barely felt the Binding lock into place when her wounds healed over. Barely felt something snap in her skull, in her body.
Barely. But she still felt it.
The fire died. Elder Thompson said something else, too quietly for her to hear. The energy lifted; the First Elders disappeared, leaving only the purple circle glowing around them.
Elder Griffin’s hands on her shoulder urged her to lean back, to rest against his chest. Her breath hitched; she didn’t want to cry, didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. Thirty thousand dollars didn’t seem like enough for what she’d just given up. Even her faith in the Church, her trust in it, seemed to fade in light of what she’d lost.
The circle disappeared; fresh air flowed into where it had been, dispersing the smoke. Through the last purplish tendrils of it she saw Lauren Abrams reappear, smiling slightly, looking down at Chess on the floor like that was just the right place for her.
That was enough for Chess. She shrugged Elder Griffin’s hands away, pushed herself to a stand on legs that threatened to give out on her. She couldn’t do anything about the tears she’d already shed, about her sweatsoaked dress clinging to her body or wet hair clinging to her skull. But she could damn well face Lauren on her feet.
Lauren smiled slightly, looked her up and down. “You did well.”
“She fought me.” Elder Thompson sank into a chair, pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his heavy brow. “She almost broke out of the circle.”
Lauren’s eyebrows lifted; she looked at Chess with new interest. “Really.”
“Cesaria is very strong,” Elder Griffin said, and Chess had to fight not to look at him. Not to go to him and let him hold her again. She’d never—never had someone do that, not like that. Had never heard anyone talk about her with such pride in his voice.
That wasn’t exactly true. One other person had done both of those things. But he never would again.
“Well.” Lauren dusted her hands together, as though she needed to wash them of Elder Griffin’s kind words. “Now that it’s done, we have some things to discuss, don’t we?”
Be proud of the wrinkles and lines that life has given you! They’re a symbol of the promises you’ve made to your family and of your achievements. All important events leave scars.
—Mrs. Increase’s Advice for Ladies by Mrs. Increase
The picture slid across the polished wooden table, the image’s horror barely contained by the thin white edges of the paper. Chess looked at it, swallowed hard. Looked again.
“He was found three days ago. Well…that much of him was. We expect an ID any moment.” Lauren’s crisp, cool tones cut through Chess’s anger, the overwhelming pity she felt, looking at the ruined body in the photograph. It was an effort not to leap across the table and smack her. How could she do that? How could she look at that—that thing, that lump of flesh and goo that had once been a human being, and just move on with her pat little speech?
“Down by the docks. I believe you’re familiar with the area?”
Chess nodded without thinking of it and reached out a tentative hand for the picture. Her dress was still wet; it clung coldly to her body. But that was not why she shivered.
Another picture slid over, knocked into the first one before Chess could touch it. “Yesterday this turned up, farther south. Fifty-fifth and Brand. Several different victims this time, but not their whole bodies. Just what you see.”
The slick photographic paper threatened to slice her fingers when she picked it up, angled it so she could get a better look. Not that she wanted to. But Lauren and the Elders watched her too closely, sat too silently and stiffly in their chairs. There had to be something they wanted her to see—to notice—and she wanted to know what it was.
Her gaze skittered over the picture, trying to take it in pieces, quadrants, to shield herself from the full horror of it. Across the top first, then down, the lower right corner, the—
Raised black scars interrupted her wrists. Thick and straight, like railroad ties crossing her forearms. Sprouting from them were curving veins of dark purple in a lacy pattern up to her elbows, down over her palms.
Elder Griffin caught her look. “They’ll disappear when the Binding Oath is lifted,” he said. “They remain simply as a reminder.”
Yeah. Like she could fucking forget.
But she just nodded and continued, steeling herself for the full image, until finally she saw what they wanted her to see. It was barely visible, only a linear shadow in the darkness of the black-and-white gore. But it was there, and Chess’s blood ran even colder than it had.
Fuck, she needed her pills. “The Lamaru.”
When no one responded she looked up. “Right? The Lamaru are back. That’s what this is. Who did this.”
Lauren nodded. “We believe so, yes.”
She reached down, lifted a thick file from her lap and plunked it onto the table. “We’ve received information that they’ve re-formed themselves and are operating somewhere in the area known as Downside. Where you live, is that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Excellent. So you’ll be an even bigger help than we thought. When shall I come down? Tonight? Are you free?”
“What?” What the fuck? She was sticky with sweat, she’d practically had a fucking breakdown, she’d watched two Church employees die—and now Lauren Abrams, who hadn’t been through any of that, thought Chess was going to invite her out to wander the streets of Downside? At night? And not even her own neighborhood, where she was relatively safe?
“I asked if you’re free tonight, Cesaria. Every minute we sit here is another minute the Lamaru could be working against us, you know. I think it’s best we start right away.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Unless you’re tired, of course.”
Yeah, Chess was tired. Tired of being poked at by this irritating woman.
Tired physically? Another question entirely. She was exhausted. She was also holding. A couple of Nips, a nice fat line…She had enough pharmaceuticals and botanicals in her pillbox and back at her apartment to keep her wide awake for a week. Ha. The glories of modern living.
“I’m not tired at all,” she said.
“Good.” Lauren spun the file; it skittered across the table and slammed into Chess’s arms. The impact sent the tendrils of purple shifting and sliding, rearranging themselves. Her stomach gave a little twist. Quickly she flipped the file open, shoved the photos inside. She didn’t want to feel them looking at her anymore, and she sure as fuck didn’t want to watch the physical manifestation of the heavy magic in her system wiggle around below her skin like ringworms. Or worse.
The entire file buzzed with energy. Chess couldn’t imagine what kind of shit lurked between those innocuous manila
