Yes! “Of course. I thank you, sir.”
She followed him to the back, through the unsettling sea of corpses. She kept expecting spirits to rise, or the bodies themselves to move. Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag, reassuring herself that she had her supplies. Seeing the row of skulls on the far wall, all psychopomps, reassured her as well. Elder Lyle didn’t play around, it seemed. But then she wouldn’t have expected he did.
“Please sit,” he said, motioning to a stool.
Chess did, sliding it a bit farther away from the dead. “Sir, may I ask if Bill Pritchard’s body is here? I was the one who found him, he’s connected to my case.”
“Indeed.” Elder Lyle scooped some of the food from the Styrofoam, placed it in some sort of container in one of the machines. Water started pouring into it. “My, that looks like good food, too. Such a shame someone played with it.”
“Yes.” She sat silent for a moment, long enough to give him a chance to reply. Showing proper respect.
When he didn’t speak, though, and started pushing buttons on the machine, she went ahead. “Have you happened to complete your analysis of Mr. Pritchard yet? Cause of death, I mean, or maybe if he had any drugs in his system?”
“I have.” He pushed another button; the machine started to shake like a paint mixer.
“There were a lot of medications found in the apartment. I just wondered if those were in his bloodstream or not. Do you maybe have a report I can look at while I’m here, or—”
That was it. Medications. Beulah had said the prescribing physician on the pill bottles in Aros’s apartment was named Pritchard.
How the fuck did he fit in, then?
“He had medication in his system, yes. A very strong dose,” Elder Lyle continued, oblivious to her mental calculations. “That’s what killed him, at least indirectly. His lungs were mostly full of fluid. But the damage to the body … quite a bit of that was self-inflicted, pre-mortem. Drug-induced psychosis, I believe. Must have happened after the woman left.”
“What med— What woman?”
The machine stopped shaking but continued to emit a low-level whirring sound, broken by an occasional beep. “The woman with whom he’d had relations shortly before his death. She must have left before the psychosis kicked in. Either that, or she was a very sick individual.”
“You have her DNA? Could you get that from his— I guess that’s how you knew about her being there and—everything?”
Elder Lyle gave her a wry smile. “Indeed. I did get her DNA, at least partially. Sadly, it had deteriorated so I couldn’t get a full identification.”
Shit. So much for that, not that she’d expected anything different. Why would something work out right?
Chelsea’s energy had felt like Lucy’s, though. And Lucy’s DNA was on file. It wouldn’t matter so much, but it would be something. “But if you had one to match it with, could you?”
“To within close probability, yes. Not completely, but very close.”
They didn’t speak for another minute or so. Chess inspected the rest of the room; high iron-barred windows along the far wall above the psychopomp shelves let dull afternoon light in. The morning had started sunny, but as the hours passed, the clouds had started to threaten. She didn’t think the rain would wait much longer.
Just what she needed, a nice stormy afternoon to match her mood. “What drugs killed him?”
“He had a few in there.” Elder Lyle reached out, hit another button. “Chiefly, though, it seems to have been vanaprestone. That would be Vapezine, which I believe from the report I was given was what you found in the apartment?”
“Was that what they were?” Hey, it never hurt to look naive in front of an Elder, or at least, to look as if she didn’t recognize most medications at ten paces.
He nodded. “They were, and … Oh, dear.”
She knew. She knew from the look on his face, from the insistent beeping of the machine beside her, the one he’d been analyzing her food in. “Vapezine? In my food, right?”
“I’m afraid you are correct.” Muted shuffling whirs came from the printer in the corner; he crossed to it, plucked a sheet off the tray along with a file that sat beside it. “I hope you have a suspect? You know who did this?”
She took both from him when he handed them to her, the report on her food—a quick scan showed her someone had upended like thirty capsules into it, fuck—and the report on the body, which she could copy down into her notes before she handed them to Elder Griffin to pass to Goody Tremmell for the main files. “Yeah,” she said, giving him a quick smile of thanks. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”
She was lifting her fist to knock on Elder Griffin’s office door, her head spinning, when he opened it. “Cesaria! I have been waiting for you, dear. I am free at the moment, should you wish me to accompany you.”
Shit. Much as she liked Elder Griffin, she really didn’t want an escort just then. But what was she supposed to say? Fuck off, I feel like being alone? Sure, that would totally work.
Instead she nodded. “That would be great, I was just about to head over there.”
She filled him in quickly on the latest developments as they walked, and made a mental note to find out what the relationship between Lucy and Bill Pritchard had been like, if they even knew each other at all. Wen Li said he’d grown up there, right? He wouldn’t be happy to talk to her, but she bet he would. Hell, she’d make him. What was he going to do, dislike her? Boo hoo.
For that matter, what was he going to do, argue with the girl who dated—or whatever— Slobag’s son? Hey, there ought to be at least some compensation for her life falling to shit around her.
They’d reached a fork in the pathway. Behind the Church building proper, the cottages had been arranged in groups, from the smallest, farthest from the building, to the largest, the residences of higher-ranking officials, closer. Chess started to turn right, to head toward the Debunker cottages, but Elder Griffin stopped her. The breeze rippled the brim of his hat; he clamped it down with his right hand. “Care you to take a short detour with me?”
Her first instinct was to say no, she didn’t have time. Well, she had time, she just didn’t want to spend any more of it even semi-sober. And she didn’t know how long she might need to spend in Aros’s cottage, while the skies above them darkened further with every second.
But he looked so hopeful, so happy, and she hadn’t actually finished writing his recommendation thing, and … he was Elder Griffin, and she couldn’t say no.
“Excellent.” He smiled, pointed to the left. “Come, I’ll show you—well, it’s the home I’m hoping they’ll give me. After the marriage ceremony. You’ll be coming, won’t you? I’d like all of the department to be there, of course, but—Cesaria? Are thee well?”
Shit, was she being that obvious? She blinked, fast, cleared her throat. “Yeah—yes—of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
His blue eyes tried to pierce hers; his head tilted, his mouth turned down. “Forgive me, Cesaria. You seem, well, you have seemed rather cheerful of late, but today that cheer is gone. I wonder why, and if there is any way I can help you.”
To her horror—more than horror, shame—her eyes started to sting. Oh no, oh no, she couldn’t do this, not there, not then. “I’m fine,” she managed.
“Are thou certain? I do understand if you don’t wish to discuss it, but—”
“I was, um, I was seeing someone, and now it’s over, that’s all.” The words tumbled out, fast and monotone, before she turned away to stare down the left-hand path, hiding her face.
Something touched her shoulder. Elder Griffin’s hand, light and hesitant. It rested there for a second or two, then disappeared. “I am sorry, my dear.”
“Yeah, well … yeah.” She managed to turn the choked sound her throat made into a cough. “I guess, you know, what can you do.”
“I take it you did not initiate the … ending of the relationship.”
He had to ask that, did
n’t he? Way to go right for the fucking jugular. “No. I didn’t—we had a fight, a big fight, and it was my fault and I’m sure he never wants to talk to me again and I just—can we not talk about this? I’ll be fine, sir, I swear, I just, I don’t feel like talking right now.”
“Certainly. Of course, dear.” Silence for a minute, while they began to walk. Then he stopped. “Perhaps we shall do this another day. Come, let’s go back to Aros’s cabin.”
“No, no, this is fine.”
“Are you—”
“It’s fine, show me the house you want.” It wasn’t fine, of course. Just knowing they were going to look at it made her feel as if someone had slit her open and started stirring her guts with a red-hot poker.
” ‘Tis that one.”
Chess followed his pointing finger to a modest cottage—well, not really a cottage, it had two floors, but it was still small and built like the others, with pale-blue paint and dark-blue shutters, an iron fence outside and iron bars over all of the windows. A cute house, yes. But one that still made her shudder just a little.
What was the matter with her? Why did the thought of living on-grounds make her feel so ill, why did the thought of living somewhere nice and clean make her feel so ashamed? Why did looking at that house make her want to hide?
She didn’t know. She didn’t think she wanted to know. And she sure as fuck didn’t want Elder Griffin to know. So she smiled and nodded. “It looks great, I’m sure you’ll be happy there, you and …”
“Keith.”
“Keith.”
He looked at it again. “I surely do hope so, Cesaria. I believe that when something is meant to be, it is meant to be, and I truly feel this is.”
Maybe if she leaned forward a bit he’d go ahead and slice off her head for her. “I’m really glad for you.”
He took her arm just long enough to start leading her back down the path toward the Debunker cottages. “But you see, Cesaria, because I believe that when something is meant to be it will be, I also feel that perhaps your fears about your own relationship are unfounded. Perhaps you should call him.”
“He hasn’t called me.”
Her hair rose off her shoulders in the rain-scented breeze. The clouds above grew darker by the second; it was tempting to call off the search of Aros’s cottage and just leave.
Chess actually enjoyed storms, as a rule, and she had some keshes at home. She could sit and watch the water hit the stained-glass window, smoke until her head left her neck, maybe listen to some Cringer or the Undertones, something cheerful.
But she couldn’t ditch Elder Griffin, especially not when she knew he’d feel it was his fault for asking her about her mood. And she wanted those files. She still hoped to prove Aros had summoned Lucy, and those files might help her do it.
The path led them through a small copse of oak trees, past a few cherry trees and dogwood trees in glorious bloom. The Church grounds certainly were pretty enough.
“Perhaps he hasn’t called you because he believes you’re angry at him. May I ask, Cesaria, how the argument began?”
Ha. Yeah, that was a story she was not going to share. What was she supposed to say? “I got totally fucking high and wanted to have sex and he turned me down because I disgust him and he doesn’t trust me because I fucked him over before?” No. No way.
Instead she said, “Hey, I really appreciate you asking and everything. But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me again, I said some awful things, and it was just, it was kind of horrible. So I’m, um, I’m just going to try to move on.”
“Perhaps you’d feel better if you apologize.”
Was he not listening to her, or what? She bit back the sharp answer she wanted to fling at him, took a deep breath. “Maybe. Maybe I will, yeah. I’ll do that if I have a chance.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but luckily they’d rounded a corner, headed past Doyle’s cabin and Atticus Collins’s, and Aros’s sat right before them, its shutters down, its door closed against them.
It yielded to the key, though. Chess stood back to let Elder Griffin handle that; let him push the door open, straining to shift the pile of mail behind it.
She glimpsed dark furniture against a pale background before Elder Griffin stepped inside. She followed, only to almost run into him as he stood in the arched doorway—the doorless doorway—between the entry hall and the living area.
Every square inch of the walls was covered. With papers and drawings; maps and pages torn from magazines. Pentacles were everywhere, pentacles and—holy shit—a crucifix upside down between two windows. Couldn’t get much more illegal than that; what the fuck was he doing with religious items?
It almost seemed unimportant, though, against everything else. Words scrawled on the walls in thick black markers, so many she could barely see the paint between them. Nonsense words like in his notes. More words in the form of newspaper headlines pinned up everywhere. Sketches of horrible screaming faces, destroyed and burning bodies.
All those drugs had more than done their job. And now the man who’d created this museum of mania was walking the streets.
Elder Griffin caught her eye. She saw the same thought in his face.
“When was the last time you saw him here? I mean, have you seen him since he left?”
“I have not.” He reached out, almost touched one of the pentacles, then jerked his hand back as if it burned him; maybe it had. “But I do agree with your thinking, Cesaria. I cannot believe he left all of this behind.”
“Are those active?” She nodded toward a pile of gris-gris bags on a low table. “I mean, are they powered, did he power them?”
“It seems so.”
Right. Here was her chance to confirm one thing at least. She crossed the floor, placing her feet carefully—something told her not to go wandering around willy-nilly in that place—until she reached the table.
The second her hand touched the gris-gris she knew she was right, knew her hunch—okay, not a hunch, a horrible dark suspicion—was correct. She knew that energy, she’d felt it before in front of the Mercy Lewis school.
Aros was the killer. Aros was the one trying to steal power from the world or whatever the hell he was trying to do, heedless of what it might destroy. It was him.
And thanks to the secrecy she’d kept up until that moment, of course, she couldn’t tell Elder Griffin about it. Fucking great.
Still, at least now she knew who it was, and there could be, had to be, a way to catch him for that. Maybe in the papers they’d come looking for.
His bedroom held more revelations. Pictures of Lucy McShane everywhere; photographs, probably given to him by Chelsea. Sketches and paintings.
He’d been a rather skilled artist, actually. On one wall were portraits he’d done of many people Chess knew: Monica, Beulah, Wen Li—looking particularly pouty and babyish, heh— Laurie Barr, Vernal, Jia—more than one of Jia, in fact. Several of Jia.
Including a nude.
Her already cold blood turned even colder. Had he been—had he been having an affair with the girl? How fucking sick was this guy, and how the fuck had he managed to get hired by the Church, stay employed with them?
But then, they let her stay, didn’t they, and enough filth and sickness and slime hid behind her eyes for an army. So she guessed she couldn’t judge them too harshly for that.
She could raise her eyebrows higher when she thought of Chelsea Mueller, though, and the relationship he had with her. Perhaps they weren’t lovers, or maybe he’d been carrying on with both of them? Wasn’t like that couldn’t possibly happen. Lex had almost certainly been seeing someone else while he was seeing her—if “seeing” was really the proper term for what she’d been doing with Lex—and for all she knew … No. Terrible hadn’t been seeing anyone else. How would he have found the time?
Not even that. He wouldn’t have. She knew he wouldn’t.
An itch on her cheek made her swipe at it; swiping at it made her realize tears we
re pouring down her face. Great. Sure, easy for Elder Griffin to say apologize, call him. Like she could do that, like she could just—sooner or later he was going to run out of forgiveness for her. Sooner or later he was going to get sick of dealing with her, was going to realize sleeping with her wasn’t worth the trouble of putting up with her.
If he hadn’t already, which he probably had, given what they’d fought about and that he hadn’t called her.
She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve, blinked until the room came back into focus. Naked double bed, the sheets and blankets nowhere to be seen. A dresser with half the drawers hanging open, empty. A desk— Ha!
A desk with papers inside, and files. She grabbed them, lifted them from the drawer.
Her phone rang. Shit, who was calling her? She set the papers down and hunted for it, not looking away from the pages as she tried to shuffle through them. Maybe Chelsea’s file would be there. Not likely, but she could still hope.
“Cesaria!” Elder Griffin’s voice, shouting over the ringing of her phone. Shouting with the kind of panic she’d never heard him display, and as she started to turn toward it she realized what and why, realized it was too late.
Aros had set a trap. A trap like the rune on the door of that apartment in Downside, but this one was live, and a wave of thick black power, sharp and cruel as razor blades, roared through the small cottage. Right at her.
Chess hit the floor, knowing it wouldn’t help but trying it anyway. The papers crumpled in her fist as she grabbed her bag with her other hand and ran toward the sound of Elder Griffin’s voice.
With no idea what spell she faced, countering it would be difficult. And by “difficult,” she meant practically fucking impossible. But the one thing she had going for her was that no matter how evil and dark Aros’s magic had gotten, it still had that methodical feel, still had that Church feel, and Church magic was magic she knew, magic she could counter.