world.
Mrs. Hudson’s fingers trailed over the pictures lining the top of some kind of cabinet. The pictures, like everything in the room except the presents but unlike every single other thing in the house, were spotless, and they were clearly of her and Vincent: a large wedding photo in the center—was that the same dress? Yes, it was —a few portraits, a few snapshots, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson standing beneath a sign for Hudson Veterinary Clinic. Something about those pictures bothered Chess, but just as she was about to put her figurative finger on it, Mrs. Hudson said, “We never had children. We tried for years, but we couldn’t. So it’s just us here. For so long, just the two of us…”
That feeling of identification grew worse. Just the two of them, and no children, and no possibility of children. Just like Chess and Terrible; well, he had a daughter, but he couldn’t have more and she couldn’t have any.
Not that she really wanted to, or thought it would be a good idea. Even without her addiction, Terrible’s job—and to some extent her own—didn’t exactly lend itself to good parenting. Hell, her personality didn’t exactly lend itself to good parenting. That was a responsibility she’d never particularly wanted. A responsibility she’d invariably fuck up if she did have.
Still. Hearing those words caused a tiny, lonely pain to twist in her chest, sappy as it was. Suddenly the entire scene didn’t seem creepy and disturbing—well, no, it was still really fucking creepy and disturbing, but it was tragic as well. This woman spent her days like this, while her husband was away? Listening to a shitty song over and over and thinking about how she had nothing to live for when her husband wasn’t home? And all the happy photos of the past didn’t—
Wait. That was it. That was the problem with the pictures.
They were all old. The oldest Mrs. Hudson appeared in them was maybe forty-five; her hair was still mostly black, her face a lot less lined. Chess had never been a big picture-taker—she had maybe three pictures of herself with Terrible, and one of them had been taken before they were together and another was from Elder Griffin’s wedding, taken by one of her co-workers without her knowing it—but the Hudsons appeared to have documented almost every second of their marriage on film. The Hudsons at a restaurant. Mr. Hudson in a white coat with a stethoscope, smiling next to a sleeping tiger. The Hudsons at an amusement park. The Hudsons holding champagne flutes at a racetrack, with horses in the background.
So where were the more recent pictures?
“You’ve been married fifty years, Mrs. Hudson?”
“Eliza. Yes... fifty years tonight.”
Chess edged closer to the pictures. Sure, it was possible the newer photos were in albums or something, but it was still odd, wasn’t it? And given Eliza’s talk about Vincent not missing this Christmas, and about his opening presents that looked like they’d spent a few decades in a dustbin, and especially the low-level sense of magic and wrongness in the air... Either Vincent was dead or Vincent had left Eliza years ago, and given the happy-smiley-lovey-love in those pictures, Chess figured “dead” was the safer bet.
She caught Terrible’s eye, jerked her head toward the door as unobtrusively as possible. He raised his eyebrows; she nodded. Yes, something really not-good was happening, and they needed to get out of there so she could call the Church. This wasn’t something she wanted to handle on her own, and even if she did, it was outside her jurisdiction, so to speak. The only crime over which Debunkers like her had real legal authority was faked hauntings, technically known as “Conspiracy to Commit Spectral Fraud,” and usually done to get a nice cash settlement out of the Church. And even then she had to call in the Squad sometimes to make the final arrests—she didn’t carry handcuffs or a weapon, at least not a legal weapon. Technically she wasn’t supposed to carry her knife. She definitely needed the Squad for this one, and she needed them soon.
Terrible held out a crumpled bill. “Said twenty, aye? Oughta get us gone, let you get back to... back to you day.”
Eliza drifted forward and took the money. “Sure. You want to get to your own Christmas, I bet. It’s Vincent’s favorite holiday, you know. He won’t miss this Christmas. Tonight he’ll be here. It’s our fiftieth anniversary. We’ll spend it together, just the two of us.”
Chess forced a smile. Time to get the fuck out of there. “That sounds great. We’ll let you finish getting ready.”
“Oh, yes, there’s so much to do... So much to do,” Eliza said. “I have to bake cookies and finish decorating and gather everything I’ll need. So much work to do. But I can do it. I have the power of love on my side. And that’s all I need.”
Ordinarily Chess wouldn’t have thought so. But who the hell knew what was in that house? Personal possessions that could become totems, junk that could have magical value... it wasn’t exactly an energy-free place. They were right on the water, too, and the incoming tide and mist would be full of power later on.
As for the power of love... well, it wasn’t something they’d taught in her classes at Church, but if anyone knew how transforming that could be, it was Chess.
Chess the witch. Chess who had the power needed to raise the dead herself. Chess who—shit, Chess whose tattoos Mrs. Hudson had been staring at. Whose tattoos Mrs. Hudson had seen outside right before she invited them into her house.
“We’ll let you finish getting ready,” Chess said again, grabbing Terrible’s hand as she reached him, and pulling him—or letting him pull her, since he obviously understood what was going on—back into the hall and toward the front door.
Eliza Hudson followed. Closely. “Oh, yes, I’ve got a busy evening ahead of me. I can’t wait to see Vincent. He’s going to love his presents. We’re going to be so happy. Nothing will stop that.”
Terrible opened the door and pushed Chess through. Her skin crawled with the need to move.
“You watch your step,” Eliza called after them. “The ground’s real uneven.”
No more uneven than it had been, Chess thought, but even as she thought it she felt Terrible tense up beside her, heard the shot, felt him start moving.
Another shot. Terrible threw himself at her. Too late. A stab of pain in her neck, hard sharp pain. She hit the frozen ground with a bone-crunching thud she almost didn’t feel. Her vision blurred.
“Shit,” Terrible said. He lifted himself off her, but too slowly. It sounded like he was talking through water. She reached up and felt her neck, expecting blood and torn skin.
Instead she found a dart. Like the one poking out of Terrible’s neck. What the fuck? What was—why was that there, what was happening? It felt like she knew, like she should know, but she couldn’t seem to make the connection. Like her brain had been replaced by a sock full of pudding. Terrible’s hand rose to the dart protruding from his skin and yanked at it; his other hand grabbed hers and tugged, trying to lift her from the ground, but another dart appeared an inch or so away from the hole left by the first.
He fell. Chess watched him fall. Her own body had evaporated. She didn’t have a body, and she was so tired... Some part of her screamed and tried to move, knew that she couldn’t sleep there outside on the ground, but there was nothing else she could do. The sky grew hazy and narrowed to a slit, and in that slit Eliza Hudson’s face appeared, surrounded by a whitish corona.
“I am not letting you ruin my Christmas,” she snarled, and everything went black.
Chapter Three
Fuck, her neck hurt. Well, her whole body hurt, but her neck seemed especially sore, like someone had bitten her really, really hard. Harder than even Terrible had ever bitten her neck.
Terrible. Where was he? Opening her eyes didn’t help; it was too dark in whatever room she was in. Her wrists and ankles were tied, which made it rather difficult to sit up, and her mouth was so dry that when she tried to call his name, all she managed to produce was a sort of wheeze.
Shit. Turning her head made stars dance in front of her eyes and sent waves of fresh pain radiating from her neck. Pain she could take. Panic, though... panic wasn’t as easy to deal with, and she could feel it threatening
