Unholy Ghosts

“This is where it was.” Mrs. Morton waved a nervous hand at a spot on the floor to her left, about a foot from where she was standing. There was something vaguely familiar about the movement, about Mrs. Morton herself. Maybe the family really did attend Church sometimes and Chess had seen her there. “I was in bed, there, like I said, and it just…hovered here, and stared at me. It looked so angry, I just didn’t know what to do…”

This was ridiculous, a waste of her time. She switched off the Spectrometer and tape recorder, shoved them both back into her bag.

“Well, I’ve seen enough for now. If we could go back to the living room and you could sign the complaint, we’ll get started processing it.”

“But…you didn’t see the ghost, does that matter?”

Chess pulled the zipper on her purse shut, realizing as she did that her hand was shaking slightly. She glanced at the clock by the bed. Five to nine. This was taking forever, she needed to go.

“We’re not done yet,” she replied, trying to sound cheerful. “It’ll take at least a week or two to really investigate. This was just to get the papers filled out, and so I could get a feel for what we’re dealing with. You’ll be seeing quite a bit of me, Mrs. Morton, don’t you worry.”

Mrs. Morton smiled weakly. The cheaters always hated it when she said she’d be around a lot. And the Mortons were faking it, she knew it. Not even a beep, not even a blip on the Spectro. Very unusual in an enclosed space with ghosts.

And the Mortons would certainly be learning about enclosed spaces if she was right, and they were faking. The Church didn’t take kindly to attempts to steal from it; Mr. Morton would have a hard time examining eyeballs from a little blue cell.

“So let’s just go sign those papers and I can leave you to your eveni—”

Something darted through the air behind Mr. Morton, so fast it took Chess a second to realize it wasn’t just a hallucination. A black shape, man-size but crouched over. She had the impression of a hood hiding its face, of the light by the bed catching the sharp edge of a blade, before it disappeared into the closet.

It looked almost like a cartoon, like an image projected on the wall instead of moving in front of it, but it had been so long since she’d seen an actual cartoon, she could have been wrong about that.

She wasn’t wrong about the sense of unease, though, more than simply the unease of her body starting to get serious with her about its needs—at least she thought it was. Fuck, she shouldn’t have waited to take her pills, it was throwing her off. For the first time a ribbon of doubt slipped through her mind. Withdrawal, or ghost? No way to be sure.

The Mortons stood watching her, faintly perplexed, waiting for her to finish her sentence. They hadn’t noticed anything—or perhaps they had, and they were watching her to see if she said anything.

Of course. The image had looked like a cartoon, like something being broadcast, because it was. When she came back later she’d look for the projector. It was probably behind the mirror over the dresser. The thought was comforting, but not enough to ease the cool sweat on her forehead and body. She felt sticky with it.

“To your evening,” she finished. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you so late, my last interview ran long. And I’ll be in touch.”

Sooner than they knew.

Chapter Seven

“Debunking often looks like the most appealing of Church positions, but very few possess the skill, intelligence, and above all, integrity required.”

—Careers in the Church: A Guide for Teens, by Praxis Turpin

All buzzed up and no place to go. At least, not until three, when she investigated the Morton house again.

The Market was closed. Bump’s place would be open—Bump’s place never closed—but she didn’t particularly want to go there either. She had everything she needed.

But the walls of her small apartment were closing in, the faint colors from the stained-glass window sliding over surfaces like they were chasing her.

She could go get cigarettes. The Stop Shop on the corner had special dispensation to be open twenty-four hours. That might be nice. A little walk in the cool night air would clear some of the anxious cobwebs in her head.

What the hell had that thing been? She’d never seen anything like it. Projected image or not, it was menacing. She’d had the feeling that if it had turned and saw her, looked at her, she might have screamed.

Maybe she should eat. It wasn’t like her to get so paranoid. Take a little of the edge off, fix the sourness in her stomach. The Stop Shop sold snacks, too.

She fished a twenty from her bag, then grabbed her knife and tucked it into her pocket. Walking alone and unarmed in Downside was never a good idea. She locked all three of the bolts on her door as she left.

Her building had once been a Catholic church, before the Church of Truth made every other religion redundant.

Many of the old places of worship had fallen into disrepair, but buildings with some sort of historical value or level of attractiveness were permitted to remain. Chess’s was both, and she was glad, even if the extra floors built in ruined the effect a little bit.

It was still one of the prettiest buildings in Downside. And the air outside her apartment did seem clean, despite the odors of garbage and exhaust that never went away.

The heavy double doors at the end of the hall stood wide open, framing the empty street beyond. That was odd. The doors were normally closed and locked. Could be old Mrs. Radcliffe on the second floor left them open. They were difficult for her to move, and she always forgot what kind of neighborhood she lived in.

Or it could have been the four members of Slobag’s gang from Thirtieth, lying in wait in the protective darkness between the huge slabs of wood and the walls. Chess reached for her knife but she knew it was useless. A hand closed over her mouth before she could open it to scream, and the sharp pinch of a needle was the last thing she felt before the world went black.

The itching woke her up. That, or the intense discomfort of lying on a cold cement floor. But she was pretty sure it was the itching. It burned a path from the palms of her hands and soles of her feet, up her arms and legs, and spread across her chest and throat as if she wore a cheap, terrible necklace she couldn’t take off.

She had no idea what time it was, but if she was this bad off it had to be late Sunday morning, at least. Shit. She’d missed the Mortons’ place. Not that they knew she’d missed, but still.

Her head pounded as she pushed herself to a sit. The worst possible thing she could do would be to scratch. Scratching would only make the itching worse. Experience had taught her that. Once she started scratching those invisible itch-bugs wandering beneath the skin she might as well give up. It was like issuing them a challenge. Itch-bugs didn’t like to lose.

Of course, her stomach was giving them a run for their money in the torture-and-discomfort department. It felt like she’d swallowed a big gulp of acid. The palm of her right hand screamed in pain.

Faint light entered the room through a window high up on the opposite wall. If she leaned her head back she could see a slice of gray sky. So it could be early morning, or simply a cloudy day. She bet on the latter. No way she’d be withdrawing like this if only a few hours had passed.

Slobag’s minions had lain a quilt on the floor, but it hadn’t made a difference. Now it did. She wrapped it around her shoulders to try and ease her shivering, and leaned back.

No point even trying the door. The heavy iron lock looked shiny new and very strong. There were no other doors. There wasn’t even a convenient ring connected to a secret trapdoor in the floor.

There was a toilet, though. She wasn’t about to use it, not when they could be watching, but at least it was there. Nothing like a considerate kidnapper.

Oh shit. What the hell did they want with her? It wasn’t as though they could mistake her for someone else, or rather, something else. Not with her tattoos, not unless they were stupid, which Slobag’s people weren’t.

She didn’t know much about Slobag—not her neighborhood, not her dealer. She didn’t need to. Like Bump, Slobag ruled his part of town. Like Bump, he would be utterly ruthless. And unlike Bump, he would bear a grudge against her simply because of who she worked for, which was not good news for her. The Church’s ascendance had been welcomed far more suspiciously in the Asian countries than it had in the West, and Slobag and his men were Cantonese.

She caught herself trying to scratch and folded her arms tightly around her chest under the quilt. Her body thrummed with need. She needed to get out of here. She needed her pills. Just the thought made her groan.

Metal scraped against metal as the lock unbolted and the door opened.

“So she’s awake.”

Chess didn’t recognize the man standing in the doorway, his hair standing up in short black spikes. Everything about him was black except his skin, the silver chains he wore, and the chunky silver skull ring on his right hand. The black Chinese character tattooed on the back of his left hand would have identified him as one of Slobag’s even if his features already hadn’t. His people all carried the mark, something like the tattoos that granted her some protection against spirits and gave her additional power to fight them. She suspected there was some power in that ink, as well. Maybe not the kind of power hers carried, but who knew?

Through the gaps around his body in the doorway she saw a few others, their arms folded neatly in front of them. No chance at overpowering him and escaping, then. Of course, even if he’d been alone she probably couldn’t have accomplished it, not in her state. Not in any state, if the rumors about this crew could be believed.

“Why the face, tulip girl? You look moanworthy indeed.” His voice was deeper than she would have expected, and not accented like street no matter what the words were.

She bit her lip and turned her face away, hanging it forward so her dark hair could cover it. Not much choice except to look and act as docile as possible so they’d let her go. At least until she knew what they wanted.

From outside the doorway he produced a chair and sat down in it a few feet away from her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m Lex.”

She glared at him.

“Don’t feel like making the speech? Okay by me. Only maybe I got something might loosen your tongue.” He reached into his jacket. Chess tensed. She didn’t have her knife, didn’t have any weapons at all, but if she had to, she could probably at least get him with her fingernails or a good solid kick in the balls.

He didn’t pull out a weapon. Or rather, not a weapon that could hurt her. But nothing could have controlled her as effectively. Just as Bump had done, Lex produced a Baggie full of pills. Unlike Bump, he held it in his fingers, dangling it in front of his face. Her mouth watered.

“What you think, tulip girl? Maybe you want to talk, I let you have one?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a Cept, gleaming white between his burnished fingers. “Maybe two?”

The pill loomed in front of her, shining like a diamond. Her stomach was starting to cramp, her legs to feel weak. If she didn’t manage to get something soon…

“I got all night. My guess is you don’t.” He leaned forward a little more, his voice dropping to a caressing whisper, an insinuating one. His black eyes never left her. “You feeling that pinch, hmm? Them itches? They get right in, don’t they? Like you’ll never stop itching. And the belly gets all fratchy there, those long legs turn rubber…”

She wanted to sink into the wall and disappear. She should have let the psychopomp take her. She knew it was a mistake to stay alive.

“Ain’t gonna get better with time, tulip.” He tossed the Cept into the air, caught it. Tossed it again, missed. It hit the stone floor with a small ticking noise.

Chess dove forward, but she was too late. His boot snapped down over the pill and ground it into powder. That was okay. If he would just leave…It wouldn’t be pretty, but the floor seemed reasonably clean, right? She didn’t know if they’d taken her cash as well as her knife. She could roll that bill up just fine, even with her stiff and aching hand. If he would leave, if he would please just leave.

No such luck. He produced a bottle of water. “Jarkman.”

The door opened, admitting another, smaller man. “Aye?”

“Fetch us some towels. I made a spill.”

Lex uncapped the water bottle, lifted his foot, and slowly, deliberately, poured liquid over the crushed pill. Chess bit her lip so hard she drew blood.

Jarkman was back in a moment with a roll of paper towels. He wiped up the mess in silence and left.

“Want to try that one again? I got a whole bag here, it don’t mind me if I crush them all. Jarkman needs the exercise.”

He plucked another pill from the bag. “You know the worst part, aye? You been there? When the belly gets mad. Starts turning upside out. Methinks nothing in this world so bad as—”

“Stop.” The word came out before she realized it. “Just stop, okay?”

He blinked. “And that’s four words, ain’t they nice. Here you go, tulip. You have that.”

He tossed the pill to her like a bread crust to a duck. Not picking it up was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“Aw, you think we give you poison?” She might have appreciated the smile he gave her if she hadn’t been about to burst into tears. He wrapped his fingers around the top of the bag, shook it up, and plucked a pill out of it. She watched it disappear into his mouth, watched him wash it down. “No poison. True thing, tulip. Take it.”

She wanted to be cool, but coolness was impossible in the face of her screaming, throbbing body. The words were barely out of his mouth before she snatched the pill up from the folds of the quilt and gobbled it, grinding it between her teeth, turning it into a slick, bitter paste on her tongue.

Without a word he passed her the water, and she gulped it down. Some of the tightness in her chest eased.

“Ready to talk now?” He held out his hand, flat and open. Another Cept rested in the middle of his palm.

She took it, crunched it, washed it down. “Depends on what you want to talk about.”

“What you suppose I want to talk about?”

“You think you have a ghost?”

His thin lips stretched into a smile. “Not bad, tulip, not bad. Tougher than you look.”

“Why do you keep calling me tulip?”

“Ain’t that the tattoo?”

“No, these are—you asshole.”

She did have a tulip tattoo. Low on her stomach, just above the juncture of thigh and groin. Which her pants covered.

He shrugged. “Some dames hide weapons, aye?”

“So you had to strip-search me to make sure I wasn’t?”

“I don’t strip you, nay. Not me. Not the men. My sister Blue, she done the job.”

Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to thank him.

The knock at the door startled her. Lex turned. “Aye?”

“Seven.”

“Right.” He looked back at her. “Hungry?”

“What?” The shakes were only just starting to fade, how could she be hungry?

“I gotta be somewhere, have a talk to someone. Jarkman show you the bathroom, got a good strong waterfall. Then we talk.”

“What the hell is going on? Those goons kidnapped me and threw me in here, then you show up and taunt me, now you want me to have a nice hot shower and some food? Are you insane? Seriously.”

He shrugged. “Don’t suppose so, nay. You stay here if you like it. But you don’t leave this house until we talk. Your choice.”

Chapter Eight

“Crimes of morality are a betrayal of yourself, your family, and the Church. And because of this, betrayal itself is the most serious of moral crimes.”

—The Book of Truth, Laws, Article 75

The shower was good, she had to admit. By the time she got out she felt almost normal again.

Obviously they hadn’t brought her here to kill her, unless this was part of some ritual she didn’t understand. But why they would want to talk to her—what possible reason Slobag or any of his men would have for bringing her here—she had no idea.

The Asians hated the Church and anything or anyone who worked for it, as a rule. Since so much of their old religions were based on venerating the spirits of their ancestors—despite the fact that those same ancestors rose from the grave and killed them, just as they had everywhere else in the world—she couldn’t really blame them, but it did mean that when she emerged from the bathroom and put her clothes back on, her hands shook a little. The clothes weren’t clean, but it was better than not having showered at all.

The room adjoining the bathroom was undecorated, almost warehouse-like in its barrenness. A small, hard bed hugged one wall, covered with a plain blue blanket. A cold TV sat on the floor opposite. Its blank screen watched her like an unblinking eye as she crossed to the window and looked out at the city. She’d never spent much time down here, so close to where Downside gave way to the Metro District. Farther beyond that the suburbs glinted like fool’s gold as the hills rose to the misty darkening sky.

She assumed it was Sunday evening—Jarkman had said “Seven” through the door, and it clearly wasn’t getting any lighter. Which meant she’d missed going out to Chester with Terrible that afternoon, which was not good. He’d be looking for her. All of Bump’s men would be looking for her. Being found here would probably be the last thing she ever did.

Chess didn’t have any specific loyalty to Bump aside from his dominance in her neighborhood, at least not when it came to buying her drugs. But given the investigations she’d just been extorted into doing for him, the inside information she now had about his plans—no, being found with Slobag’s men could definitely be hazardous to her health.

Something clicked behind her. She turned to see Lex framed by the doorway.

“C’mon. I got food.”

Not the most delightful invitation she’d ever received, but her stomach didn’t care. Had she eaten the day before? Probably not, with all that speed. No wonder she’d slept for so long.

She followed him down a blank gray hallway, their feet echoing on the dark wood floor planks. As they moved farther down the hall the doors they passed grew more ornate, heavy red wood carved with dragons and pagodas. The contrast between them and the bare walls made Chess wonder what was hiding in those rooms.

Finally the hall ended in a large, wide room. Gold dragons and tigers fought in murals along the entire length of the walls, and the furniture was carved the same as the doors had been. It was like stepping into an elaborate set for a martial arts film, but at least it wasn’t in quite as bad taste as Bump’s place had been. Whatever genitalia the illustrated beasts possessed was mercifully hidden.

Lex gestured to a long polished table. “Sit you down, tulip. Got food for you. No poison there, neither.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged. “I’m hungry. Not polite to eat in fronts of people, aye?”

“So why not just say what you need to say and then eat when I leave?”

“You gonna sit? Only I’m tired of standing here.”

She sat. Up close she could see the fine grains in the table. It looked like real wood, a solid slab of it. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a piece of wood so large.

They sat in silence while an elderly man brought in a tray and placed two white china bowls in front of them, along with accompanying silverware. Beggar soup—that favorite dish of the Downside—but an especially elegant version loaded with meatballs and chicken and herbs. She could never afford to have both meats. Of course, she spent most of her money on other things. Most Debunkers lived much better than Chess did. Life was all about trade-offs.

“So. Why don’t we start talking now, aye?” he said, after she’d inhaled about half her bowlful. Hungrier than she’d thought, and free food was free food.

She stiffened in her seat. “Talk about what?”

“I guess you know what.”

“Um…no.”

“Hmm.” He leaned back, lit a cigarette, handed it to her and lit another one for himself. “I been thinking we talk about airports, tulip. How you like that topic?”

“My name isn’t tulip, you know.”

“I know.”

“So is there some reason you keep calling me that?”

“Maybe them tats interest me. Maybe one day you show me.” He cocked an eyebrow while smoke wreathed his spiky head.

“Maybe one day the Grand Elder will walk naked down the street.”

“Maybe he will, no telling. Or maybe one day Bump gonna reopen Chester Airport, what you say?”

She sucked in a long drag of fragrant smoke. Not her usual brand, but nice. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Not what I hear.”

“Maybe you heard wrong.”

“Or maybe you lie to me, Cesaria. Only thing is, I can’t figure out why anyone lie for a strut-speech like Bump. You got any ideas on that?”

“I don’t lie for anybody.” The filtered tip of the cigarette was tan, with little flecks of gold. They sparkled faintly when she turned it in her fingers.

“Seems to me you lie every day. Less you been telling them at your church what you do on your off-hours, right. They know you into Bump fifteen grand? They know why?”

When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I know you lying to me now, and I know you was out at Chester Friday night. I even know why you lie, causin you don’t want Terrible down on you like a load of steel. But you ain’t hiding anything from me I don’t know. And that’s just fine. Got a deal for you, tulip. A deal you like right.”

If Bump found out she’d discussed his airport plans with one of Slobag’s men, he’d…he might even have her killed. Even the spiritual dispensation offered by the Church wouldn’t protect her.

Then again, if she didn’t hear Lex out and agree to his deal, he’d probably tell Bump she’d come here offering information. What did he care? One dead Debunker wouldn’t exactly bother him.

“I’ll listen,” she said. “I’m not confirming anything about the airport, but I’ll listen.”

“Good. That’s real good.” He leaned forward and lit another cigarette. “So check the tale, tulip. Bump’s got you down there, disproving them ghosts, aye? Only maybe we don’t want them ghosts disproved. We sure don’t want them banished or exiled or whatever it is you people do. I gotta tell you why?”

She shook her head. Bump being able to fly his drugs into his own private airport wouldn’t be very good for Slobag.

“So that’s where you come in. You tell Bump there’s ghosts in that airport, real vicious ghosts ain’t gonna go anywhere.”

“He’ll expect me to Banish—”

“But maybe you can’t.”

“But I can. I mean, it’s what I do for a living.”

He shrugged. “You figure something out. I got belief, me. But Bump don’t open Chester. Big trouble for you if he does.”

The smell of the stew started to cloy. She pushed the bowl away. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Ah, good girl. If he don’t, we got specials for you. How much you pay Bump? Them pills don’t come cheap, aye? You visit the pipes, ain’t cheap. You do what we wants, you pay less. Like, nothing. Bump wants his money, we pays it. Then you come to us for what you need. All taken care of, tulip. Just for you. Brought to your door.”

Free drugs.

She could actually hold on to money for the first time in three years. Get a new car, maybe, with her next bonus, instead of using them to pay Bump her arrears. New clothes. Real hot food more than once or twice a week instead of snacks and junk.

Of course, Bump would notice if she stopped buying from him. Maybe she wouldn’t stop, not entirely. Bump’s pipes were a hell of a lot more convenient to her apartment. But making him think she was cutting back…Maybe that wasn’t a bad idea at all.