Читать книгу The Downside Ghosts Series Books 1-3: Unholy Ghosts, Unholy Magic, City of Ghosts - Stacia Kane, Stacia Kane - Страница 31

“There is no sin, as the misguided and incorrect old religions would have people believe. There is crime, and there is punishment. There is right and wrong. But these are based on fact, and not belief.”

—The Book of Truth, Veraxis, Article 56

“Turn here.”

Doyle obeyed, easing the car around the corner. “Where are you going, anyway?”

“Just a friend’s.”

“Is there some reason why you don’t want to tell me? Don’t you think you kind of owe it to me, after you dragged my ass out of bed and all the way down here?”

His voice was like the buzzing of a gnat in her ear. Why had she called him, again? She should have just walked. “You didn’t want to give me a ride, you should have said no.”

“And left you stranded alone in a bad part of town. I couldn’t do that.”

“Then don’t bitch about it.” Chess folded her arms tighter around herself and stared out the window. Rain blurred the red spots of traffic lights, oddly festive against the blackness of the empty street. She could almost imagine she was in a spaceship, or a boat, gliding smoothly across a calm glassy sea. All alone. Just the way she wanted to be.

She could almost imagine it, because Doyle wouldn’t stop talking. “I’m not some errand boy, you know. I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“No, what is your problem, Chessie? You practically leapt on me and dragged me into bed with you, then you treated me like a leper. You don’t return my calls, then you wake me up in the middle of the night and beg me to come down here.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Don’t give me that, you sounded like you were about to burst into tears on the phone, what was I supposed to do? And you look like—Damn, seriously. Like you haven’t slept in—Wait a minute.” The car, already crawling along at a speed that would have made a sober Chess nervous about being carjacked, slowed down even more. “Have you seen him? The nightmare man?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you before.”

“You have to come with me to talk to the Grand Elder. We have to tell him what’s going on.”

“I’m not talking to anyone about anything.” Shit. How many people had he gone around discussing this with? If the Lamaru were after her because of what she knew, how much danger was Doyle in, Doyle who could not keep his mouth shut to save his life? Unless—

No. No, that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have done it.

“You never talk to anyone about anything. I’ve been trying for weeks to get you to and you won’t. You won’t talk to me, you don’t talk to anyone else, you just hang around here in your precious ghetto with all these fucking crazy people who talk like they’ve never heard a proper word spoken in their lives, like that big guy who looks like somebody hit him with a brick full of stupid, and—”

“You’re such a fucking snob, Doyle, you know that?” The words tumbled from her mouth too fast, almost hurling themselves across the space between them. Doyle was a snob, an insufferable snob, and she couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t seen it before. That damn Valtruin was showing her a new side to everyone, wasn’t it? “You don’t know anything about him, he’s not stupid, and just because you can trace your ancestors and your—”

“Hey, at least I don’t make a habit of inviting diseased-looking homeless kids back to my place or spend all my time at that creepy market.”

Brain. Holy fuck, she’d forgotten about Brain, hadn’t she? She hadn’t even thought to look for him today, hadn’t even asked Terrible if he’d seen him.

Brain had left when Doyle showed up. Brain had been about to tell her something—to tell her what he’d seen at the airport—when Doyle arrived, at the spur of the moment, with breakfast. And he’d looked scared, hadn’t he? Trying to picture it in her mind now, she thought Brain’s eyes had been wide, his upper lip damp with sweat.

He’d seen Doyle at the airport. It had to be. Doyle had tattoos like hers. Doyle knew where she lived, knew she’d been in contact with the amulet—he’d picked the fucking worms out of her palm.

Doyle would have known she was investigating Ereshdiran, that she would visit the library after hours to do that research. No, he wasn’t trapped in the elevator, but she didn’t know that she’d trapped the man following her.

Had it been so airless in the car a minute ago, so hot?

Doyle? Doyle in the Lamaru? Doyle had performed a ritual murder?

Doyle had touched her, kissed her, taken her to his bed. For a moment the shadows inside the car looked like blood trails smeared over her skin. She hadn’t even suspected, hadn’t known. She’d called him to drive her thinking he was at least a friend, a decent person regardless of their issues, and she’d been so wrong. So wrong it made her throat close up and her stomach hurt.

“Okay, here it is,” she said, trying to keep her voice smooth. “You can just drop me off here.”

He hit the brakes so hard Chess lurched forward and almost hit the dash, her strained nerves twanging with fear. “What, that’s it? Just drop you off, never mind that I’m trying to talk to you, never mind that you owe me something after this, I’m just a fucking chauffeur to you. Is that it? Do you have any idea how many girls would kill to have me bring them breakfast? How many of the girls we work with still call me?”

“No, no, I just, I only needed a ride, and this is where I need to get out, okay?” The rainswept street outside was empty of everything but shadows. Not the most appealing place to be outside alone, but if she was right about Doyle, she’d happily take her chances. She wanted to get out, to get away, she had to.

“No, it’s not okay. You use people, did you know that? That’s all you do, and it’s all you are. And why you think you can treat me like this I have no idea, but it’s not going to work.”

Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she thought for sure he’d be able to hear it. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just … I have a lot going on right now. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? And maybe we can do something. But I really have to go, my friend’s waiting for me.”

“Friend? Or some other quick fuck?”

If she’d had time to think, she would have stopped herself before it happened. If she hadn’t been out of her mind with fear and misery about what happened with Terrible, and barely rational from narcotics she would have sat on her hands to make sure she didn’t do what she did. But she was all of those things, and furious and desperate to get away, and her hand swung out and slapped him soundly across one ruddy cheek.

Pain shot up her arm. She’d used her right hand, and the wound on her palm had hit his jawbone with a resounding smack.

There was a second of gasping, horrible silence, and then he hit her back.

She saw his lips twisting in rage, his hand moving in slow motion, and ducked, but he still got her right in the nose, and her entire head burst into agony. Her vision blurred, her breath caught in her chest. Something trickled down the back of her throat and she had a horrible suspicion it was her own blood.

“Chess,” she heard him gasp. “Oh, shit, Chess, I’m sorry, I haven’t slept, I didn’t mean to—”

He reached for her, but she shoved her door open before he could touch her again. The pitted asphalt of the road stung her hands and water seeped through her jeans when she hit the ground, but it didn’t matter. Without turning back she ran, with his voice calling her name, echoing on the barren street behind her. But he did not follow.

Her nose hurt. Her entire face hurt, as if someone had slammed a shovel into it. Her eyes felt heavy and somehow full, like they would explode if she prodded them. Oh, shit.

“Morning, tulip,” Lex drawled from across the room. “How you feel?”

She groaned and rolled over, turning away. Images from the night before pounded their way into her poor bludgeoned head. Doyle, Doyle’s fist. Her certainty that he was involved. Terrible … oh fuck, Terrible. What had she done? How the hell was she ever going to be able to face him again, after that?

At least she’d slept, she thought. It may have been more of a drug-induced coma than restful sleep, but her thoughts were clearer than they’d been in a few days and she didn’t feel too bad physically, aside from the heavy profundo thumping of her nose.

“Aye. Figured on that. That boy gave you quite a slam, didn’t he. What’d you do, insult his mama?”

It took her a minute to rasp the words out through her dry-as-dust throat. “Slapped him. Didn’t I tell you last night?”

“You ain’t said hardly a word making sense last night. Something about a guy named Boil, and a bar, and a quick fuck. I thought maybe you was hinting, but you weren’t in any shape with all the blood and all. Looked like something death threw back.”

“Thanks.” She forced one eye open and saw him standing by the bed, his weight shifted on one leg, holding a tall glass of water.

He shrugged. “Weren’t your best moment, is all. Can’t say as I blame you.”

The soft sheets slid across her bare skin—where were her jeans?—as she pushed herself up to a close approximation of a sit and held out her hand. He put two pills into her palm, then nodded for her other hand to take the water.

It was cool and crisp, and the first sip started to bring her slowly back to life. She shoved the Cepts into her mouth and washed them down with the rest of it, gasping after every swallow like a child. Her nose was too blocked to breathe through.

“Not Boil,” she said. “Doyle. A guy I work with. He’s … I think he’s one of them. One of the guys who did the ritual at Chester, who made the amulet. And I found out what it’s for, too. It’s … they’ve summoned a Dreamthief. A really powerful ghost—he’s like a ghost made of parts of other ghosts, if you know what I mean. Not a basic entity, a complex one. Very strong. Very unpleasant.”

“He the reason you in my tunnels last night?”

Her mouth fell open. “I …”

“Ain’t no fears, just askin. Big Shog tell me he saw you, trying to get out. So how you get in, if you ain’t know how to find the out?”

Shit. He didn’t look mad, but then how the hell would she know how he looked when he was mad? She couldn’t trust the bland curiosity on his face any more than she could trust anything else about him, which—although his behavior so far had at least eased her fears—wasn’t much. “What happened to my clothes?”

“My sister take them off, put you in bed. What you doing in the tunnels, when you say you ain’t like the underground?” He still looked curious, nothing more than that, but he would have been stupid not to be concerned and Chess knew it. She was working for Bump. As far as Lex knew, she was planning to double-cross him over the airport. She wasn’t stupid enough to try it—he could obviously reach her just about anywhere, although not while people were out and about—but he’d be an idiot if he hadn’t considered the possibility.

That he hadn’t shown any interest at all in the thief didn’t surprise her. That was her problem, not his. The tunnels … those were his problem, and she needed to be careful.

“I got chased,” she admitted finally. “I was at the Church doing research and somebody came after me. Do you know who the Lamaru are?”

“Heard of em, aye. They in this?”

“Yeah. I think they’re behind it all. I mean, I don’t think, I know. They chased me down to the platform—the train to the City—and I escaped through a tunnel there.”

He nodded, his gaze appraising. Did he know those bodies were down there? Did he know she’d walked past them to get into “his” tunnels?

“Mighty resourceful, aye.” His weight barely shifted the mattress. “You know, some of them tunnels ain’t been explored in years. You could have gotten yourself mighty lost. Lost enough to never be found.”

She swallowed. Her throat still felt gummy.

“Fact is, they say some folks have. Got lost, meaning. Saying they go down for some explorations, finally end up killing theyselves rather than starve. Maybe them bodies still down there, what you say?”

“I didn’t see any.” It came out as a creaky whisper. She licked her lips and tried again. “Just rats and mold.”

“Aye? Benefit. Seeing something like dead bodies down there be mighty freaked, I imagine.” He reached out and brushed her hair back from her face with warm fingers. “Whyn’t you shower up, tulip, get feeling better.”

The hot water stung her face and her palm, but it felt great. Too bad it couldn’t do anything to help the turmoil in her head.

Terrible. Oh, shit. She was going to have to face him today, to go see Bump and Old-timer Ed—or was it Old-timer Earl?—with him. For a minute she entertained the glorious notion that he might not want anything more to do with her, but she couldn’t be so lucky. Bump wanted this done, no matter how much of an ass she’d made of herself the night before, and Terrible worked for Bump.

Should she apologize to him? But how? Did she even want to?

Apologizing would mean having to explain to him that it had been the drugs talking when she said she wanted to go home with him, wanted to share his bed. Just a side effect, and that was all. In the cold light of morning the inferno that had raged in her blood the night before seemed … precipitous. She squirmed uncomfortably under the heavy spray.

He was Terrible, for fuck’s sake. Scary and ugly and cold. She couldn’t want him. She couldn’t even think about wanting him, it was crazy.

Maybe it would be better just to let it go. It had happened, it had not gone further. What was the point of going further? He didn’t really want her, either. His reaction to her, the stony expression on his face, told her that.

There was a reason she preferred one-night stands, and this illustrated it perfectly.

But how could she apologize without admitting any of that? No. Best to pretend she didn’t remember it, any of it. Spare them both an embarrassing scene.

And as for Lex … were his questions about what she’d seen in the tunnels a threat? Or was it genuine concern, or even a way of removing himself from responsibility for the dead men she’d seen. A subtle message that she shouldn’t think he was a murderer, which was rather amusing because of course he was, and she’d have known that even if she hadn’t watched him stab a man through the throat in her kitchen. So was Terrible, so was Bump, so was Lex’s boss Slobag—although come to think of it, she still didn’t know exactly what Lex did for Slobag. Given that Slobag was reputedly at least as bloodthirsty as Bump, if not more, though …

In the entire Downside she’d probably have a hard time finding more than a handful of people who’d never sent another soul to the City before its time. It was certainly a group to which she no longer belonged, not after the break-in and the syringe full of lubricant.

She switched off the water and dried herself. The only clothes she had were her pan ties and the Dead Kennedys shirt she’d been put to bed in, which she assumed belonged to Lex and slipped back over her head now with the feeling that she was acquiescing to something by doing so.

Her face in the mirror almost made her scream. Her nose and left eye looked mottled and swollen, like someone else’s features superimposed on her face. The pain had lessened some with the pills and the shower, but it was still there, a constant reminder of her confrontation with Doyle. As if she needed one.

She brushed her teeth, applied deodorant and moisturizer, and opened the bathroom door. “Hey, Lex, where are my clothes, anyway?”

He was sitting on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands so his long, wiry torso curved beneath his shirt. “Having them washed. Might be ready soon.”

“So … what, I’m stuck here until they’re ready?”

“Methinks my jeans may be some big on you, aye?”

“How long?”

“Half an hour, hour maybe. How you think we fill that time?” His eyebrows raised, his gaze focused on her bare thighs beneath the hem of his T-shirt. Chess looked back at him, her expression just as frank.

He wasn’t really a nice person, but again, neither was anyone else she knew. He’d kidnapped and taunted her. But he’d also helped, the night he killed that Lamaru in her apartment and, somehow more important, the night he’d driven out to the Morton house to retrieve her Hand for her.

She didn’t care much about him, but she liked him well enough and he was certainly sexy and appealing. He wasn’t—well, he wasn’t anyone she imagined she could ever be serious about, and that was a good thing. If she’d felt anything real for him, any real trust or affection, if she’d had any sense they could have an actual future together, she wouldn’t even be able to consider letting him have what he so obviously wanted. But what connection there was between them was based on nothing more than mutual attraction and mutual semi trust, and she wouldn’t have any regrets if she never saw him again after everything was finished. Which made him pretty close to perfect for the time being.

And in the last couple of days she’d almost been killed too many times to count, and there was a very good chance she would actually die in the days to come. So why not?

“I don’t know,” she said. “Got anything in mind?”

“Aye.” He sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Whyn’t you show me that ink?”