LITMIR.BIZ

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mind, none of which would do any good to verbalize. So she said, “Okay, why don’t you pick me up at noon? I have to meet Lauren—she’s the girl from earlier—I have to meet her at five.”

      Pause. “Meet me. Up Edsel’s booth, aye? You wanna say midday, no problem.”

      “I thought you said—Never mind. Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll meet you there.”

      Nod.

      Whatever. She still got to shove the heavy door open all by herself, and she’d trudged halfway up the stairs before she realized he was right behind her, his boots silent on the cement. One of his talents, that was, the ability to move so soundlessly. But then it was part of his job. Most people didn’t line up to get beaten down. They had to be found, snuck up on, snatched off the street, and broken before they knew what hit them. And nobody broke people better than Terrible did.

      She should know.

      “What are you doing?”

      He shrugged. “Ain’t can say.”

      Okay, so not tired anymore. Was he…Shit! She hated this. Hated this.

      Her jumbled thoughts must have been clear on her face; his dark eyes narrowed. “Bump say me come up. Ain’t my choosing.”

      “Oh.”

      “Shit. Don’t you get no ideas, dig. Ain’t wanting this. An ain’t givin you shit to play pass-on with.”

      They’d reached the inside staircase now; her voice echoed in the cavernous lobby. “I’m not playing pass-on with anything. I told you, I’m not seeing him anymore.”

      “Ain’t give a fuck who you see.”

      “Then why are you so fucking mad about it?”

      Redness crept up his neck; he glared at her, then shoved past her to continue up the stairs. She’d gotten him with that one. A hollow victory, but she’d take just about anything she could get at this point.

      Her turn to push past him, opening her front door, stepping into the dingy little apartment. She made a beeline for the freezer and yanked out the half-full bottle of vodka she’d bought a couple of days before.

      The cabinet beside it contained her pitiful collection of mismatched plastic cups and plates. She pulled down two cups and unscrewed the cap on the vodka. “Want a drink?”

      He moved behind her; she heard a faint rustle, and the closing of the door. She turned around.

      He was gone.

      So was the Lamaru file she’d been given earlier.

      She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a sky that blue, and despite everything, it lifted her spirits. So she was about to meet someone who hated her; so she was betraying the Church and walking a razor-thin tightrope over a pit of messy death; so later on she was going to have to meet a woman she already disliked and investigate an illegal black magic group who wanted her dead.

      So the sky was blue, and three Cepts calmed her down and insulated her just enough from the buzzing crowds at the Market and the still-cold breeze to make her feel like she could handle all the shit. So that was good. The sun felt great on her face and hands, raised blue lights in her dyed hair. A month before it had been snowing. Now it was almost spring.

      Edsel’s booth must have been particularly busy that morning; when Chess stopped walking in front of the shabby-velvet-covered counter he was restocking runebones and little hand-sewn bags. Made sense, though. News of his wife’s pregnancy had spread.

      “How’s Galena?” she asked, reaching out to finger one of the runes. A little shiver ran up her arm. “Good, I guess. I can feel it.”

      Edsel smiled. His teeth were the same color as his skin and ice-white hair; his black sunglasses didn’t hide the kind of happiness she’d rarely seen from him. “She right, baby. Still tired, aye, but she doctor say oughta pass up soon and she be bouncin again. She—Damn, what you got there?”

      He picked up her hand; when she’d reached for the magical items, infused with the extra energy of pregnancy, he’d caught sight of her Binding scars.

      “It’s nothing.” She tried to pull it back.

      “Ain’t nothing, baby. Know them marks when I see em, aye. Been Bound, you have.” He dropped her hand; his deep smoke voice lowered. “Bet you lookin for them Lamaru again, aye?”

      “How—” Ouch. Shit. “You know—you’ve heard—damn it!”

      Edsel nodded. “Been hearin them rumors, if you dig. Know some people, them know people. Say big trouble on the way down, them gearin up right.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “Ain’t seen you much, aye? And you ain’t look like you up for it, baby. Lookin tired. Lookin mighty down. Guessing maybe got aught doing with why Terrible been rippin it up like him dog dead. Aye?”

      Fuck. She did not want to discuss that. Not with him. Not with anyone. Edsel may have been the closest thing she had to a friend—at least, he used to be, and she guessed he was again—but some things were just…private. Most things were private.

      Of course, she couldn’t deny being a little interested in that last line anyway. So Terrible looked upset, did he?

      Then again, why wouldn’t he?

      “Who do you know? I mean, you said you knew people who knew people. Do any of them have any information?”

      He hesitated. “I ain’t got names, you dig. Need to make some calls.”

      “No problem. Just, anything you could find out would be a help. Really. Bump’s got his fingers in it too, so it’s not just me you’re helping, you know?”

      Edsel looked down, dug his cell phone out of his pocket. The sun glowed off his pigmentless hair. “Gotta hang me a couple days on this one, baby. They folk ain’t the kind always answer them phones.”

      “Sure. Thanks, really. Oh, and here—” She dug her notebook and pen out of her bag, leaned forward to scribble a list. “This is a long shot, I know, but if anybody buys any of this stuff—anybody you don’t know—could you let me know? Try to find out who they are, if you can.”

      Her list wasn’t long; the Lamaru would have their own suppliers anyway. But things like corpse water or tormentil were pretty strictly regulated by the Church, and had a big enough customer base outside of it that they might chance buying it off someone. So why not Edsel?

      He took the torn-off sheet of paper, nodded. “Hold out, now. Lemme try, while you here.”

      He punched a couple of buttons on the phone, took a step back into the shadows at the back of the booth. He usually lurked there, out of the sun, looking more like a wax statue or a corpse than a man. Caught a lot of thieves that way, too.

      She took a discreet step away, distracting herself by gathering up a few things to buy. Thirty K in her bank account felt really fucking good, and she could use some things, right?

      In the center of the counter she made a little pile: one of the bags Galena made, a couple of hare bones, a little vial of goat’s blood. That might come in handy if she was dealing with black witches. Oh, and some protective items, too, she’d need those.

      In a wicker basket fairly vibrating with power, plasticwrapped snake segments rested in among lodestones and black cat paws. She grabbed a paw and two bags of snake to add to the pile, too, and tossed a chunk of black mirror on top. She could make a hell of a hex with those, and she might need it later.

      What else…mandrake might be useful, grab a piece of that…She opened her mouth to ask how much spiderweb he had, when he held up a hand.

      “Got me a message left. Ain’t no guarantees, baby, you know, but we see what we got. You keep touchin me, aye? An I touch back iffen I hear, or sell that list

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