Unholy Magic
The second book in this edgy urban fantasy trilogy.Trying to catch a spectral serial killer with a fondness for his victims’ eyes is distracting Chess from her day job, and her growing attraction to Terrible is making things worse.If you liked the compelling characters in 50 Shades of Grey, you’ll love the Downside Ghosts series.The second book in this edgy urban fantasy trilogy.Trying to catch a spectral serial killer with a fondness for his victims’ eyes is distracting Chess from her day job, and her growing attraction to Terrible is making things worse.Life is getting too complicated and Chess must break the rules to keep her head above water
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Downside Ghosts
2
Unholy Magic
Stacia Kane
To Stephen, and to Caitlin
Table of Contents
The penalty for summoning the dead back to earth is death; if the summoned spirit does not kill its summoner, be assured the Church will.
âThe Book of Truth, Laws, Article 3
Ghosts were stronger underground; no witch willingly went below the surface of the earth, not without a Church edict or a death wish. Chess had both to varying degrees, but that didnât make the doorway looming behind the skinny man holding the cup any more appealing. The doorway, and the stairs. Down into a basement, down into the ground.
Chessâs skin crawled from more than just the squatfaced, wizened appearance of the man, more than the bizarre energy in the dirty shack. Something told her this was not going to end well.
But then, things so rarely did.
She could have busted the bastards simply for having a basement. The Church decreed they were illegal, and the Church was not to be disobeyed. But she needed more than thatâa month of investigation demanded a more satisfactory resolution than thatâso instead she pasted what she hoped was a smile with the right touch of nervousness on her face and handed the skinny man the picture sheâd brought, careful not to touch his grimy fingers.
The picture was of Gary Anderson, a fellow Debunker, but the skinny man didnât know that. At least Chess hoped he didnât.
âMy brother,â she told him. It would have been better if sheâd been able to squeeze out a tear, but the Cepts sheâd taken didnât allow it. It was hard enough to feel emotions when she was high, let alone emotions intense enough to make her weep. Hell, that was one reason why she kept taking the fucking things, wasnât it?
The skinny man focused his rheumy eyes with effort on the photo, then nodded.
âAye, seein a lookalike,â he mumbled, scratching his bony chest through a hole in his ragged green sweater. He shoved the cup forward, narrowly avoiding hitting her with it. âYou drink, aye?â
âThanks, butââ
âNay, nay, lil miss. You drink, or you ainât get down, aye? All must drink.â His chapped lips stretched and flaked in a gruesome semblance of a smile, like a fat worm crawling across his face, revealing broken, graying teeth. âAll must drink, or the energy, she ainât work.â
Shit. Who the fuck knew what was in that nasty cup? Even if the âteaâ was harmlessâwhich she doubtedâthe thing looked like it hadnât been washed since before Haunted Week. She could practically see germs crawling along the rim.
The bonus on this job would be a couple of grand, she reminded herself, and snatched the cup from his dry, bony hand.
His gaze locked on hers. She held it while she tilted the cup and poured the contents down her throat.
For a second the room spun around her, whirling on its side like an amusement park ride. The concoction tasted of bitter herbs and glue, of seawater and sewage. It was the most revolting thing sheâd ever put in her mouth, and that was saying a lot.
She held it down through sheer force of will, and was rewarded with another flaky smile. Something lurked behind that smile, but she didnât have time to analyze it. His hand was on her sleeve, urging her into the dark mouth of the stairway, and her feet clumped on the wooden slats as she made her way into the damp cave below.
The others were already there, sitting in a circle beneath flaming torches, around a scarred wooden table. Across one end of it was draped a blue silk scarf, stained with blood or wineâor perhaps someone elseâs stomach had lost its battle with the tea.
No time to think about it, even if sheâd cared to. Instead she made her way to the table, to the straight-backed wooden chair someone had pushed out for her.
âSomeone,â she saw, was a five-foot-tall human parody of indeterminate sex wearing a belted garbage bag and white face paint. Heavy black rims surrounded its beady, pupilless eyes, and its voice was barely more than a dry whisper, like a knife cutting through cardboard.
âSit ye down, lil miss,â it rasped. âSit ye down, and the Ladywitch, sheâll be out.â
âThe Ladywitchâ was Madame Lupita, formerly known as Irene Lowe, and as soon as Chess had the evidence she neededâin the form of her own eyewitness testimony and whatever the minirecorder concealed in her bra picked upâMadame would have a date with a guillotine. The Church did not take a forgiving stance on illegal ghost-raising or séances, even fake ones such as Lupita was rumored to run.
