City of Ghosts

Chapter Seven

“I can’t do that,” she said again, and just as he had before, Bump waved an imperious hand as if her objections were lowly servants to be dismissed.

“Ain’t sayin take Terrible when she fuckin Churchcop along, dig. But after. You ain’t can say you knowledge, yay, but he fuckin can. Bump gots what he needs, so you gets you fuckin needs. Real simple, Ladybird. Ain’t it clean?”

“I’ll die, Bump. This isn’t something to fuck around with, I took a blood oath—”

“An you ain’t breakin it, dig. Just doin you some side work, yay? Takin you some protection where you go. Give Bump the listen-down, here, Ladybird. All business Bump’s business, you recall. They black magic shit goes down, Bump’s business. They ain’t got a sweet spot for Bump, guessing, after Bump’s men done give them the crack-up out Chester. Danger for Bump, danger for all, if you dig. Bump gotta get he Churchwitch in it, yay? Ain’t gotta run it up again, do I?”

No. He didn’t. They’d been through this before; only a few weeks before, no matter that it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Bump ran Downside, and without Bump in control things could get even worse than they were already, hard as that was to believe. Nor was he wrong in assuming the Lamaru’s return put Terrible and Bump in at least as much danger as it put her.

And there was more to it, much as she hated to admit it. If Bump wanted to bring her in on this, it meant Terrible hadn’t told him about her and Lex. And if Terrible hadn’t told him—despite the reason he’d given her for keeping his mouth shut, about not wanting Bump to know how he’d failed, how he’d convinced Bump she was trustworthy and had been wrong—maybe there was a chance.

And working with him? Would give her an opening to find out. Maybe to prove herself again.

Just thinking of it all made her want to dive under a blanket of Dream and stay there until her bones dissolved, to suck that thick yellowish smoke deep into her lungs until she forgot him. Forgot everything and became nothing more than another loose-limbed body draped on a velvet couch, another tiny spark of consciousness fluttering in the ecstatic drugged-out breeze.

Bump seemed to take her silence as the need for more convincing, instead of simply a few minutes’ wallow in her own pitiful bog. “Terrible know them streets, dig. Be a fuckin help, he do. You take he ’long, Ladybird, see if Bump ain’t right. Bet we get you all in the good lights with you bossmen, yay? They Elders. Like you right, them will, you catch they black magic witches.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself with something ridiculous like common sense or dignity. “Okay. I’ll try.”

The leering grin split his face like a knife through a half-rotted peach. “That’s good, yay, real fuckin good. You get you started on the morrow, yay. Bump takin he off to he fuckin bed now, ain’t keep Bump’s ladies on the wait longer, dig.” He reached into the bag, took out a handful and held them out to her. “You take them. For friendship.”

The room spun a little around her when she reached out, let the pills fill her hand. Not too many of them; he was being generous, sure, but generous for Bump was awfully stingy, especially considering all the work she’d done for him. But hey, what was she going to do, turn them down? Free drugs were free drugs, and she wasn’t stupid.

At least not about that.

About other things … yeah, totally stupid. As she followed Terrible back out into the predawn chill she had plenty of time to think about how stupid. Despite that second or two of connection he still hated her, wasn’t likely to forgive her. All she was doing was signing herself up for more heartbreak.

Not to mention the great chance of being killed by the First Elders if she stuck a toe—or said a word—out of place.

Cold seeped through her jeans from the leather seats. Wings of exhaustion fluttered behind her eyes; she could barely keep them open. Even “One Track Mind” wasn’t helping. The Nips were well and truly gone. She felt like someone had filled her skin with chilly sawdust, too burned out for the Oozers to do much good.

The drive back to her place seemed to take no time at all. Before she knew it he’d pulled up in front of the steps; she had a sneaking suspicion that she’d fallen asleep.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to Terrible’s profile. “Do you want me to meet you, or what?”

He shrugged. “Whatany you want.”

A million thoughts ran through her mind, none of which would do any good to verbalize. So she said, “Okay, why don’t you pick me up at noon? I have to meet Lauren—she’s the girl from earlier—I have to meet her at five.”

Pause. “Meet me. Up Edsel’s booth, aye? You wanna say midday, no problem.”

“I thought you said—Never mind. Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll meet you there.”

Nod.

Whatever. She still got to shove the heavy door open all by herself, and she’d trudged halfway up the stairs before she realized he was right behind her, his boots silent on the cement. One of his talents, that was, the ability to move so soundlessly. But then it was part of his job. Most people didn’t line up to get beaten down. They had to be found, snuck up on, snatched off the street, and broken before they knew what hit them. And nobody broke people better than Terrible did.

She should know.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Ain’t can say.”

Okay, so not tired anymore. Was he … Shit! She hated this. Hated this.

Her jumbled thoughts must have been clear on her face; his dark eyes narrowed. “Bump say me come up. Ain’t my choosing.”

“Oh.”

“Shit. Don’t you get no ideas, dig. Ain’t wanting this. An ain’t givin you shit to play pass-on with.”

They’d reached the inside staircase now; her voice echoed in the cavernous lobby. “I’m not playing pass-on with anything. I told you, I’m not seeing him anymore.”

“Ain’t give a fuck who you see.”

“Then why are you so fucking mad about it?”

Redness crept up his neck; he glared at her, then shoved past her to continue up the stairs. She’d gotten him with that one. A hollow victory, but she’d take just about anything she could get at this point.

Her turn to push past him, opening her front door, stepping into the dingy little apartment. She made a beeline for the freezer and yanked out the half-full bottle of vodka she’d bought a couple of days before.

The cabinet beside it contained her pitiful collection of mismatched plastic cups and plates. She pulled down two cups and unscrewed the cap on the vodka. “Want a drink?”

He moved behind her; she heard a faint rustle, and the closing of the door. She turned around.

He was gone.

So was the Lamaru file she’d been given earlier.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a sky that blue, and despite everything, it lifted her spirits. So she was about to meet someone who hated her; so she was betraying the Church and walking a razor-thin tightrope over a pit of messy death; so later on she was going to have to meet a woman she already disliked and investigate an illegal black magic group who wanted her dead.

So the sky was blue, and three Cepts calmed her down and insulated her just enough from the buzzing crowds at the Market and the still-cold breeze to make her feel like she could handle all the shit. So that was good. The sun felt great on her face and hands, raised blue lights in her dyed hair. A month before it had been snowing. Now it was almost spring.

Edsel’s booth must have been particularly busy that morning; when Chess stopped walking in front of the shabby-velvet-covered counter he was restocking runebones and little hand-sewn bags. Made sense, though. News of his wife’s pregnancy had spread.

“How’s Galena?” she asked, reaching out to finger one of the runes. A little shiver ran up her arm. “Good, I guess. I can feel it.”

Edsel smiled. His teeth were the same color as his skin and ice-white hair; his black sunglasses didn’t hide the kind of happiness she’d rarely seen from him. “She right, baby. Still tired, aye, but she doctor say oughta pass up soon and she be bouncin again. She—Damn, what you got there?”

He picked up her hand; when she’d reached for the magical items, infused with the extra energy of pregnancy, he’d caught sight of her Binding scars.

“It’s nothing.” She tried to pull it back.

“Ain’t nothing, baby. Know them marks when I see em, aye. Been Bound, you have.” He dropped her hand; his deep smoke voice lowered. “Bet you lookin for them Lamaru again, aye?”

“How—” Ouch. Shit. “You know—you’ve heard—damn it!”

Edsel nodded. “Been hearin them rumors, if you dig. Know some people, them know people. Say big trouble on the way down, them gearin up right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ain’t seen you much, aye? And you ain’t look like you up for it, baby. Lookin tired. Lookin mighty down. Guessing maybe got aught doing with why Terrible been rippin it up like him dog dead. Aye?”

Fuck. She did not want to discuss that. Not with him. Not with anyone. Edsel may have been the closest thing she had to a friend—at least, he used to be, and she guessed he was again—but some things were just … private. Most things were private.

Of course, she couldn’t deny being a little interested in that last line anyway. So Terrible looked upset, did he?

Then again, why wouldn’t he?

“Who do you know? I mean, you said you knew people who knew people. Do any of them have any information?”

He hesitated. “I ain’t got names, you dig. Need to make some calls.”

“No problem. Just, anything you could find out would be a help. Really. Bump’s got his fingers in it too, so it’s not just me you’re helping, you know?”

Edsel looked down, dug his cell phone out of his pocket. The sun glowed off his pigmentless hair. “Gotta hang me a couple days on this one, baby. They folk ain’t the kind always answer them phones.”

“Sure. Thanks, really. Oh, and here—” She dug her notebook and pen out of her bag, leaned forward to scribble a list. “This is a long shot, I know, but if anybody buys any of this stuff—anybody you don’t know—could you let me know? Try to find out who they are, if you can.”

Her list wasn’t long; the Lamaru would have their own suppliers anyway. But things like corpse water or tormentil were pretty strictly regulated by the Church, and had a big enough customer base outside of it that they might chance buying it off someone. So why not Edsel?

He took the torn-off sheet of paper, nodded. “Hold out, now. Lemme try, while you here.”

He punched a couple of buttons on the phone, took a step back into the shadows at the back of the booth. He usually lurked there, out of the sun, looking more like a wax statue or a corpse than a man. Caught a lot of thieves that way, too.

She took a discreet step away, distracting herself by gathering up a few things to buy. Thirty K in her bank account felt really fucking good, and she could use some things, right?

In the center of the counter she made a little pile: one of the bags Galena made, a couple of hare bones, a little vial of goat’s blood. That might come in handy if she was dealing with black witches. Oh, and some protective items, too, she’d need those.

In a wicker basket fairly vibrating with power, plastic-wrapped snake segments rested in among lodestones and black cat paws. She grabbed a paw and two bags of snake to add to the pile, too, and tossed a chunk of black mirror on top. She could make a hell of a hex with those, and she might need it later.

What else … mandrake might be useful, grab a piece of that … She opened her mouth to ask how much spiderweb he had, when he held up a hand.

“Got me a message left. Ain’t no guarantees, baby, you know, but we see what we got. You keep touchin me, aye? An I touch back iffen I hear, or sell that list somebody I ain’t know.”

“Thanks.”

“Aye, well. Bump getting involved this one, maybe he willin to kick in some lashers, aye? Babies got needs, you dig.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask him, okay? I …”

He definitely looked paler, she thought, seeing Terrible push through the crowd. Last night she hadn’t noticed it, not even at Bump’s place; all that red gave everything a low-key sort of glow. But in the sunshine she saw it. He looked a little tired, a little pale. She wondered if his wounds still hurt. She wished she could turn her greedy eyes away.

“Might wanta get yon mouth closed, baby,” Edsel murmured.

Chess did, snapping her teeth together so hard it hurt and wishing desperately she’d paid better attention to casting glamours in training. She could have wiped the stupid blush off her face.

Instead she focused on the grinning skulls dancing down the wide stripes on the front of his bowling shirt. It was easy to do so, considering he stood about a foot taller than her own five feet six.

“Edsel,” he said. “You right?”

“Right up. Been telling Chessie here, maybe I got some knowledge be useful. You thinkin Bump might kick in, be the case?”

“Aye, he lash you back. No problem.”

“Cool. Chessie gonna keep touchin me, I keep her up, aye? She pass it on.”

Terrible’s gaze fell on her. His chin jerked; it could have been a nod, she guessed.

“Hey.” She fumbled in her bag for some money and thrust it at Edsel. “Do you have the file—”

“Aye.”

“Where is it? I really need it back, you shouldn’t have just—”

“Car.”

Deep breath. “Um, I wanted to grab something to eat first, okay?”

Shrug.

Okay, this was bullshit.

The food booths were at the far end; Edsel had set up in the middle, where he usually tried to find a spot. The center was the best, away from the hot smoke of the firecans and the meats cooked over them, far from the clucking chickens and the occasional goat, where the sawdust spread over the cement wasn’t soaked with blood.

But she wanted food, anything she could find, despite knowing it would deaden her high. Like he wasn’t doing a fine job of that all on his own.

She took her purchases from Edsel and shoved them into her bag, her scuffed boots shuffling on the cement as she headed for the food. The noodle lady was there, but she didn’t … yes. One of the vendors had a set of bamboo skewers turning over a fire; on the skewers were chunks of what appeared to be chicken. That’s what she was going to assume, anyway. They looked good and they smelled good, and if the meat was something unnamable she didn’t want to know about it.

Terrible loomed behind her while she made her purchase, barely concealing his impatience, until finally she swung around on him with her stick in hand.

“Look. You want to be mad at me, that’s fine. You want to not give me a chance to explain, I can’t do anything about that either. But we have to work together. So the least you can do is not treat me like I’m carrying some kind of fucking communicable disease, okay? Be pissed at me on your own time, because I can’t work like this.”

“Depends the kinda work you doin, aye?”

Oh, man, that hurt. Not showing it, though? Now that was easy. She’d had a lifetime of practice at pretending not to be hurt.

So she pegged him with her eyes, folded her arms across her chest. “Fuck. You.”

“Ain’t thinkin I got the price.”

“No? Then—”

The horn cut her off, loud and rough in the bright clear day. A vinyl record, she realized; the telltale pops and crackles came through the speakers. What the …

She turned, along with most of the crowd around her. Street performers weren’t entirely unusual in the Market; not common, because most Downsiders mistrusted outsiders almost as much as they liked to stab them and steal their money. But every once in a while some singers would set up, or a couple of acrobats.

This was different.

At the far end, by the crumbled remains of what had once been a wall, a stage had been set up; it appeared to be a layer of wooden crates with wide boards laid across them. Pillars rose at the four corners, draped in orange fabric, and across the top of those stretched more orange strips, the color glowing against that aquamarine sky.

A sign hung down from the top: ARTHUR MAGUINNESS’S POTENT POTIONS.

Okay, this should be interesting.