“Okay, here it is,” she said, trying to keep her voice smooth. “You can just drop me off here.”
He hit the brakes so hard Chess lurched forward and almost hit the dash, her strained nerves twanging with fear. “What, that’s it? Just drop you off, never mind that I’m trying to talk to you, never mind that you owe me something after this, I’m just a fucking chauffeur to you. Is that it? Do you have any idea how many girls would kill to have me bring them breakfast? How many of the girls we work with still call me?”
“No, no, I just, I only needed a ride, and this is where I need to get out, okay?” The rainswept street outside was empty of everything but shadows. Not the most appealing place to be outside alone, but if she was right about Doyle, she’d happily take her chances. She wanted to get out, to get away, she had to.
“No, it’s not okay. You use people, did you know that? That’s all you do, and it’s all you are. And why you think you can treat me like this I have no idea, but it’s not going to work.”
Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she thought for sure he’d be able to hear it. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just … I have a lot going on right now. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? And maybe we can do something. But I really have to go, my friend’s waiting for me.”
“Friend? Or some other quick fuck?”
If she’d had time to think, she would have stopped herself before it happened. If she hadn’t been out of her mind with fear and misery about what happened with Terrible, and barely rational from narcotics she would have sat on her hands to make sure she didn’t do what she did. But she was all of those things, and furious and desperate to get away, and her hand swung out and slapped him soundly across one ruddy cheek.
Pain shot up her arm. She’d used her right hand, and the wound on her palm had hit his jawbone with a resounding smack.
There was a second of gasping, horrible silence, and then he hit her back.
She saw his lips twisting in rage, his hand moving in slow motion, and ducked, but he still got her right in the nose, and her entire head burst into agony. Her vision blurred, her breath caught in her chest. Something trickled down the back of her throat and she had a horrible suspicion it was her own blood.
“Chess,” she heard him gasp. “Oh, shit, Chess, I’m sorry, I haven’t slept, I didn’t mean to—”
He reached for her, but she shoved her door open before he could touch her again. The pitted asphalt of the road stung her hands and water seeped through her jeans when she hit the ground, but it didn’t matter. Without turning back she ran, with his voice calling her name, echoing on the barren street behind her. But he did not follow.
Her nose hurt. Her entire face hurt, as if someone had slammed a shovel into it. Her eyes felt heavy and somehow full, like they would explode if she prodded them. Oh, shit.
“Morning, tulip,” Lex drawled from across the room. “How you feel?”
She groaned and rolled over, turning away. Images from the night before pounded their way into her poor bludgeoned head. Doyle, Doyle’s fist. Her certainty that he was involved. Terrible … oh fuck, Terrible. What had she done? How the hell was she ever going to be able to face him again, after that?
At least she’d slept, she thought. It may have been more of a drug-induced coma than restful sleep, but her thoughts were clearer than they’d been in a few days and she didn’t feel too bad physically, aside from the heavy profundo thumping of her nose.
“Aye. Figured on that. That boy gave you quite a slam, didn’t he. What’d you do, insult his mama?”
It took her a minute to rasp the words out through her dry-as-dust throat. “Slapped him. Didn’t I tell you last night?”
“You ain’t said hardly a word making sense last night. Something about a guy named Boil, and a bar, and a quick fuck. I thought maybe you was hinting, but you weren’t in any shape with all the blood and all. Looked like something death threw back.”
“Thanks.” She forced one eye open and saw him standing by the bed, his weight shifted on one leg, holding a tall glass of water.
He shrugged. “Weren’t your best moment, is all. Can’t say as I blame you.”
The soft sheets slid across her bare skin—where were her jeans?—as she pushed herself up to a close approximation of a sit and held out her hand. He put two pills into her palm, then nodded for her other hand to take the water.
It was cool and crisp, and the first sip started to bring her slowly back to life. She shoved the Cepts into her mouth and washed them down with the rest of it, gasping after every swallow like a child. Her nose was too blocked to breathe through.
“Not Boil,” she said. “Doyle. A guy I work with. He’s … I think he’s one of them. One of the guys who did the ritual at Chester, who made the amulet. And I found out what it’s for, too. It’s … they’ve summoned a Dreamthief. A really powerful ghost—he’s like a ghost made of parts of other ghosts, if you know what I mean. Not a basic entity, a complex one. Very strong. Very unpleasant.”
“He the reason you in my tunnels last night?”
Her mouth fell open. “I …”
“Ain’t no fears, just askin. Big Shog tell me he saw you, trying to get out. So how you get in, if you ain’t know how to find the out?”
Shit. He didn’t look mad, but then how the hell would she know how he looked when he was mad? She couldn’t trust the bland curiosity on his face any more than she could trust anything else about him, which—although his behavior so far had at least eased her fears—wasn’t much. “What happened to my clothes?”
“My sister take them off, put you in bed. What you doing in the tunnels, when you say you ain’t like the underground?” He still looked curious, nothing more than that, but he would have been stupid not to be concerned and Chess knew it. She was working for Bump. As far as Lex knew, she was planning to double-cross him over the airport. She wasn’t stupid enough to try it—he could obviously reach her just about anywhere, although not while people were out and about—but he’d be an idiot if he hadn’t considered the possibility.
That he hadn’t shown any interest at all in the thief didn’t surprise her. That was her problem, not his. The tunnels … those were his problem, and she needed to be careful.
“I got chased,” she admitted finally. “I was at the Church doing research and somebody came after me. Do you know who the Lamaru are?”
“Heard of em, aye. They in this?”
“Yeah. I think they’re behind it all. I mean, I don’t think, I know. They chased me down to the platform—the train to the City—and I escaped through a tunnel there.”
He nodded, his gaze appraising. Did he know those bodies were down there? Did he know she’d walked past them to get into “his” tunnels?
“Mighty resourceful, aye.” His weight barely shifted the mattress. “You know, some of them tunnels ain’t been explored in years. You could have gotten yourself mighty lost. Lost enough to never be found.”
She swallowed. Her throat still felt gummy.
“Fact is, they say some folks have. Got lost, meaning. Saying they go down for some explorations, finally end up killing theyselves rather than starve. Maybe them bodies still down there, what you say?”
“I didn’t see any.” It came out as a creaky whisper. She licked her lips and tried again. “Just rats and mold.”
“Aye? Benefit. Seeing something like