don’t know, I haven’t touched it. Should I?”
Jillian nodded. Chess reached into the box and lifted the Bible sealed in heavy plastic, the framed sampler embroidered with a quote from same under a large cross, a couple of pictures of Jesus. She’d never seen anything like it before—well, of course she had, the Church had plenty of artifacts of the old religions in the Archives, in the Restricted Room and the museums and—she’d seen that sort of thing before, was the point. But never like that, never in someone’s actual home. Certainly the kinds of houses where she’d grown up—the kinds of people she’d grown up with—weren’t really the type who would have cared about religion even if it wasn’t illegal.
But the Warings’ items were in fact legal; Chess found the license at the bottom of the box. She’d definitely never seen one of those before. “It’s made out to the Warings and the New Hope Mission.”
“Huh.” Jillian scanned the document, set it back in the box. “Well, I guess they were religious. I bet Gloria’s too young to remember it, though. She was born in ninety-two, so she would have been five for Haunted Week. That’s pretty young to really remember stuff like that.”
“Should we ask her?”
Jillian shrugged. “Maybe later. It’s not a big deal. Lots of people were religious before and wanted to keep a few things from it. We see it fairly often. As long as it’s licensed it’s okay.”
“So should I set it aside, make a note or something?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Keep looking.”
About half an hour later Chess had found two small luck charms—ones she was pleased to note that she identified right away, even though they hadn’t covered all the permutations in class yet, ha!—some house-dedication supplies, and four protection spells, which seemed excessive, but what did she know. Behind them sat another bag, a small red velvet one. Shit. She knew what that probably was.
She glanced toward the bedroom, where Jillian was going through drawers. Jillian would come pick the thing up for her if she asked. And she could ask. She was only eighteen, only a student; she could ask.
Except that asking would make her look like a pussy. Asking would be the kind of thing Jillian might report back, with a sorrowful “I don’t think Cesaria is ready” sort of comment thrown in.
Asking would be like admitting that something was wrong with her. That she was terrified; that she had reason to be terrified. That she wasn’t normal.
So she didn’t ask. She gritted her teeth and reached for the thing. Maybe the gloves would help protect her, maybe they’d form some kind of barrier against—
Or maybe the gloves wouldn’t do a damn thing, or at least not enough. Energy crawled up her arm, greedy sex energy eager to find a home. Someone else’s sex energy, forcing itself upon her, insinuating itself across her skin and down into her belly, lower down, dancing a slow cruel path through her body and making her heart kick in her chest.
That wasn’t just the sex, either. That was panic, the bright painful cry of it in her soul, making her eyes sting. Shit, she couldn’t—couldn’t handle that, couldn’t do it, not in that strange claustrophobic room with its cloying too-warm air. It was too much, too much for her, hard hands on her skin, holding her down, her lungs fighting for oxygen, she had to—
She had to drop the fucking bag, was what she had to do. Her stiff fingers didn’t want to let go for a second; as always, her body betrayed her, wanting more even though it was wrong, wanting more even though it was bad. But finally they obeyed; the bag fell to the carpet with a soft thud, and Chess knelt there for a minute trying to catch her breath, swiping furiously at her damp, stinging eyes with the backs of her wrists. She’d have to touch the thing again to take it into the room and show Jillian, and the last thing she needed was for Jillian to see that anything was bothering her.
It was just a damn sex spell. Lots of people had them, big deal, right? She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to flatten the furrows she knew were there, rubbing to ease the beginnings of what promised to be a killer headache. Just a stupid fucking sex spell. Nothing more. She was older now, she was a student at Church, in training to be a witch. She could handle a little magic. She could, and she would.
One long deep breath, then another, until they came smooth without catching in her throat. Okay. Fine. She clenched her jaw, got to her feet, and grabbed the bags.
From the closet doorway to the foot of the bed where Jillian had placed a few other items was only maybe fifteen feet. It felt like forever while Chess struggled to keep her expression calm, her chest from heaving. Jillian didn’t look up until Chess reached the pile and dropped the bags just beside it. She’d done it.
Yeah, she’d done it then. Once. What happened next time? Or the time after that? What kind of job was she going to find in the Church where she never had to deal with sex magic, ever?
She couldn’t really think of one unless she wanted to be a Liaiser, and the idea of letting spirits have control over her body, communing with them … the thought made her shudder.
Almost as much as that horrible spell bag had. She was going to have to distract herself somehow, because her heart still pounded and she still heard those distant voices telling her how bad she was, how dirty, how it was her fault, and she didn’t want to hear them. Didn’t want to see those faces in her mind.
Jillian peered at her. “You okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sure. Of course.” Chess twisted her lips into what she hoped looked like a wry smile. “Sex magic. Kinda gross, is all.”
“Ooh, let’s see.” Jillian dropped to the floor and started digging in the bag. “Wow, they weren’t kidding with this, were they? I wonder who they hired to make it. This doesn’t feel like the normal homemade type of spell.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, it’s too strong. Here, take off your glove.” Jillian picked up one of the luck charms and held it up, waiting until Chess had stripped off the thin latex to set it in her palm. “See how it feels kind of weak? Close your eyes and really feel it.”
Chess did, her face warming. Of course. Duh. They’d just started this in class a few weeks ago, energy identification. She should have realized … shit, what else might she be missing? She’d read about this, she’d even practiced it, so why hadn’t she tested herself on it as soon as she saw the charm bags? Why hadn’t she thought to check if the energy was the same, if she could identify it?
Because she was chickenshit, that’s why. Because she’d been so worried about that sex spell that she hadn’t even thought of it. Too selfish, too concerned about her little feelings or whatever.
She was never going to get anywhere if she didn’t think more, focus better.
The energy in the luck charm was like the energy lingering in the room, only a little stronger. And … “Is this female? It feels like a woman made it, maybe?”
To her relief, Jillian nodded. “Very good. Probably Mrs. Waring. They had a couple of books on basic spells in the living room, don’t know if you saw them.”
Chess nodded—she had—but again she hadn’t paid attention. Shit. She’d been training for what, three hours, and she was already missing stuff, already
