the plasticencased feather into one of the pockets in her bag. “Thanks.”
“Ain’t think birds lose feathers in winter,” he said, standing up. She did the same, the movement making her legs ache.
“Some do, it all depends on—no. No, you’re right. Great Horned Owls don’t molt in winter. It’s their mating season.”
“Ain’t just fall out, aye? Got pulled out.”
“Well…I guess it could have caught on something, but yeah, chances are it got pulled out.”
She took the light back and shone it around, looking for something the bird could have landed on. The alley was full of sharp edges, but nothing looked like it could have snagged a feather.
“That’s some serious, aye? Takin a feather? You figure maybe it’s part of it?”
“I don’t know, really. It’s not as serious a crime to hurt a psychopomp as it is to kill one, but it was probably an accident anyway. You can use the feathers in ritual, but I can’t think of any where you leave it behind after, or where the ritual doesn’t destroy it. You know, like burning it or something.”
“Hey, look here.” Terrible shuffled a few boxes, bent down. The light sparked off the piece of mirror he held. His hand engulfed it, but she could see the leather wrapped around its lower half, turning it into a crude knife. “Were Daisy’s.”
“How do you—oh. You knew her, I keep forgetting.”
“Know em all.” He turned the makeshift blade in his hand, studying it with perhaps more intensity than was necessary. “She not a bad one, Daisy. Pretty little thing.”
“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
He shrugged; getting too attached to people in Downside was foolishness. “Ain’t know her close. But she ain’t stupid, Daisy. Looks like somebody here with the ghost right up, aye? Don’t grab no weapon against somethin ain’t there.”
Chess took the little mirror knife from him. “Unless it just fell out of her purse.”
He snorted. “Nothin just fall out a whore’s purse, Chess.”
“Oh. Right. But—where was her purse? I didn’t see it, did you? Did one of the other girls have it?”
“Ain’t think so. One of em would say, she had it.” His brow furrowed. “They keep all sorts in there, dig. Like everythin they got.”
“Money?”
“Aye, what they ain’t pay off to Red Berta for Bump, but…whore’s real catchy about her purse. Don’t like nobody touch it up, don’t let nobody look in. Keep she magic in too, if she use it. Like superstition, dig? Bad luck touchin another whore’s purse, lettin any else touch yours.” He shrugged. “Them bodies ain’t just theirs, dig? So they keep the purse private. Ain’t for nobody but them.”
She cleared her throat. “Makes sense. Come on, let’s keep looking.”
The sun had sunk almost completely below the horizon, too far to cast shadows; when she looked at the empty buildings across the street they were black shapes against a blazing red-orange background. She shoved her hands into her pockets for a second to warm them, then headed farther into the alley.
Terrible’s phone rang, startling her. She didn’t stick around to hear his half of the conversation. Somewhere near the back was the metal box she’d sat on the night before, and she wanted to find it.
Her feet scuffed through old newspaper that disintegrated when her shoes hit it, through layers of dust and grime. The flashlight’s beam bounced off the walls, off the piles of garbage and furniture so broken and filthy even Downside residents found no more use for it. Two red orbs glowed at her briefly. A rat, watching her invade its territory.
The box was still there. That alone made her think it was probably unrelated. The killers might have missed the owl feather and Daisy’s weapon hidden beneath the rubbish, but they wouldn’t have left this and not come back for it. Still, she might as well search everything.
“Aye. Aye, when I can.” Terrible snapped the phone shut behind her. She glanced around.
“Everything okay?”
“Dame I know. I forgot callin her.”
“Amy?”
“Ain’t seen Amy in weeks.”
She knelt in front of the box and slid her gloved hand along the edge, looking for the catch. “Oh? Why, what happened?”
“Nothin happen. Just ain’t seen her.”
“And now you’re seeing someone else and you’re not even calling her when you say you will. Shame on you.”
She flipped up the hook and pulled the lid back faster than she should have. Her hands didn’t seem quite under her control. Made sense, with that damned magic still hovering around her like cloying perfume, making her ache a little bit right where she did not need to be aching.
It was empty. Too empty, its spotless, shiny-clean interior a stark contrast to the thick layer of grunge on the outside.
“She get over it,” he said. She felt him lean over, inspecting the inside of the box. “Look awful clean in there for some box sittin in an alley, aye?”
“That’s what I thought.” She tipped the box toward her so she could shine the light into all the corners. A faint fragrance hit her nose. Familiar, musty. Not at all like the odor from the Pyles’ place earlier. This smell made her think of Church, of bluish light and warm afternoons in wortcunning classes. The smell of ritual.
All she could do was make a note, inhale deeply, and try to memorize it. Whatever it was, they hadn’t used it often or she would have recognized it more quickly, so she could rule out the major banishing herbs. She hadn’t smelled it in a while, either, so it wasn’t one of the conjuring herbs Madame Lupita had used the night before.
Terrible sniffed. “Smells like that dude Tyson,” he said. “He skin were kinda like that.”
“Really? I don’t remember.”
“You ain’t got as close as me.”
That was certainly true, and she was glad, too. Tyson was a Host, someone who’d made a deal with a spirit to share his body in exchange for power—as opposed to a Bindmate, where the energy was shared but the body kept separate. Not an ordinary spirit in Tyson’s case, she didn’t think, but she hadn’t wanted to stick around to find out, especially not after Terrible attacked him and his guest decided to make an appearance. It felt like it had happened years before. It had only been months.
“Thinkin maybe they use the box, then leave it here? Ain’t straight, aye?”
“No, it isn’t.” She closed the box. “But who knows why people do things. Maybe it just didn’t work as well for them as they’d hoped, or maybe it was already here and they used it and didn’t take it with them.”
“It feel off to you?”
“Vibes like everything else. The same energy, I mean.”
He nodded. “What else need a checkout back here?”
“Shit. As much of it as we can, really. There’s probably not much point using the Spectrometer, not if it isn’t an active haunting—the ghost involved is a traveler, you know?—but we should see if there’s anything more about the human Bindmate or witch who summoned the ghost, in case that’s what the psychopomp was for.”
Together they moved around the walls as best they could, Terrible behind her with the light. The bricks hummed with energy when she ran her bare palm over them. Something had definitely happened in here. She just had no way of knowing when.
“Can you move that chair? I want to get behind it.”
He