Unholy Ghosts

She had no idea what time it was, but if she was this bad off it had to be late Sunday morning, at least. Shit. She’d missed the Mortons’ place. Not that they knew she’d missed, but still.

Her head pounded as she pushed herself to a sit. The worst possible thing she could do would be to scratch. Scratching would only make the itching worse. Experience had taught her that. Once she started scratching those invisible itch-bugs wandering beneath the skin she might as well give up. It was like issuing them a challenge. Itch-bugs didn’t like to lose.

Of course, her stomach was giving them a run for their money in the torture-and-discomfort department. It felt like she’d swallowed a big gulp of acid. The palm of her right hand screamed in pain.

Faint light entered the room through a window high up on the opposite wall. If she leaned her head back she could see a slice of gray sky. So it could be early morning, or simply a cloudy day. She bet on the latter. No way she’d be withdrawing like this if only a few hours had passed.

Slobag’s minions had lain a quilt on the floor, but it hadn’t made a difference. Now it did. She wrapped it around her shoulders to try and ease her shivering, and leaned back.

No point even trying the door. The heavy iron lock looked shiny new and very strong. There were no other doors. There wasn’t even a convenient ring connected to a secret trapdoor in the floor.

There was a toilet, though. She wasn’t about to use it, not when they could be watching, but at least it was there. Nothing like a considerate kidnapper.

Oh shit. What the hell did they want with her? It wasn’t as though they could mistake her for someone else, or rather, something else. Not with her tattoos, not unless they were stupid, which Slobag’s people weren’t.

She didn’t know much about Slobag—not her neighborhood, not her dealer. She didn’t need to. Like Bump, Slobag ruled his part of town. Like Bump, he would be utterly ruthless. And unlike Bump, he would bear a grudge against her simply because of who she worked for, which was not good news for her. The Church’s ascendance had been welcomed far more suspiciously in the Asian countries than it had in the West, and Slobag and his men were Cantonese.

She caught herself trying to scratch and folded her arms tightly around her chest under the quilt. Her body thrummed with need. She needed to get out of here. She needed her pills. Just the thought made her groan.

Metal scraped against metal as the lock unbolted and the door opened.

“So she’s awake.”

Chess didn’t recognize the man standing in the doorway, his hair standing up in short black spikes. Everything about him was black except his skin, the silver chains he wore, and the chunky silver skull ring on his right hand. The black Chinese character tattooed on the back of his left hand would have identified him as one of Slobag’s even if his features already hadn’t. His people all carried the mark, something like the tattoos that granted her some protection against spirits and gave her additional power to fight them. She suspected there was some power in that ink, as well. Maybe not the kind of power hers carried, but who knew?

Through the gaps around his body in the doorway she saw a few others, their arms folded neatly in front of them. No chance at overpowering him and escaping, then. Of course, even if he’d been alone she probably couldn’t have accomplished it, not in her state. Not in any state, if the rumors about this crew could be believed.

“Why the face, tulip girl? You look moanworthy indeed.” His voice was deeper than she would have expected, and not accented like street no matter what the words were.

She bit her lip and turned her face away, hanging it forward so her dark hair could cover it. Not much choice except to look and act as docile as possible so they’d let her go. At least until she knew what they wanted.

From outside the doorway he produced a chair and sat down in it a few feet away from her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m Lex.”

She glared at him.

“Don’t feel like making the speech? Okay by me. Only maybe I got something might loosen your tongue.” He reached into his jacket. Chess tensed. She didn’t have her knife, didn’t have any weapons at all, but if she had to, she could probably at least get him with her fingernails or a good solid kick in the balls.

He didn’t pull out a weapon. Or rather, not a weapon that could hurt her. But nothing could have controlled her as effectively. Just as Bump had done, Lex produced a Baggie full of pills. Unlike Bump, he held it in his fingers, dangling it in front of his face. Her mouth watered.

“What you think, tulip girl? Maybe you want to talk, I let you have one?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a Cept, gleaming white between his burnished fingers. “Maybe two?”

The pill loomed in front of her, shining like a diamond. Her stomach was starting to cramp, her legs to feel weak. If she didn’t manage to get something soon…

“I got all night. My guess is you don’t.” He leaned forward a little more, his voice dropping to a caressing whisper, an insinuating one. His black eyes never left her. “You feeling that pinch, hmm? Them itches? They get right in, don’t they? Like you’ll never stop itching. And the belly gets all fratchy there, those long legs turn rubber…”

She wanted to sink into the wall and disappear. She should have let the psychopomp take her. She knew it was a mistake to stay alive.

“Ain’t gonna get better with time, tulip.” He tossed the Cept into the air, caught it. Tossed it again, missed. It hit the stone floor with a small ticking noise.

Chess dove forward, but she was too late. His boot snapped down over the pill and ground it into powder. That was okay. If he would just leave…It wouldn’t be pretty, but the floor seemed reasonably clean, right? She didn’t know if they’d taken her cash as well as her knife. She could roll that bill up just fine, even with her stiff and aching hand. If he would leave, if he would please just leave.

No such luck. He produced a bottle of water. “Jarkman.”

The door opened, admitting another, smaller man. “Aye?”

“Fetch us some towels. I made a spill.”

Lex uncapped the water bottle, lifted his foot, and slowly, deliberately, poured liquid over the crushed pill. Chess bit her lip so hard she drew blood.

Jarkman was back in a moment with a roll of paper towels. He wiped up the mess in silence and left.

“Want to try that one again? I got a whole bag here, it don’t mind me if I crush them all. Jarkman needs the exercise.”

He plucked another pill from the bag. “You know the worst part, aye? You been there? When the belly gets mad. Starts turning upside out. Methinks nothing in this world so bad as—”

“Stop.” The word came out before she realized it. “Just stop, okay?”

He blinked. “And that’s four words, ain’t they nice. Here you go, tulip. You have that.”

He tossed the pill to her like a bread crust to a duck. Not picking it up was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“Aw, you think we give you poison?” She might have appreciated the smile he gave her if she hadn’t been about to burst into tears. He wrapped his fingers around the top of the bag, shook it up, and plucked a pill out of it. She watched it disappear into his mouth, watched him wash it down. “No poison. True thing, tulip. Take it.”

She wanted to be cool, but coolness was impossible in the face of her screaming, throbbing body. The words were barely out of his mouth before she snatched the pill up from the folds of the quilt and gobbled it, grinding it between her teeth, turning it into a slick, bitter paste on her tongue.

Without a word he passed her the water, and she gulped it down. Some of the tightness in her chest eased.

“Ready to talk now?” He held out his hand, flat and open. Another Cept rested in the middle of his palm.

She took it, crunched it, washed it down. “Depends on what you want to talk about.”

“What you suppose I want to talk about?”

“You think you have a ghost?”

His thin lips stretched into a smile. “Not bad, tulip, not bad. Tougher than you look.”

“Why do you keep calling me tulip?”

“Ain’t that the tattoo?”

“No, these are—you asshole.”

She did have a tulip tattoo. Low on her stomach, just above the juncture of thigh and groin. Which her pants covered.

He shrugged. “Some dames hide weapons, aye?”

“So you had to strip-search me to make sure I wasn’t?”