Unholy Magic

Chapter Twenty-six

“How is that possible?”

He shrugged. His color was returning; he looked almost normal. Whereas she felt like someone had dipped her in wax and left her to cool.

“Horatio … I assume Thad told you about what happened? About the sigil, and the tower?”

She nodded.

“He … developed an obsession with ghosts. Well, with a lot of things. It’s not important now. But we discovered, eventually … he was killing people. Women. He was … doing things to their bodies. Cannibalism. Necro—need I elaborate?”

“Please don’t.”

“It wasn’t him, Miss Putnam. You have to understand that. It wasn’t him, wasn’t my friend Horatio. It was whatever took him over at any given moment. He was like a beacon, with his power and that fucking sigil … I didn’t know that would happen. Maybe I should have. In my darkest moments I believe I should have. I was so arrogant. So sure my power was strong enough to protect me, to protect all of us.”

An idea tingled in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. At least for now. Best to see how things went. “So what happened with Kemp? He got caught and institutionalized?”

Fletcher nodded. “Landrum and I set up a corporation together to pay his bills. Well, his additional bills—the Church paid for his actual keep. You didn’t know that, I see.”

She blinked. No point trying to hide it, he’d already seen her surprise. “No, I didn’t.”

“They did. The deaths were kept secret—they hadn’t really made the news anyway—and the Church committed him. Landrum and I gave money to his family, we paid for his clothes and whatever else he needed. There were times when it seemed they’d be able to let him out, that they’d managed to fix the problem. His body—Last time I saw him you could barely recognize him for all the protective markings.”

Protective markings … The man’s face swam into her vision again, as if he were right in front of her. That was what covered his skin. She hadn’t seen them well enough. “Why didn’t they work?”

“Because,” he said, and his sigh dragged the air down between them, “because he didn’t want them to. By that point he’d formed a partnership with a spirit. Probably he’s still working with her—at least I assume.”

“Her?” She knew. She already knew. But she wanted to hear him say it, just to be sure.

“Yes. He worked with a female spirit. He told me about her once, when I visited him. I should have reported it, I know, but we never thought they’d actually let him out.”

Chess reached for his half-empty glass and tossed the contents down her throat, grimacing at the bitter heat of it. Probably not the best idea when only speed and Cepts were holding her hangover at bay, but she had a feeling she would need it. Need the whole fucking bottle, for that matter.

“What was her name?”

“The spirit’s? I don’t recall exactly. Virginia? Va-something, anyway, he—”

“Vanita.”

He nodded. “Yes, that was it. How did you know?”

“She was a madam.”

“In—Oh, you’re kidding. Really? And now they’ve—Well, fuck me. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It makes sense. And you know what else makes sense? That you help me find them.”

“Me? Why in the world would I do that?”

“Because this is your fault, that’s why. Look, I get that you feel bad for what happened to your friend. Really. And I get that it was an accident. But this is your fault. You shouldn’t have done what you did, you shouldn’t have carved that sigil—”

“I should have just let him die?” He stood up and leaned over the desk, his eyes blazing. “I should have just let my friend die, is that what you’re saying? Rather than do everything I could to save him? What the hell kind of person are you, to even suggest such a thing?”

“Do you think he’s better off now?”

“I think he’s alive now!”

“Yeah, alive and possessed, alive and staining his soul darker every minute. It’s not even life, Fletcher, it’s—suspended animation, it’s slavery. You did that.”

He came out from behind the desk, his body somehow larger in his casual button-down and unstructured jacket. California Cool becomes Murderous Rage Chic, if the look in his eyes was any indication. She took a step back, reached for the knife Merritt hadn’t managed to find when he groped her in the security office. If he tried to touch her, she’d—

He did touch her, but she didn’t finish reaching for her weapon, because he wasn’t attacking her. Wasn’t threatening her.

He was crying.

He leaned over her, rested his head on her shoulder, and clung to her, his tears soaking into her shirt.

What the fuck was she supposed to do with this? Hug him and say something comforting? He was blackmailing her and now she was supposed to take care of him like some kind of fucking nanny or something? She didn’t know how to do that. What did people do to comfort each other?

She settled for patting him vaguely on the back and wishing she was anywhere but there. Although he did smell good.

Thankfully it didn’t last long. “I’m sorry,” he said into her neck. “I—This is quite a shock for me, you understand. I never meant to … If Horatio is killing people, killing women, it is my fault, isn’t it? Because of the sigil, because of what I did to him?”

If he’d been her friend, she might have given him the lie. But he wasn’t her friend. “Yeah.”

“I never wanted this.” He sighed. His grip on her loosened, but he didn’t move away. “I may be an asshole—I would say don’t bother disagreeing with me, but you won’t, will you?—but I’m not a murderer. I don’t want to be responsible for people dying.”

“Then help me stop it.” She wished he would get off her. His forehead was digging into her collarbone.

“I don’t see how I can help.”

His biceps felt bigger than they looked, hard and lean under that expensive jacket. She grabbed them and pushed, forcing him off her. “You know where he is, don’t you? Where to find him? If we find him, we can find all of them. The girls, I mean. We can set them free.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Elder Griffin said you were talented.”

“I don’t do that sort of thing. Not anymore.”

“Is that why you didn’t summon real ghosts here? You could have, it would have been much simpler, you know.”

“I—Yes. That’s why.”

“Get over it. I need your help. You know him, you’re his friend. Maybe we can do this without anybody getting hurt.”

“Get away from him.”

Arden Pyle stood in the doorway of the office, her pale hair drawn back into a sloppy ponytail and her black shirt baggier than ever.

All these things Chess barely noticed. She was too busy focusing on the gun.

Fletcher turned from Chess, taking his hands from her waist and raising them slowly like flags at dawn. “Arden … Arden, honey, put the gun down.”

“You promised. You said you’d take care of us.”

“And I will, but I can’t if you shoot me, can I?”

“I’m not going to shoot you,” the girl said.

It was the sort of statement that deserved a big reaction, but all Chess could summon was a kind of weary anger. At this point, what the fuck did she care? Let the girl shoot her.

Although she couldn’t help being pissed the end was going to finally come because of Oliver Fletcher. Because he apparently—Oh, yuck.

“Shit, Fletcher,” she murmured. “She’s fourteen years old, you asshole.”

“Yes, and—Oh, no. She’s—I’m not that twisted, Miss Putnam. Please.”

“Stop talking!” The gun shivered in Arden’s fist. Chess dragged her gaze away from it, down to see the way the girl’s baggy shirt draped over her stomach. Her slightly protruding stomach …

The girl was pregnant. Fourteen and pregnant. Chess could certainly relate. No wonder Arden had a gun in her hand, no wonder …

No wonder she’d attacked her mother that night in the bedroom. Fletcher hadn’t been in town that night, but someone had been in the Pyle bedroom. Someone who felt dead inside. Someone desperate.

“Arden.” She took a careful step forward. “You don’t have to do this.”

The girl’s blue eyes barely shifted. “What the fuck do you know?”

“I know shooting me isn’t a good idea. Do you want to have that baby in prison? And get executed a month later?”

“Who cares.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. She was not good at this. In fact, there were very few things in the world she was less good at than this.

What the hell was the matter with these people? How did they not see that of all the people on the planet, she was probably the least qualified to help them with their emotional problems? It was like asking a dog to do algebra.

Oliver stepped in and saved her from trying to explain to a child why she should be concerned with something Chess didn’t care much about herself. “I care. That’s why we’re doing this, right? To get you away, so you can come stay with me? So I can help you? Don’t mess this up now, not when we’re so close.”

Chess saw her cue. “Nobody’s getting in trouble. I’m going to take care of everything at the Church. I can even recommend to your parents and to the Church you be allowed to live with Mr. Fletcher, okay? So don’t—”

“Arden?”

Chess practically threw her hands in the air. Kym Pyle was joining the party, her light blue wool coat still thrown over her shoulders in the doorway of the office.

Chess wasn’t sure what happened first. All she knew was Arden started to turn, her mouth opening. The gun moved sideways with her, its staring black eye finally focusing away from Chess.

Oliver leapt forward at the same time Kym did. Arden saw him, tried to yank the gun back.

It went off. Wood chips flew in slow motion from the doorframe.

Kym screamed. So did Arden. Another gunshot roared through the room, and another. Oliver stumbled. Arden fell.

Chess stood alone by the desk with her ears ringing. She couldn’t hear them screaming but saw their faces, mouths open, faces pale save the blood that seemed to have speckled everything in the room.

It took her a minute to see where it had come from. Arden’s foot—the damned kid had shot herself in her own foot. Fletcher’s shoulder. Kym Pyle’s hand—the bullet had gone through it to hit the wood, or ricocheted off and hit it, she didn’t know. All she knew was that it was time to leave.

With Oliver Fletcher. Gunshot wound or no gunshot wound, she needed him to find Kemp for her, and if she waited until after he’d left the hospital, it would be too late. Her job gave her some influence there, but not enough to make sure Fletcher wasn’t discharged and out of the District before she knew it. And what was she supposed to do then, go to his house all the way across the continent?

No, he would take off at the first opportunity and wash his hands of the whole thing, no matter how many tears he shed into her sweater or how responsible he might feel. They had to act now.

Merritt and three other guards came running, weapons drawn. Chess barely heard their voices over Kym and Arden’s shrieks and the ringing in her ears from the shots. The room felt too small, crowded with bodies and stinking of gunpowder and blood and anguish, while Chess stood and stared. It was almost interesting to see so much pain and for once not be part of it herself.

Something else she could do while attention was turned away, though. With her left hand she yanked the clasp of her bag, held it open, while she gathered Oliver’s photos with her right and shoved them in. The camera’s memory chip … He’d said something about the chip. Was it there, too?

No. She shuffled through the rest of the stuff on the desk as long as she dared but didn’t see it. Oliver must keep it somewhere else. She’d have to see if she could get it from him later; she could always break into the Pyle house again with her Hand and look through his stuff.

Right now, though … It was dark outside, and they had to do what they could now. Had Oliver not been shot it could have waited, but no way was she chancing him getting away from her before they ended this thing.

She pushed her way past one of the guards and grabbed Fletcher’s unwounded arm. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Come with me. We need to find Kemp.”

“You must be joking. I’m not going anywhere but the hospital.”

“Yes, you are. More women could die, deaths you’d be responsible for.”

“No way. I’m going—”

Chess leaned down, stared him right in the eye so he could see her determination. So he could see she really just didn’t give a fuck at this point. “You’re coming with me, or I’m calling the press. You want to turn me in? You go ahead. But you’re just as interested in keeping this whole affair under wraps as I am, and you know it. So let’s go.”

She knew she had him when he blinked.