Read Online A Book Of Tongues by Gemma Files - Free Book Online Page A

— said, inside of Morrow’s
head. I see you, Ed; know why you’re here, and what for. But, that said . . .
watch this.
    Well, it wasn’t like Morrow could do anything else.
    Dimly, Morrow began to perceive a weird light forming around
Chess’s ecstatic, prisoned face, some ectoplasmic substance flowing
off of him in a fluid, rotten caul up along Rook’s arm, illuminating
veins and muscles as it sunk beneath the skin, vampiristically
absorbed.
    What the Hell ? Morrow wondered. Thinking, at the same time: Bot-flies, and knowing how “Hell” might be the exact correct word,
given.
    I said to watch this, Edward, Rook’s mind-voice repeated — as,
simultaneously, the Rook right in front of Morrow cupped his
other hand beneath Chess’s ass, two fingers teasing him open again
so they could drive up high inside, feeling for that magic button.
Chess’s flat stomach knotted, heels kicking, and a fresh blush blazed
up toward his throat; he gave a hoarse half-yell, flailing, while Rook
sucked even harder, draining him dry.
    The phosphorescence hooding Chess’s head flickered once and
went out, a doused lucifer.
    Rook grinned at Morrow, licking his lips. Then rose up, naked and
dripping as some well-fucked ogre, palming Chess’s lids delicately
shut as he went, like he was blessing some corpse he’d just defiled.
Didn’t even bother to put on a pair of pants before he crossed back
over to where Morrow stood, wavering in the magic circle’s barbedwire net, and pulled him bodily in through the Bridal Suite’s door,
kicking it closed behind them.
    “So you’re a Pink,” the Rev said. “So what? That wasn’t exactly
hard to figure, even without my skills. Most men who’ll go out of
their way to join up with me got to have somethin’ really, truly
wrong with ’em, so the fact that you’re a good man, let alone good at
your job too? Dead giveaway, I’m afraid.”
    Though mortified by his own weakness, Morrow couldn’t
quite stop himself from making noise at that — a shameful sort of
squeak — as the Rev looked back over at Chess, now fast asleep and
snoring. “Oh yeah, that’s right — Chess does hate Pinkertons, that’s
for damn sure. But that’s how I knew I could trust you, Ed, if things
came down to it — ’cause since I could always give Chess good reason
to kill you, I figured you’d probably do whatever it took for me not
to.”
    Then: “But pardon me. I’m afraid I clean forgot you were still in
. . . difficulty.”
    Rook made a sign in Morrow’s direction, and the pain took flight
all at once — such a relief, he all but collapsed into the Rev’s ploughhorse arms. Instead, he stumbled backward, almost flopping down
on the bed with Chess before he realized his mistake.
    “Naw, don’t want to do that,” the Rev pointed out, mildly. “Try
over on that chair, instead.”
    Morrow did, straining not to sprawl every which-way. His joints
burned like he’d been wrung out, heart tripping clog-step, bowels
full of cholera-water.
    “. . . thank you,” he said, at last.
    “Not so fast,” Rook said, rummaging in the pile of clothes flung
together by the bed’s side. Then re-emerged, with Chess’s knife at
the ready.
    “Aw look, hey, now — ”
    “Calm the fuck down, Ed, it ain’t what you think. Hold still.”
    Spent as he was, Morrow sat there dumbfaced while Rook sawed
a chunk of his hair away, sheep-shearing-quick, then touched the
raw spot lightly, a soothing balm spreading briskly out wherever
his fingers lighted. The tuft itself he tucked away in a small leather
pouch he kept on his gun-belt.
    “All right,” he said. “ Now we’re done.”
    “The shit was that ?” Morrow demanded, hoarsely.
    The Rev shrugged. “Insurance, mainly. Know what a mojo is?”
Morrow shook his head. “Well, the dolly-bag I’m gonna make from
this hair says you’re gonna do what I want, whenever and however I
want it — or I’ll throw it right in the fire, see what happens when it
starts to burn.