She guessed she’d find out later. Later he could tell her the story, if he wanted to; she didn’t always ask about that stuff, but maybe she should. Maybe he wanted her to ask. Just like he always asked what happened in her work.
Lex had given her a dozen Oozers with the rest of her pills. Excellent. She grabbed two of them, washed them down with the last of her water, and slipped off her clothes.
He stirred when she climbed between the sheets. “Hey. You right?”
She nodded, lifted her head so he could get his arm under it, rested her cheek on his chest so she could hear the slow steady beat of his heart. “Right up, yeah, just … a hell of a day.”
“Aye, it were.”
She ran her hand over his chest, enjoying the feel of his skin against hers. Laid her leg over his so she could feel that too. “I’m glad it’s over.”
Pause. “Aye, me too. Ain’t … ain’t so much like thinkin of you goin over there, if you dig, not now. Gonna be some shit changing.”
“Lex.”
“Ain’t got the thought he planning a hang-back, get heself some time. Come out right, aye.”
Her fingers curled into the hair on his chest. “Yeah. I know.”
“I dig iffen you’re wanting to stay out, Chessie. I ain’t gonna ask you put yourself inside. But … shit.”
She swallowed. She knew what he was really asking, what he was really saying. That he was trying to trust her, that he did trust her, but that he needed reassurance. And fuck, who didn’t? Not her. How much of the pain she’d been through in the last week had been because of her own need to be reassured, and the fact that she wasn’t as brave as he was, hadn’t been able to make herself ask?
Which was especially stupid because he would tell her. He would tell her anytime she asked.
The Oozers were starting to hit; good thing, too, because fear dried her mouth and made the words stick a little in her throat. She didn’t think she’d be able to say them without the high; didn’t think she could ever say anything without it, if she were honest.
“I’m not … I don’t know if …” Shit. She was fucking it up. “The thing is, you were right. I didn’t trust you, I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t. It’s really—it’s just kind of hard to believe that you actually do want …”
How much worse could she make all of this? “But I’m trying, I want to try, because I want to be with you. I really, really do. And I don’t know if it’s what you want or, I’m not very good at this, but I’m yours. I mean … that’s it. If you want me to be. There’s, um, there’s nothing, no other people or anything, that really matter. Just you. And I do trust you. I do.”
He watched her, his dark eyes focused on hers, his face completely immobile. She wasn’t doing it right, obviously. The sound of her own voice was starting to panic her, making her face feel hot and damp, making her legs yearn to jump out of the bed and run away.
“Shit, Terrible, I don’t know how to do this, I’m sorry I’m fucking it up, I wish I could do it right. But if you were wondering, you know, like if you weren’t sure or whatever … I belong to you. If you want me. I do. And I never did before, to anybody else.”
Something in his eyes then, something she wanted to believe was a good thing but her own were so blurry and wet at that point she couldn’t tell. Her face slid from uncomfortably warm to hot; she couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore.
“Please say something. I’m sorry, I’m, never mind, we can just forget I said anything, okay? Just forget it, don’t worry about it—”
“Ain’t thinkin I wanna forget.” He shifted to face her and pulled her closer with his left arm so she was tucked into his chest, half-under him. “Maybe you oughta gimme that again.”
More panic. He had something now, he had something to use against her, something he could— No.
No, she would not let herself think that. She trusted him with her life; had trusted him with it more than once. She’d just told him she belonged to him.
But she wouldn’t, really, not if she couldn’t trust him with all of her. If she wanted to say she was his and mean it—and she did—she needed to trust him like that. She owed him that.
So she took a deep breath, glad she wasn’t speeding so much anymore, glad she could look him in the eyes and really feel it. “Even if it’s not what you want, I’m yours.”
Now she did see the change in him, saw the slow smile start, the one that always made her feel so good because she could make it appear. “Always want you, Chessiebomb. Always.”
He kissed her, slow and tender, like she mattered. Because she did, at least to him. And she thought she might even be able to believe it.
No, nothing was guaranteed in life. She’d always known that. She’d always had to fight, always had to struggle. She’d always had to be alone.
The fighting and struggling wouldn’t stop. Would never stop. Thinking of the coming weeks and months, of what an all-out war between Bump and Lex might mean, sent a cold chill from her head all the way to her toes.
Having a fight with Terrible, having him decide he didn’t love her anymore … she’d always known those weren’t the only ways she could lose him—not after she’d seen him shot on the pavement—but the threat seemed more real than ever. She couldn’t bear to think of it. Didn’t want to think of anyone dying, either of the men she cared about. That she loved one and simply liked the other didn’t change that.
But she could worry about it later, think about it later. Because at that moment Terrible’s hands were caressing her, caressing her body that belonged to him, and just thinking it made her heart pound. She belonged to someone. She belonged to him and he belonged to her the same way, and she’d never had that before, and her last real thought before she gave herself over completely was that she would do whatever she had to do to keep it.
She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
To the real
Chelsea Mueller,
with thanks
DEL REY BOOKS BY STACIA KANE
Unholy Ghosts
Unholy Magic
City of Ghosts
Sacrificial Magic
Yearning for your next fix?
Read on for a sneak peak inside the next novel in Stacia Kane’s dark and sexy series:
CHASING MAGIC
Coming soon from Del Rey
All of the documents were in place: The Affidavit of Spectral Fraud, the Statement of Truth, two Orders of Imprisonment and two Orders of Relinquishment, and, of course, the list of Church-approved attorneys. The Darnells would want that—well, they’d need it, because they were about to be arrested for faking a haunting.
At least, they would be when the Black Squad got there to back Chess up. She didn’t always want the Squad to come along; police presence tipped people off, made things more difficult, and most people came pretty quietly once they realized they were busted, anyway. The Darnells didn’t seem like the come-quietly type, though. Something told Chess they weren’t going to take this well.
But she’d told them she’d be there at six, and it was five past already and their curtains kept twitching. They knew she was there.
Right. She’d taken a couple of Cepts before leaving her apartment in Downside, so they were just starting to hit—smooth, thick, narcotic warmth spreading from her stomach out through the rest of her body, a pleasant softness settling over her mind.
That was the best thing about the drugs, really; she could still think, still be coherent, still use her brain. She just didn’t have to if she didn’t want to, and it was so much easier to keep that brain from wandering into all those places she didn’t want it to go.
And she had so fucking many of those places.
She grabbed the Darnell file from her bag, locked her car, and started walking along the cobblestone path to the front door, weaving around the flowers and plants scattered like islands across the impossibly green sea of grass. Bees made their way from bloom to bloom, doing whatever the hell it was bees did. O
h, sure, she knew it was something to do with pollen or whatever. She just didn’t give a shit.
By the time she reached the porch, sweat beaded along her forehead and her body felt damp. Summer sucked. Only the middle of June and already it was scorching.
Brandon Darnell opened the door before she’d finished raising her hand to knock. “Miss Putnam. You’re late.”
Asshole. She faked a smile. “Sorry. Traffic.”
At least they had air-conditioning.
The entire Darnell family sat in the pretentious high-ceilinged living room, slouching on the ridiculously overpriced suede couch and chairs that were partly responsible for the enormous debt they were in. Debt they’d planned to clear by faking a haunting and getting a nice fat settlement from the Church of Real Truth.
Too bad for them, the Church wasn’t stupid—being in charge of everyone and everything on earth for twenty-four years proved that—and had contingency plans for such things. Chess was one of them.
Brandon Darnell indicated an empty chair along the back wall. “Have a seat.”
Alarms started ringing in Chess’s head. He seemed a little too calm, a little too … cheerful.
But all the other chairs were full, so she sat, shooting another glance out the window to see if the Squad had arrived yet. Nope. Damn it!
The Darnells sat there, unmoving. Just watching her. Because that wasn’t creepy at all.
Mrs. Darnell—frowsy, bad perm, blue eyeshadow up to her brows—showed her perfect white teeth in what passed for a smile. “Do you have any news for us? When will you Banish the ghost?”
Chess’s phone beeped—a text. A text from the Black Squad, thank fuck; they were almost there. Good. She didn’t have to sit around wasting time with these people.
“I do have news.” She pulled the forms from the file. “This is my Statement of Truth, copies of which I’ve already filed with the Church. This one is for you to sign. It’s the Affidavit of Spectral Fraud, which is basically your confession, and this one—”
“What the hell are you talking about? We haven’t committed any fraud, there’s no—”
“Mr. Darnell.” Normally she’d stand up for this part, but what the hell. The chair was pretty comfortable. “I found, and photographed, the projectors set up in the attic. I won’t bother to point out to you where the holes in the ceiling are, since you already know. The ‘ectoplasm’ on your walls has been analyzed—twice, for confirmation—as a mixture of cornstarch, gelatin, iridescent paint, and water.”
She waited for a response, and didn’t get one. Good. “I also have pictures of the portable air conditioner you set up beneath the house—that’s another crime, by the way, putting anything underground, but I imagine you know that—to fake sudden changes in temperature. One of my hidden cameras caught you breaking the mirrors yourself, and another one caught very clearly you and Mrs. Darnell discussing your crimes.”
Mr. and Mrs. Darnell looked guilty. Their children— Cassie and Curtis, how cute—looked confused. Chess directed her next comments to them.
“I have two Orders of Relinquishment here. You two are going to be taken to the Church with your parents, but when they go into prison, you’ll be moving in with another family member or, failing that, a home will be found for you. You’ll be safe there.”
She could only hope that last line was true. It hadn’t been for her. None of those “homes” she’d been sent to had been safe—or at least no more than a couple of them.
But that had been a long time ago. That had been before the Church was really settled. That had been a mistake; she was an anomaly—or something—and it only mattered in her memories.
Because the Church had saved her. They’d taken her out of that life and given her a new one. The Church had found her and made her into something real.
The two children looked at each other, looked at Chess, looked at their parents. What was the expression on their faces? Shocked, curious? Chess couldn’t quite seem to read it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again. Shit, she didn’t usually have problems like this from her pills. And no way had she gotten a bad batch; Lex had given her those, and Lex might be in charge of the Downside gang in direct opposition to the one Chess’s … Chess’s everything worked for, but Lex wouldn’t try to do her any harm. She knew that. Lex was her friend.
So what the fuck?
Her eyes itched, too; she raised her hand to rub at them. Struggled to raise it, actually. In fact, she’d been sitting still for a few minutes, hadn’t she? Without moving.
The room started to rock around her, as if she and the Darnells sat on the deck of a ship in stormy waters. Nausea slithered through her stomach, up her throat.
Her skin tingled. Not her skin, actually. Her tattoos—runes and sigils inscribed into her skin with magic-imbued ink by the Church—tingled. The way they always did in the presence of ghosts … or in the presence of magic.
It took forever to turn her head to the left, on a neck that felt like it was being squeezed by strong, hard hands she couldn’t see. Who was … fuck, someone was casting some kind of spell on her; who was it, what was it?
She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see well enough to tell—just a shape, a spot of darker shadow in the long hallway. But whatever it was—it felt like a man, she had enough presence of mind to know that—it was powerful, it was strong, and it was about to beat her.
Something inside her struggled. The noise of the Darnells shouting faded, faded like a stiff wind had come up and was blowing them all away. The adult Darnells yelling, cackling; the young Darnells panicked and confused.
And over it all the words of power were beginning to seep into her consciousness, spoken in a deep smooth voice like smoked glass. Smoked glass with jagged edges; she’d cut herself on them, they’d slice into her skin and her blood would spill out onto the floor, staining the carpet the Darnells couldn’t pay for. Staining everything except her soul; that was filthy enough already, covered with grime and pain that would never go away no matter how many pills she took or lines she snorted.
But she didn’t want to go. Not just because she was afraid of the City of Eternity, either. Everyone else thought the enormous cavern below the earth where the spirits of the dead lived on forever was peaceful, beautiful. Only Chess knew what it really was: cold and horrible and terrifying.
That wasn’t the point, though. As her breath came shorter and shallower, as the black edge around her vision thickened until she could see only tiny spots of the room around her, all she could really think about was Terrible. The only man in the world who made her feel … like she was okay, like she could be happy. The only one who understood her. The only one who loved her.
The only one, period.
She would not leave him. She refused to leave him.
Raves for Stacia Kane
and the Downside Ghosts series
UNHOLY GHOSTS
“Stacia Kane’s Unholy Ghosts is one of the most interesting books I’ve read in months. Vivid characters and superior world-building combine with a wonderful sense of pace to create a gripping book. I was enthralled.”
—CHARLAINE HARRIS,
New York Times bestselling author
“Expect the unexpected. Kane delivers dark, sexy urban fantasy at its finest. I couldn’t put it down!”
—KAREN MARIE MONING,
New York Times bestselling author
“Fans of urban fantasy will find themselves sleep-deprived after they start this new series. It’s that hard to put down. Characters with larger-than-life personalities rule against a dark and dangerous backdrop. This is an exciting world you’ll want to escape into again and again.”
—TOP PICK! 41/2 Stars, RT Book Reviews
“Unholy Ghosts is the first book in Stacia Kane’s new series and is absolutely a full-on winner…. The characters are kick-ass and the plot will have you on the edge of your seat. I absolutely recommend it!”
—Reviewer Top Pick!, Night Owl R
eviews
“From its harrowing opening scene until its highly satisfying slam-bang ending, Unholy Ghosts grips the reader by the scruff of the neck and never relinquishes its hold.”
—5 Tombstones, Bitten by Books
UNHOLY MAGIC
“This follow-up to Unholy Ghosts is full of supernatural suspense told in a fast-paced story. With a gutsy heroine, creepy paranormal elements and some page-turning action, it’s a satisfying addition to the flooded urban fantasy genre. It all adds up to a very entertaining read.”
—4 Stars, RT Book Reviews
“Like any drug, the first taste gets your attention but it’s the second taste that gets you hooked. I thought the first Downside Ghosts book, Unholy Ghosts, was an impressive debut, but Unholy Magic is even better. I am well and truly addicted to this dark, seductive urban fantasy series.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“In trying to come up with an adjective to describe the overall tone and feel of this story, I came up short. Gritty seems weak in reference to this book and just does not cover it…. Stacia Kane has written an amazing, spine-tingling novel in Unholy Magic, taking me by surprise by surpassing even the brilliance of its predecessor Unholy Ghosts.”
—5 out of 5, The Fiction Vixen
CITY OF GHOSTS
“Book Three in the Downside Ghosts series lives up to expectations. Kane’s dark and dangerous world is a unique setting for her anti-heroes. The heroine’s realistic flaws make her more interesting and set her apart from others in the genre. Fans of urban fantasy will love the tight plot, swift pace and twists and turns.”
—4.5 Stars, RT Book Reviews
“Unholy Ghosts and Unholy Magic stayed with me long after I read them and it was no different with City of Ghosts…. It’s full of witchy magic, action and romance, I literally couldn’t put this book down until I had read the very last word.”