The Downside Ghosts Series Books 1-3: Unholy Ghosts, Unholy Magic, City of Ghosts. Stacia Kane
talk about airports, tulip. How you like that topic?”
“My name isn’t tulip, you know.”
“I know.”
“So is there some reason you keep calling me that?”
“Maybe them tats interest me. Maybe one day you show me.” He cocked an eyebrow while smoke wreathed his spiky head.
“Maybe one day the Grand Elder will walk naked down the street.”
“Maybe he will, no telling. Or maybe one day Bump gonna reopen Chester Airport, what you say?”
She sucked in a long drag of fragrant smoke. Not her usual brand, but nice. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Not what I hear.”
“Maybe you heard wrong.”
“Or maybe you lie to me, Cesaria. Only thing is, I can’t figure out why anyone lie for a strut-speech like Bump. You got any ideas on that?”
“I don’t lie for anybody.” The filtered tip of the cigarette was tan, with little flecks of gold. They sparkled faintly when she turned it in her fingers.
“Seems to me you lie every day. Less you been telling them at your church what you do on your off-hours, right. They know you into Bump fifteen grand? They know why?”
When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I know you lying to me now, and I know you was out at Chester Friday night. I even know why you lie, causin you don’t want Terrible down on you like a load of steel. But you ain’t hiding anything from me I don’t know. And that’s just fine. Got a deal for you, tulip. A deal you like right.”
If Bump found out she’d discussed his airport plans with one of Slobag’s men, he’d … he might even have her killed. Even the spiritual dispensation offered by the Church wouldn’t protect her.
Then again, if she didn’t hear Lex out and agree to his deal, he’d probably tell Bump she’d come here offering information. What did he care? One dead Debunker wouldn’t exactly bother him.
“I’ll listen,” she said. “I’m not confirming anything about the airport, but I’ll listen.”
“Good. That’s real good.” He leaned forward and lit another cigarette. “So check the tale, tulip. Bump’s got you down there, disproving them ghosts, aye? Only maybe we don’t want them ghosts disproved. We sure don’t want them banished or exiled or what ever it is you people do. I gotta tell you why?”
She shook her head. Bump being able to fly his drugs into his own private airport wouldn’t be very good for Slobag.
“So that’s where you come in. You tell Bump there’s ghosts in that airport, real vicious ghosts ain’t gonna go anywhere.”
“He’ll expect me to Banish—”
“But maybe you can’t.”
“But I can. I mean, it’s what I do for a living.”
He shrugged. “You figure something out. I got belief, me. But Bump don’t open Chester. Big trouble for you if he does.”
The smell of the stew started to cloy. She pushed the bowl away. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Ah, good girl. If he don’t, we got specials for you. How much you pay Bump? Them pills don’t come cheap, aye? You visit the pipes, ain’t cheap. You do what we wants, you pay less. Like, nothing. Bump wants his money, we pays it. Then you come to us for what you need. All taken care of, tulip. Just for you. Brought to your door.”
Free drugs.
She could actually hold on to money for the first time in three years. Get a new car, maybe, with her next bonus, instead of using them to pay Bump her arrears. New clothes. Real hot food more than once or twice a week instead of snacks and junk.
Of course, Bump would notice if she stopped buying from him. Maybe she wouldn’t stop, not entirely. Bump’s pipes were a hell of a lot more convenient to her apartment. But making him think she was cutting back … Maybe that wasn’t a bad idea at all.
She must be insane, to be even contemplating this. The thing to do was go to Bump, tell him what just happened here, and let him handle it.
How? By taking out Slobag’s entire tribe? That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. And if she told, and Lex or any of Slobag’s men found out about it … Her life would be even more worthless than it was now.
Shit.
Lex watched her expectantly, his rangy body splayed back in his chair. A ragged hole in his Stiff Little Fingers T-shirt exposed a slice of tawny skin on his chest.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Aye, you do that, tulip. You think hard. And when you decide, you let me know.” He dug a scrap of paper from his back pocket and produced a pen from his boot. “This my number. Private number, dig? Call me when you know what you wanna do. Or if you decide you wanna let me see that ink, aye?”
“That’s not going to happen.” She took the number, folded it, tucked it in her pocket.
“You’d be surprised, tulip, what happens when you not expecting it. Surprised, indeed.”
“I’m not sure I want to go in there.”
“Safest way home, tulip. Lessin you want me to walk you down the middle of the streets. Only it’s hard to keep secrets, aye, when everybody seeing you.”
“But it’s a tunnel.”
“I do know what it is.”
Her skin crawled just looking at the narrow opening. Pale greenish light glowed from farther down the path, but whether it was safety bulbs or phosphorescent mold she didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care to find out.
“Didn’t figure a Churchwitch to be a claustrophobe.”
“I’m not!” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m not. But being underground … It’s, um, a respect thing. The City is underground.” Wasn’t the entire truth, but close enough.
He nodded. “Right. I get you. Still don’t have no choice, but I see the origin.” His warm hand circled her upper arm. “Them walls got iron bands, no worries. Let’s us go.”
She let him lead her through the slender mouth and down a long flight of cement stairs that gritted and scuffed under their feet. The temperature dropped as they got farther down, the air thickening with rot and smoke and something else, the pungent scent of cooking Dream.
They’d gone only half a block or so when the source of the odor presented itself. The needle lay on the dank pavement, its owner draped against the wall with his eyes half closed. By his bent leg rested the rubber catheter, the dented and oxidized spoon.
Lex nudged the crumpled form with the toe of his boot. “Ain’t supposed to be down here, Big Shog. You know these tunnels ain’t for shooting.”
Big Shog mumbled something and shifted position. His mouth hung open, dried spittle caked white in the corners. Chess looked away.
“What are these tunnels, anyway? I’ve never heard about them.”
Lex gave Big Shog one last glance, then started walking again. “They been here years. Since BT. The Church blocked them off, don’t want nobody sneaking around. You know.”
“When did you open them back up?”
He thought for a moment. They were farther down now, the ground sloping gently. Every thirty feet or so a weak fluorescent bulb in a metal frame fizzed at them from the ceiling. It made the whole experience even more unreal to Chess. She was actually walking underground on purpose, in a cold, dank cement tube that stunk of mold and offered no protection against anything. It was hard to remember the walls were