Chapter 22: Dependent Discoloration

The alley had become narrower since Callum last stood in it. Six weeks ago, police tape had marked the mouth at Stockton, two patrol cars had blocked the loading zone, and a uniform had kept Callum behind a line no one else seemed obliged to respect. Now the alley contained three grease bins, a stack of produce boxes, and a municipal sign threatening a fine large enough to suggest illegal dumping was the city's most solvent industry. Callum reached the deepest point the tether permitted. Ringing pressed behind his eyes. The root bruise on his arm darkened one branch at a time. He turned. The ghost waited across Stockton Street against the Waverly wall, almost lost behind a delivery truck and the foot traffic. Three hundred feet, give or take the distance required to stop both their hearts. "Stay there," he said. Her burned cheek had repaired during the day,…