Page 69 of Tricks for Free

“I knew that part,” I said. “I’ve heard of routewitches using distance—it’s the main power behind most of their spells—but I’ve never heard of them stealing it before.”

“That’s because ethical routewitches won’t,” said Rose firmly. “Apple won’t let them.”

Sam put up a hand. “Who’s Apple?” he asked, with the air of a man who had gone wading in the shallows, only to discover that there was a whole deep ocean waiting to devour him.

“She’s the current Queen of the Routewitches. She holds court on the Ocean Lady, and she’ll kick your ass from here to Tuesday morning if she thinks you’re breaking her rules. Not a nice woman, necessarily, but a fair one, and a reasonably kind one, when it comes to that. The routewitches have done worse.” Rose shook her head. “Stealing distance is like stealing anything: it’s a violation. They’d have to rip it off of a person, unless they could make it a trade somehow, and even that would be . . . difficult. The road thrives on fair exchange.”

“Meaning . . .” I prompted.

“Meaning I get flesh from the loan of a coat, and a phantom rider gets freedom from the length of a road, and everything balances. If a routewitch wants distance from the living, they would normally need to make it part of a barter. I’ll give you this if you give me that. It’s hard to do that accidentally.”

A cold feeling appeared in the pit of my stomach. I felt myself go very still, the hair on my arms standing on end. “Sam,” I said, and turned to face him, only him, focusing on the lines of his face until I couldn’t see anyone else, not even in my peripheral vision. It needed to be only him, because this was my fault. “Can I see your ticket?”

Sam blinked. Understanding bloomed in his eyes, spreading to cover his entire expression, wiping everything else away. “Yeah,” he said, and dipped his hand into his pocket.

He put the ticket on the table like it was a dead rat, something to be dropped as quickly and as cleanly as possible. He pulled his fingers away almost instantly, as if he was afraid lingering would give me the opportunity to touch him again. That hurt. Not as much as the realization of what must have happened, but . . . it still hurt.

I picked up the ticket, turning it over. The fine print on the back was as dense and tight-packed as I remembered. Turning my body toward Rose, I read aloud, “‘This ticket is provided under the auspices of Lowry Entertainment, Inc., and cannot be transferred or re-sold once activated. Acceptance of this ticket constitutes agreement to be filmed, photographed, and interviewed for future marketing purposes while on Lowry property. Acceptance of this ticket is perpetual and binding. All clauses can and will be exercised at the discretion of Lowry Entertainment, Inc. No refunds or returns will be entertained.’” My mouth was dry. I paused and swallowed, resisting the urge to close my eyes. “There’s a quote under that, from one of the early Monty Mule cartoons. ‘If you’re lucky enough to be lucky, share the luck around.’”

Rose snapped her fingers. “And there it is.”

“Oh, my sweet Zeus.” Cylia put her head on the table. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sam looked between us, and scowled. “Now’s where someone explains this to me in small words, or I get pissed.”

“When you took the ticket, you gave Lowry permission to take your luck.” Rose stepped forward and snatched the ticket out of my hand—or tried to, anyway. In the absence of a coat, her fingers passed straight through the paper. She scowled. “Mary!”

“I’m not your maid,” said Mary. She moved to stand next to Rose, gesturing for me to hand over the ticket. I did. Rose transferred her scowl to the other ghost.

They’re both dead, but the rules governing them are very different, and while I wouldn’t want to be the one to say that one was better off than the other, watching Rose struggle to interact with the living world when she didn’t have a coat was sometimes a strong vote in Mary’s favor. Although unlike Mary, Rose doesn’t answer to a malicious and sometimes predatory force of the universe. Checks and balances in all things, I suppose.

“Is that going to take Mary’s luck now?” asked Sam.

“No; the ticket’s nontransferable,” said Rose, sounding distracted. She leaned forward, scowling at the words for a moment before straightening, shaking her head, and announcing, “You work for assholes. You know that, right, Timmy?”

“‘Timmy’?” asked Cylia.

“My full name’s ‘Antimony,’” I said, frowning at Rose. “I sort of know that, but why do you say so?”

“Because taking one of their theme park tickets grants them unlimited consent to take your luck whenever you’re on Lowry property. Do you know how much shit Lowry owns? They’re no Disney, but I’m pretty sure they own an airport. You’re fucked. You take one of these and stuff it in your wallet as a pretty souvenir and it doesn’t matter if it’s six years later, they can activate it and steal whatever they want from you.” Rose shook her head. She looked disgusted. She also looked distantly impressed, like she was fighting her own desire to admire their work. “A routewitch didn’t write this, but a routewitch helped. It’s very close to the standard distance exchange. I give you this, you give me that, everybody walks away happy.”

I put my head in my hands. “When Sam took the ticket, he agreed to the fine print, and now Lowry gets to take his luck.”

“Not if we burn the ticket,” said Mary calmly.

I lifted my head and peered at her. “Aren’t you worried about your luck?”

“It’s nontransferable, and I’m dead,” she said. “I have a different kind of luck now. Isn’t that right, Cylia?” She turned her open highway eyes toward our hostess.

Cylia sucked in a startled breath, sitting up a little straighter. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. Any incongruity in a woman nearly ten years my senior addressing a teenager as “ma’am” was washed away by the empty roads of Mary’s eyes. “No living jink can touch ghost luck. Dead ones can touch living luck, but we don’t talk about them much.”

“You shouldn’t,” Mary agreed. “If you did, even the people who ought to be your allies would join the Covenant in hunting you down. Some power shouldn’t belong to anybody. Annie?”

“Yes, Aunt Mary?”

“You need to get the hell away from Lowryland. Whatever these people are doing, it’s not right, it’s not good, and it’s going to get a lot more people hurt than it already has.”

“You’re right,” I said. “But I’m not going.”