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

And you really don’t want that, believe you me.”
    “I believe you,” Morrow replied, his voice gone almost completely
juiceless.
    Rook nodded. “Here’s the deal, then. I have to go somewhere, try
out this mirror of Songbird’s. Gotta talk to my Rainbow Lady, and
I need to do it alone; she’s gonna tell me things I don’t want Chess
tryin’ to talk me out of. I need him kept away.”
    “All right. But he won’t listen to me — not like he does to you.”
    Another grim grin. “Oh, I don’t need him listenin’ that hard. Just
tell him I told you he has to take the rest of the gang to Splitfoot Joe’s,
lay low, and wait. That’s where I’ll meet back up with everybody.”
    “He won’t believe — ”
    Brooking no opposition: “ Convince him, then.”
    Rook turned his back, arrogant in his utter lack of wariness. And
if Morrow hadn’t been so damn drained, that alone might have been
enough to make him try something anyways, just on principle.
    But instead, he simply looked back down at his hands, still
trembling in his lap, and asked: “Okay, well — what were you doin’
back there — with Chess? I mean . . . I know what some of it was,
obviously. But — ”
    “Show me that ‘timepiece’ of yours, will you, Ed?”
    Reluctantly, Morrow passed the Manifold over, as Rook stood
waiting with one hand out. Rook took it, studying it from all
directions.
    “Very pretty,” he said, finally, and passed it back. “Might come in
useful, eventually.”
    “You gonna answer my question, or what?”
    The Rev turned once more, finally rummaging for his small-clothes, and tucked himself safely away. “Oh, I think you’ll figure it
out, soon enough. If you just keep your eyes open.”
    Next morning, Chess came clattering down while Morrow was
checking his ammunition, immaculate from head to toe, like he
hadn’t spent half the night taking it from behind — his bright hair
combed and gleaming extra-sharp with fresh pomade, purple coat
brushed out ’til it shone, and in about as foul a mood as Morrow’d
ever seen him.
    “How long that sumbitch been gone?” he demanded.
“Since ’fore dawn,” Morrow said, counting shells. Then, like he’d
just thought of it: “Yeah, he said you was to go to Splitfoot Joe’s, and
then he’d meet you there after.”
    “After what?”
    “Fuck if I know, Chess. He don’t make such as me privy to his
thoughts.”
    “Well, why the hell wouldn’t he tell me that his own damn self?”
    “Uh . . . ’cause you was asleep, I guess.”
    “Oh, that Goddamn man!” Chess grabbed the bottle Morrow
already had going, and flopped down in the chair opposite him
to take a long drink. “Bible-beltin’ son-of-a bitch got business
somewheres he thinks he don’t need me for; thinks he can stick his
dick in my ass to keep me quiet, then run the hell off on me.”
    Morrow squirmed, uncomfortably. “Aw, Chess, c’mon. I don’t
need to know — ”
    “Well shit, Morrow, what was it you thought we was doin’ up
there? Playin’ Goddamn canasta?”
    “Hardly. Ain’t stupid, you know.”
    “I do know, so don’t act it. Oh, that damn man!”
    “He’s a hex. They ain’t like other people.”
    Chess gave a bitter little laugh, then chased it with an even
longer swig. “Oh no, they sure ain’t, and neither is he — ’cept from
the waist down. ’Cause that part of him’s pretty much like every
other motherfucker I ever met.”
    Morrow didn’t know what-all to say to that, so he just kept quiet.
They sat together an interminable minute, locked back into a strange
parody of companionability — Chess looking off, eyes narrowed,
with Morrow too het up to do much more than keep his own breath
steady. ’Til both of them were finally interrupted by a noise — all too
familiar to Morrow — which grew ever more insistent.
    Eventually Chess snapped out, “Just what the hell is that?”
    “My . . . timepiece, I think,” Morrow said, at last.
    “You need to do somethin’