City of Ghosts. Stacia Kane

tattoos screamed; her soul screamed.

      The blade rose. The ghost—how did that work; she didn’t know—he’d sliced their wrists. Each of the ghosts had a wound, a gaping mouth dribbling whitish ectoplasm. Dripping it into her similar wounds. It stung and burned, it raced into her bloodstream, ran through her body, a blast of power and fear and icy death that chilled her even as it set her afire.

      “Cesaria Putnam, you are Bound. Bound to obey the commands of those aforementioned in speaking of what you are about to hear. Say you are Bound.”

      “I am Bound.”

      Dizziness swam up through her stomach, to her chest, to her head. The First Elders continued to invade her. Her blood continued to flow from her wounds, sizzling onto the fire below them like fat drippings onto firecans in the Market. She smelled it, blood mixed with the herbs, changing the scent into something like cinnamon and copper.

      The fire rose, blinding purple. Rose at her feet and rose inside her. Sweat poured down her forehead and neck, between her breasts. Her bangs clung to her forehead.

      “Cesaria Putnam, kneel.”

      Her knees gave way. She didn’t feel them hit the floor but knew they had.

      “Richtaru bessiden amacha.” Elder Thompson’s voice rose, thick and strong above the roaring in her ears, the rasping desperation of her breath in her lungs. Smoke curled around her, pressed against her power, twined with it, wrapped around her like a hot, heavy wet blanket.

      “By my power you are Bound. By your power you are Bound. By your blood and bones you are Bound. By the power of the Church, by the power of the Truth, by the power of the First Elders and the earth you are Bound.”

      Flames danced before her eyes, blurred with tears and stinging sweat. Too hot, it was too hot in there, she was losing too much blood…

      “Let the Binding be sealed!”

      The flames leapt, scorching her face. Something poured over her wrists, it seared her skin, stank of herbs. She looked at her arms, watched the thick reddish water pour over her, felt it enter her bloodstream and burn its way up her arms, to her chest, to her brain.

      Her throat ached. She was screaming. Screaming so loud and so long she 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?”

       Chapter Four

      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?”