like to have one of those guys pawing you while you were unconscious?”
The first wave of the Oozers hit her, swirled into her head and made her cheeks tingle, pulling her lips into a soft smile despite her irritation. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.”
“Right.”
The lights outside the car windows started to streak, dazzling tails of bright yellow that grew longer and longer. Fuck, that felt good. She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to stop talking and just sit feeling it. Even better, she wanted to close her eyes and sit feeling it with Terrible, in his lap, or with her head on his chest.
Her phone beeped, and her heart skipped with relief. A reply to the text she’d sent when she got into the car; he’d be there, he’d wait. More of the darkness in her head, wrapped around her, faded away. He’d be there, she wouldn’t have to be alone. Wouldn’t sleep alone wishing he was with her, because he would be.
“Good news?”
“Terrible’s going to meet me, he’s going to be waiting. So I get to spend some time with him. We have the whole night.”
“Did you always want to be with him? Even when you were with Lex?”
One problem with Oozers, especially when coupled with brain-soothing happiness: they made her lips as loose as her muscles. Well, she’d started it—she hadn’t meant to, but she apparently had—so she might as well finish it, despite the mental cringe. “Um, I don’t— I guess I did, yeah, but I didn’t know I did, if that makes sense.”
“Because you guys were just friends.”
“Right.”
“So what happened? Did he kiss you, or something? Is he a good kisser? I guess he is, why would you be with him if—”
“We’re not talking about this.” At least she still had the presence of mind to clamp down on that particular topic. On any Terrible-related topic, honestly, but particularly on that topic. None of Beulah’s business. None of anybody’s business. It was hers, something secret she shared with him, and nobody was going to take that away from her, not ever. She’d kill anyone who tried.
Not to mention the sick sort of squirm in her head, sending waves of panicky irritation through her body. How much did Beulah actually know about her? Wasn’t it bad enough she knew about her habit, that she knew all about Chess’s relationship—such as it was—with Lex, probably right down to how often she went over there and what sort of things they did to each other? She had to discuss Terrible, too?
That was too much, way too much. Beulah wasn’t her friend. Wasn’t anyone she trusted. And even if she had been, she wouldn’t want Beulah to know that shit about her. Once people thought they knew someone, they started expecting that someone to care what they thought or felt or said; they thought their information or instinct obligated that someone.
Chess would be damned if she was going to let Beulah feel that way about her, dig her oh-so-sensitive little hooks into Chess’s skin and tug until it tore away so she could inspect Chess’s soul with curious, satisfied fingers covered in blood. “Not ever.”
“I was just making conversation.” They turned onto Forty-seventh; Cross was only a block down. Almost home. She started scanning the side of the road, looking for the Chevelle, but didn’t see it.
Then again, she could barely see any of the cars that
slid so slowly past her, their edges soft in the now-sparkling world.
Beulah started talking again. Chess didn’t pay attention. Where was the Chevelle?
Her own car sat on the street, quiet and peaceful, but the Chevelle wasn’t there. If it hadn’t been for the Oozers coating her with an artificial layer of calm, she would have panicked. As it was she just felt sick.
And Beulah kept talking, her voice an irritating tickle on Chess’s neck, like a hair she couldn’t find.
Until she caught something. “What?”
“What? This is it, right?”
“Yeah. What did you just say?” Her eyes wanted to roll back in her head; she floated a couple of feet above her body. Amazing.
“About Aros?”
“Yes, yeah. What—what did you say about him?”
Beulah looked at her oddly. Was she slurring her words? Not that she gave a fuck, but she still wondered.
“I asked if you’d been to Aros’s apartment near the school.”
“Where was it?”
“What, his apartment?”
She wanted to be sarcastic, but she was too high for it. Beautiful. “Yeah. Where was it?”
“It’s behind the school, on Twenty-first. Twenty-first and Foster. You didn’t know?”
That hadn’t been in her case file. No dispensation to rent an apartment had been noted, no other address.
It should have been. If he’d been sleeping right near the school, he should have—would have—written it down. Even as he freaked out and broke down or whatever, she’d think he would have made some kind of note.
Not to mention, how did he manage to get an apartment down there so fast? In a part of Downside where to admit to being Church was akin to wearing a kill me now sign? The Church wasn’t too popular anywhere in Downside, but those east of Thirty-fifth made hating it a fetish.
Okay, maybe they wouldn’t kill a Church employee, but they sure as fuck wouldn’t rent to one. Even on her side of town she’d had to get a couple of Bump’s street dealers to talk to her landlord, had to bribe him to let her in, and it had been over a year before anyone even looked her in the face.
“How’d he get it? The apartment, I mean. How—how would he get that?”
“How would I know? I never went in. He had it, was all I know.”
“Is he still there, do you know? Can I see it—can you get someone to let me see it?” The question made her feel vulnerable, yeah, and maybe it was too much information to give Beulah, but she couldn’t help it.
“Probably, yeah. I’ll ask. And actually …” Beulah’s face split into a grin, the kind of quiet grin that meant the grinner was up to no good. Chess didn’t want to respond to that grin, but she couldn’t really help it. Not when her own cheeks felt so tight and cheerful, drawing her lips into a smile that would almost hurt if she dropped it; especially not when she heard the familiar rumble of the Chevelle’s engine and its headlights bathed the interior of Beulah’s car in silvery white for a few seconds before shutting off. He was there. He’d come for her.
“Actually, you could ask Monica about his place. She took her student group there once, I think.”
“Her plaid dress is horrible. It makes her look like a patterned pumpkin.” The words sounded funny, felt funny in her mouth.
Beulah laughed, that pretty, girlish laugh that sounded odd coming from her, especially when she was so viperish in general. “Think you’re high enough now?”
Was she kidding? The question was so odd, Chess stared at her for a second. “It’s never enough.”
A few seconds of fumbling with the door handle until it caught, while Beulah watched. “Thanks for the ride.”
She stepped out onto the soft dark street.
For the first time in hours she could breathe, really breathe, the familiar, comforting scents of leather and smoke and pomade, that enginey smell, invading her head, sinking into her muscles. The streets slid by; the Chevelle floated through them ten feet off the ground, fifteen.
“You right, Chess? Ain’t got hurt?”
“No, no. I felt the symbol’s energy and then it caught fire and exploded, but I’m fine. Just fine.”
He glanced at her, streetlights illuminating his face at intervals, washing over the scars, the deep-set eyes, the broken nose. She loved watching it. Loved him. “They get she body out first?”
“No, I started to do it, but—”
“What?” He looked so angry for a second she thought he was going to slam on the brakes, and braced herself. Well, braced herself as best she could; she didn’t think she could have picked up anything heavier than a cigarette at that particular moment. “They made you— Fuck. Shoulda fuckin known.”
His thigh was tense under her palm. Shit, she should have kept her mouth shut. But then what was she supposed to do, lie? “No, it, it wasn’t that bad. I had my gloves, you know, it just—the spell changes according to energy, like whatever energy it finds when you touch it. It wasn’t that bad, though, really.”
He shook his head, his anger still filling the car. “Sure it weren’t. ‘Swhy you tanked up soon’s you left, aye?”
She blinked. That stung. A lot. And what was she supposed to say in reply? Especially when it was true. “Are … are you mad at me?”
“What? Why? Naw, baby. Just ain’t can believe they made you do that, is all.”
Even high as she was, she could read the look on his face, and it clearly said she needed to drop the subject immediately. He wasn’t mad at her, sure, but he was mad enough at Lex, and she wanted him to cheer up before they got to his place. She had definite plans for once they arrived. The kind of plans that made her temperature go up several degrees.
It was already up a bit anyway, because he was there, and, she had to admit, kind of because he was so mad. It made her feel … cared about. No one had ever gotten mad on her behalf like that before, or upset that she wasn’t being treated the way they thought she should be. Most people in her life who’d seen her treated badly—and there were a fuck of a lot of them—had laughed or joined in. None of them clenched their fists around the steering wheel with murder in their eyes. Maybe it was wrong of her, but it made her feel good, and she couldn’t help it.
Still, she didn’t want to make him any madder. So instead of speaking she just sank back into her seat, watched the empty buildings go by, watched them appear in the distance then suddenly snap past, leaving streaks of black and gray behind them, until they reached his building.
The walk to his apartment took forever and no time at all, and then she was inside behind the heavy gray steel door. She always felt so small there; the building had been some kind of multilevel warehouse and he had an entire floor, one big wide rectangular room with black metal posts set at intervals to support the steel-beam ceiling. A single wall broke the space in half on the left side, creating a kitchen and living room. A bathroom hugged the other wall.
Her shoes made a dry scuffing sound against the cement floor as she crossed to the couch, planted in the middle of a gray carpet worn thin from feet and vacuums.
But it was comfortable, and cool, and she waited for him to join her with her perma-smile in place and her stomach doing cheery swoops. The familiar room welcomed her, the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner, the bookshelf, the rarely used TV and the often used stereo. If she hadn’t known whose place it was, she would have known anyway; it looked like him, smelled like him.
“So Slobag ain’t seemed to got any knowledge on it?” He appeared in front of her with a beer in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, the latter of which he handed her before sitting down with his arm along the back of the couch behind her.
She always felt so awkward at this part. Should she cuddle up to him, tuck herself under that arm and kiss his neck? She never did. Better to wait for him to do it, so she knew he wanted to. Forcing herself on him wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all her.
It all seemed so easy before they started “officially” doing wh
atever it was they were doing. Then she knew exactly what she wanted to do, and how. Sex was simple.
But affection, this whole relationship thing … wasn’t. It was complicated and messy and terrifying. Scarier even than almost everything she’d seen in the symbol at Mercy Lewis, and far more dangerous.
He was watching her expectantly. Had he— Oh, he’d asked her a question, hadn’t he? “What?”
“Askin if Slobag seemed like he got knowledge on that magic. Iffen he say aught make you think he do.”
“I don’t think so, no.” She took a swig of water, cool and crisp, and felt her eyes moisten. Hydration was good. He didn’t look quite so blurry that way. “I can’t be sure, but he seemed—I mean, he was—really pissed off when I suggested it might have been him.”
Terrible rubbed his chin, smiling behind his hand. “You said on it?”
“I did. He was all— Oh, fuck, did you know Eddie worked for him? He said Eddie worked for him. He was really surprised when I said Eddie was dead.”
The smile weakened. “You said on Eddie?”
“Beulah brought it up. I couldn’t, I couldn’t really think of a way to lie about it when she mentioned it, you know?”
She drank more water. Some of it spilled down her shirt; she giggled. Fuck, she felt good, better than she had in days. “He said his witch was busy, that’s why I was there. So he definitely has one, and he really didn’t like it when I sort of asked if his witch had done the ritual. Oh! And it’s a man. I asked about his witch and he said ‘he’ was busy. So it’s a man, his witch.”
Terrible nodded. His arm still rested on the back of the couch; she was acutely aware of it, almost touching her hair. If she tilted her head back it would touch. “That magic, that the one happened when we was inside? The one you felt, meaning. That one. Same as Eddie?”
Oh, good question. Good thing she had an answer, too. “I think so. I felt the energy again before it caught fire. It was different, in the structure, I mean, but I think it was the same as with Eddie. And it was definitely what was happening while we were—the male part of it was stronger than we felt—I mean, than I felt—inside. That felt more female, but I think that was the ghost. The sigil felt almost totally male. But it’s the same person. The same people. I think.”