City of Ghosts. Stacia Kane

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 covers. Didn’t want to imagine it.

      And lucky her, she didn’t have to, because she was going to become intimately familiar with every page, every word, every smear of darkness, every foul deed.

      Just what she needed. More filth in her soul. Someday, maybe, she would explode from it; someday, maybe, every rotten thing that had ever been done to her and every rotten thing she’d ever done would erupt from her in a fountain of sewage and sorrow, all those secrets she kept even from herself spilling out and adding to the muck she could never wash off no matter how hard she tried.

      She’d never been bound by magic to keep those secrets. Just by her own shame.

      “Okay.” Lauren rose from her seat, her right hand smoothing her skirt behind her. “Shall we take my car, or—”

      “No.” Oops, that came out a little too fast; Lauren’s eyebrows rose. Chess could practically see her nose pinch in, her mouth opening—probably to remind Chess that as a Third Inquisitor she was Chess’s superior in rank, though not directly in department. “I mean, I need my car, and I need to change out of this and take a shower. I have blood all over me.” And some pills to take in private, but she didn’t mention that. Her palms were starting to tingle, and she seriously needed some breathing room.

      “I’ll follow you.”

      Oh, shit. Lauren in her apartment, Lauren poking around in her stuff? No way.

      “Actually, Lauren, you should probably change, too. The area we’re looking at isn’t really the safest part of town—”

      “I’m a member of the Black Squad, Cesaria. I think I can handle a few catcalls.”

      Oh, shit, again. Is that all the woman thought they were in for? A couple of street toughs grabbing their crotches and making kissy noises?

      Seeing those pictures, finding out they were dealing with the Lamaru—scary enough in and of itself, without the vendetta she had no doubt they were carrying against her personally for extra fun—was bad. Realizing, as she looked into Lauren’s determined, arrogant face, that she was also dealing with a woman who had no concept of what they were about to get into—that was another thing entirely.

      And there wasn’t much Chess could say about it, because if she gave them too much information about Downside, they might rescind her permission to live there. And that didn’t even bear thinking about.

      “I think it’s probably best if you wear better shoes for walking,” she said finally. “And jeans. Something more casual, you know? We don’t want to attract attention if we can help it.”

      Lauren considered it for a minute. “Fine. I’ll go home and change. You do the same, and I’ll meet you at your house in forty-five minutes.”

      It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. “Do you need my address?”

      “It’s in your file.”

      “Oh. Right.”

      Lauren smirked and swung herself up from her seat. “Be outside, if you don’t mind. I’d rather not have to waste time coming up to get you.”

      That remark, and several others, were still stewing in Chess’s head when Lauren pulled her sports car—cherry red, the perfect little princess vehicle for the Grand Elder’s perfect little daughter—up onto the curb at the corner of Fifty-fifth and Brand. “That lot, there,” she said. “That’s where they took the second picture.”

      Chess nodded and got out, taking a deep breath. The air stank, a vile, rotting scent from the slaughterhouse four blocks or so away. When the wind hit the deathhouse right all of Downside smelled like a burned-out plague pit in the summertime. And lucky her, this was one of those times.

      She had to admit, though, it did have a few advantages over the cloying fragrance of perfume and bitch that filled Lauren’s tricked-out coupe. Like not having to sit right next to Lauren. Or not having to listen to Lauren talk. Or especially not having to listen to Lauren’s music.

      Decaying carcasses were infinitely preferable to that, she thought, then regretted it—a little—when she remembered why they were there. Her stomach, already a touch uneasy under its load of four Cepts and a couple of Nips, gave a slight protest; she popped the top of the Coke can she’d grabbed for just that reason and poured some down her throat.

      “You know, caffeine can mess with your energy,” Lauren said. “It’s best to stay away from artificial stimulants.”

      It was probably the funniest thing anyone had said to her in weeks. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      “I’m just saying, if you want to advance in the Church you should use every advantage, and one of them is keeping your power as sharp as possible. You don’t want to—”

      “Yeah, thanks. So where did they find—them?”

      Lauren’s raised eyebrows told Chess exactly what she thought of the change of subject, but she accepted it. “There. Come on.”

      Together they crossed the street, the heels of Chess’s boots as silent as she could make them on the broken slabs of cement. The road itself looked like a patchwork quilt: squares of dirt, sections filled with dirty gravel, here and there a foot or two of blacktop.

      It looked empty, and every alarm bell in Chess’s head started ringing faintly. Downside streets were never empty, especially not at night. Like tall grass concealing a predator, it was when they were still and silent that they were at their most dangerous. Ready to strike. She knew there had to be at least a dozen pairs of eyes on her back at that very moment, at least a dozen hands reaching into pockets and belts and hairdos in search of weapons.

      Lauren’s car was probably loaded with wards, safe as it would be inside the Church itself, but the women’s tattoos were designed to protect them from ghosts and magic, not from Downsiders out to make their illegal livings.

      She hadn’t worried about that stuff in a while. Usually if she was out at night she was with Terrible, and nobody dared fuck with Terrible; hell, nobody dared even look at Terrible for more than a few respectful seconds. Even if she wasn’t with him physically, everybody knew who she was, or rather, they knew who she was with; everyone knew Downside’s Churchwitch worked for Bump.

      But Terrible hated her, and she had no idea if Bump knew what she’d done. What she’d been doing. “Stupid” was one word for people who thought they could get away with betraying Bump. The other word was “dead.”

      She had a funny feeling both those words would end up being accurate if they didn’t get out of there quickly. The whole area felt off, even with