LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Eight

      You might not think it’s true, but it is: Everyone is capable of some magic, no matter how small. Everyone can change things in their lives. Even you.

      —You Can Do This! A Guide for Beginners, by Molly Brooks-Cahill

      Lex dropped her back at her car a couple of hours later, pleasantly cotton-wrapped from the Pandas he’d given her and ready—mostly—to head home. Lurid orange streaked the sky above her, above the Mercy Lewis school; the building stood against it like a lurking shadow, cold and unreal.

      Or maybe she was just high.

      She didn’t think so, though. Well, yes she did, of course she was fucking high. But she suspected the sunset was really that gorgeous, the lone cherry tree beside the school blooming pale pink, the evening chill about to set in but not enough to make her cold in her long sleeves.

      Lex had just driven away when she heard the sound, a clanging, crashing noise behind the building. At least she assumed it came from behind the building; the spring air still held enough crispness for sound to carry well.

      Probably just a custodian emptying the trash. Or a Cooking Goody doing who the hell knew what to the food. Or a ball hitting a steel fencepost, or any number of things.

      But it could be someone who liked to play with metal, maybe someone who hadn’t known a person would be on the catwalk and decided to go ahead and bring it down? It wouldn’t bring in a lot of cash, but not a lot was usually enough, especially in Downside. You could bolt things down to keep people from stealing them, sure, but they’d just get a wrench.

      Her boots slid through the grass, jewel green at her feet, as she walked around to the side of the building. Not tiptoeing or sneaking, no. Just walking. With care.

      Voices floated toward her, and another clank, clearer than the last one. Female voices, murmuring and giggling. It didn’t reassure her. Women could be just as dangerous as men; life had certainly taught her that.

      These weren’t really women, of course. They were girls, high school girls. So focused on the small firedish before them, the pocket-sized floral book next to the little portable stang they’d set up—they were fucking serious—that they didn’t even notice Chess rounding the corner of the building and approaching them until she was close enough to hear their individual breath. Her shadow fell over their altar, and they froze.

      For a moment they all just stood there—or in the case of the girls, knelt there—looking at each other. What was Chess supposed to do? Magic certainly wasn’t illegal. Quite the opposite. Citizens were encouraged to try their own spells, though the girls were being more elaborate than most. Even if magic had been illegal, Chess’s authority only covered one or two very specific crimes.

      And even if it didn’t, the bottom line was that she just didn’t care enough to bust them. Especially not when she was there to investigate their possible haunting; the last thing she wanted to do was set herself up as a horribly strict authority figure. She needed them to talk to her.

      Finally one of the girls—her bleached-blond hair made a striking contrast with the warm, pale golden color of her skin—spoke, rather bitchily. “You needing something?”

      Right. Her arms and chest were covered; the girls had no idea who she was. “Just wondering what you’re doing. I was about to get in the car and heard you, and thought it might be related to the haunting I’m here to investigate.”

      “You the new Churchwitch, then? The new Debunker, or whatany you’re called?”

      Chess nodded. “Do you know anything about it, have you seen anything?”

      Bleached Blonde shook her head, but her friend—oh, such a typical best-friend type, a little chunkier, a little less pretty, a little more desperate—spoke up. “I ain’t—we ain’t—but Vernal did.”

      “Vernal Sze?” The one Beulah had mentioned as a good kid who needed a place to hang out, and Monica had acted as if he was one step down from a serial killer.

      The boy who’d apparently scared Aros.

      The girl nodded. “Saw in the theater, and in the gym on the later.”

      In the gym, too? No one had mentioned a sighting anywhere but the theater.

      Of course, it was possible they just hadn’t gotten to it yet. Aros’s notes were as bad as Elder Griffin had implied; after the first couple of pages they degenerated into scribbles and random words like “turtle” and “butler.” Who knew what information he’d gathered?

      And he’d disappeared, so she couldn’t even ask him.

      “Vernal told you about it?”

      The girls glanced at each other, like they needed to check before they answered. Hmm.

      “Aye,” said the bleached blonde. The challenging look in her eye grew deeper, stronger; an edge crept into her voice. “Gave the story to lots of people. Sayin it’s proof the Church ain’t doing them job.”

      Chess would not rise to the bait. Wouldn’t remind them that they were only alive because the Church was doing its fucking job, and that the general statistic in the District of one ghost-related death per 350,000 people was further proof. If the Church wasn’t doing its job, no one would be alive.

      But no, she wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t. Instead she just shrugged, let the girl see the comment didn’t bother her. “Do you believe him, that he saw a ghost?”

      Another pause. Another glance. “Aye. Vernal ain’t give us the lie, not on a tale like that.”

      “Besides, he ain’t the only one seen it,” her friend said. “Were like four of em in the theater,

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