LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Of course.” She signed the form he handed her, acknowledgment of receipt for the bonus check attached. Nine grand, the standard amount. And she could use it. Yeah, she’d gotten a pretty good chunk of change back when the whole Maguinness/Baldarel thing had gone down, but after her new car, new couch, and various other expenses—days at the pipes, a couple of nights here and there with Terrible at a hotel in Northside … she was doing okay, but it was always good to have more.

      Especially since, if things were heating up between Lex and Bump—which it appeared they were—she wouldn’t be getting her pills at a big discount from Lex anymore.

      Paying full price again. Before Chester Airport, before her deal with Lex, she’d been spending a few hundred a week. She somehow suspected it would be more now. She’d been stepping on it some, the last few months: a few extra here or there, two instead of one or three instead of two, or the couple right before bed that she’d learned meant she felt human still when she woke up in the morning … whatever. They cost what they cost, and she needed them, so she’d pay it.

      Elder Griffin slipped the form into the Darnell file and set it down. “You are still attending, correct? Along with your—your young man? You are bringing him to the wedding?”

      “Of course. I wouldn’t miss that.” She wouldn’t, either. Every Church employee in Triumph City was invited—that was standard protocol—but he’d made a point of asking her, and of asking her to bring Terrible.

      Or, well, he hadn’t exactly said “Terrible,” because he still didn’t know his name. She wasn’t quite sure how to bring that one up.

      Of course, she could bring it up as the answer to his question. “What is his name, again?”

      Shit.

      She kept forgetting to talk to Terrible about it and ask what he thought. He had several forms of ID with different names on them, she knew; they were never used but were there just in case. Did he want to use one of those names? Did he want to be called “Terry,” as his daughter, Katie, called him? No, he hated that—she didn’t blame him. Katie’s mother had started that one.

      Elder Griffin watched her, his eyebrows a little higher than usual over his blue eyes. Right. It really shouldn’t take so long to give him a piece of basic information.

      Shit again. “Well, see, sir, he … he grew up in Downside, you know, and he never had any family or anything. …”

      The eyebrows rose higher. “Indeed? I had no idea.”

      Shit, he was right, wasn’t he? Stupid that she hadn’t thought of it before, but she’d never specifically told Elder Griffin that the man she was “seeing” was from Downside. She had no idea if he’d assumed so or what, but his expression—well, his expression and the fact that he’d just fucking said he didn’t know, duh—told her he hadn’t.

      But she didn’t want to lie to him, either. She wasn’t going to lie and she wasn’t going to try to hide Terrible or who he was. She loved him and he was hers, and that made her so proud her chest hurt, and if anybody didn’t like it they could go fuck themselves.

      “Yeah, I mean, yes. So he never actually—nobody ever named him. But he used to get into fights a lot, and people started to call him Terrible. So that’s what he’s called.”

      Pause. “I see.”

      Did he? She scanned his face for signs of disapproval or criticism but found none. A weight she hadn’t realized was there lifted from her chest. No, of course Elder Griffin wouldn’t do that; he wasn’t like that.

      He nodded. “I shall look forward to meeting him, indeed. I take it things have gone well, since your … disagreement?”

      Her face warmed. “Um, yes. And he’s, he’s looking forward to meeting you, too.”

      “Excellent,” he said. “Well, I should get back to trying to work, I suppose, while I am still in this position. Have you heard from the Elder Triumvirate, to schedule your interview?”

      “Wednesday.” She hesitated. “I’ve never done an interview like this before. Is there anything specific you want me to say, or …?”

      “’Tis nothing to be nervous about. They shall only ask about me and how you feel I handle my position here. Please say whatever you feel is best.”

      “Do you know yet where they’re going to send you?”

      “I do have some suspicions, indeed, but your interview is part of the process, as they want to determine where I will best fit.”

      “Should I tell them you’d be a great warden in the spirit prisons?”

      His smile widened. “I confess that is not a position I mentioned as one I should like to fill.”

      The light from the window behind him faded as a cloud covered the sun, adding to the unexpected solemnity of his next words. “I find myself growing weary of being reminded so often of the depths to which people will sink, Cesaria. Debunking … ’tis so important, but I would like, perhaps, to work in an area where there is more hope. More proof of the good in humanity, rather than the bad. Does that make sense?”

      She nodded, trying to smile, trying to look as optimistic as he did. A place, or a job, where the negative aspects of humanity weren’t readily apparent? Where there was goodness and kindness everywhere?

      It sounded great, yeah. Too bad it didn’t exist.

      Gordon Samms lived—had lived—at Eighty-eighth and Wood, almost in Cross Town. Still Downside, of course—windows devoid of glass, walls and streets thick with graffiti, litter, and grime made that clear—but close enough that a few of the buildings they drove past appeared almost decent.

      More than a few, in fact. Chess noticed a sold sign outside one and fresh paint on a few others.

      Terrible nodded when she pointed them out. “Some parts here got new ones movin in, fixin em up. Still cheaper’n Cross Town, dig.”

      “Gentrification.”

      He glanced around. “Aye. Bump gave me the tell on the other day, gots people askin on a few him places. Them all lookin for cheap.”

      “But he’d never sell.”

      “Fuck, no. Glad on it, too. Don’t even wanna think on living any elsewhere, aye? Be all bored up.”

      “Me, too.”

      He smiled at her, the kind of smile that made her breath freeze in her chest for a second because happiness had exploded there and squeezed out everything else. “Aye. Know that one.”

      He did, too. She remembered him saying it—sizing her up so neatly—in her bathroom one night, only a couple of days after they’d started investigating at Chester Airport. Some of us needs an edge on things make us feel right, he’d said, and she’d blushed and fidgeted and got all weird and uncomfortable, because it sucked to think someone could figure her out so easily, that someone could understand her so quickly.

      But he had. He still did. And despite the tiny prickle of nerves in her stomach—if he could figure that out so fast, if he knew so much about her, sooner or later he’d know all the bad stuff, too, and how could he understand then, how could he stay with her?—it made her feel good.

      What didn’t make her feel good was thinking of what he’d just said about not wanting to live anywhere else, and thinking about the sigil, and where they were headed at that very moment. Terrible had touched Gordon Samms and passed out. Dark magics did that to him. And if word got out, if news of that spread … how could he stay in Downside, even if someone didn’t take advantage of that weakness and kill him outright?

      What would he do if he had to leave Downside? What would he do if he couldn’t fight anymore—if he couldn’t do the one thing he was proud of being able to do.

      And she’d stolen that from him.

      Well,

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