by Kat Simons
He locked the apartment door behind him, dropped most of the mail on the rickety table in the entryway, let his backpack slide to the floor, and headed for the kitchen with the two letters.
Setting them on the counter, he considered them as he poured himself a glass of juice. He never took his gaze off the envelopes, even when he returned the carton to the fridge.
He shouldn’t open them. His mom would know. She’d get really pissed if she knew he opened her mail. He could probably get away with one, say he thought it was junk. But he’d never get away with opening both. There was a way, though, wasn’t there? So no one would know. Steaming. Did that work in real life?
He put a pan of water on the stove to boil then went to find his mom’s checkbook. She never took it with her. Said it’d only encourage her to buy stuff. She kept it in a drawer and used it to pay bills. The rest of the time she used cash. She didn’t even have a credit card. Too much temptation, she said.
Would she have the balance recorded? He’d watched her while she wrote out checks for the bills, the way her brow crinkled and her mouth tightened into a thin line. Her eyes got all scrunchy, too. Her worried look. The look she gave him when she found out he was ditching school.
He opened the checkbook. His mom recorded every penny. There was $25.19 left in her account and payday was the end of this week.
He closed the checkbook, put it back exactly the way he’d found it, right down to the overdue phone bill angled across it’s corner.
The pot of water was boiling when he got back to the kitchen. He burned his fingers the first time he tried to hold one of the envelopes over the steam. Using tongs worked better.
He started with the “Final Notice”. The seal buckled under the moisture, and he opened it easily. By the time he’d read the contents, he didn’t care if he could close the envelope again.
They were gonna lose the car.
Mom owed four back-payments with interest and penalties, and the number at the bottom of the angry letter was a lot higher than $25.19. He didn’t know how much his mom’s paycheck was, but he knew what his tuition cost and that was due next month for the spring term.
They were gonna lose the car.
He didn’t bother steaming open the letter from the law firm. Ripping through the expensive paper, he pulled out a single sheet. The words were terse, dense, and stuffy sounding. But he understood the important point. The landlord was “initiating eviction proceedings” next month.
Jon grabbed his keys and left the house, carefully locking the door behind him.
“Jonathon,” a smooth, accented voice said. “What an unexpected surprise. What brings you here?”
Jon blinked up at the older man. “Mr. Holland,” he greeted without any enthusiasm. He was too depressed for enthusiasm. He hadn’t known what to do after opening the letters from the bank and the lawyers, so he’d gone to the mall. But even the gaming store depressed him. He’d been sitting on a bench, staring at the floor long enough for his butt to hurt.
“Jonathon? What’s wrong? You look down.”
Jon kicked his feet against the bench and shrugged. “Car company’s gonna repo mom’s car, and we’re getting evicted from our apartment. She pays too much for that stupid private school I’m in. Don’t know where we’ll live. Grandma and grandpa’s maybe. But she’ll lose her job here and then what?”
“I’m very sorry to hear this.” Holland sat on the bench next to him. “What about your father? Can’t he help at all?”
“Don’t know where he is. Ran off when I was a baby. Mom says he was a deadbeat anyway.”
“It can be very difficult to grow up without a father.”
“You didn’t know your dad either?” Jon asked.
“Oh no. I knew him. I knew the bastard very well.”
The bite in Holland’s voice made Jon look up.
Holland smiled faintly. “Sometimes you’re better off not knowing your father.”
Jon pondered that in silence, pursing his lips as he continued to swing his feet. A lot of people walked by as they sat quietly. A woman with a baby stroller and three trailing toddlers. Two old ladies with their heads together walking like they were in a hurry to get somewhere. An older couple holding hands. A group of high school kids shouting at each other from two feet away and taking up most of the walkway. Jon didn’t see Holland’s bodyguards anywhere. That was weird. Did they get days off?
“You know, Jon,” Holland said after a while, “my job offer still stands. I know you never rang, which was your way of telling me you didn’t want the position, but… Well, I’d still love to have you work for me. I promise, despite what your friends and mother think, I don’t want you to do anything illegal. I’d just like you to…call someone for me. That’s all.”
Jon frowned. “Call someone?”
“As only you can.”
“I can’t call humans like that,” Jon said.
“Ah, but she isn’t human.”
“She?” He cocked his head. Holland wasn’t gonna start all that love talk again, was he?
“Someone I care very much about,” Holland said.
“Like your girlfriend or wife?”
“We haven’t managed to get to the husband and wife point. But you could call her my girlfriend.”
“Why do you need me to call her?”
“We had a…fight. She’s not speaking to me.”
Jon narrowed his eyes in an expression he’d seen Cary use. “You’re not gonna hurt her are you?”
“No. Of course not.” Holland waved off the idea. “I just need to talk to her, to make things right between us.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for a girl.”
“Believe me, one day you’ll understand.”
Jon nodded, not at all convinced.
“I need your help, Jonathon. To get back the woman I love.”
Ugh. The love thing again. He liked girls and all. But all this talk about old people in love was just gross. “What if she won’t come when I call? If she’s so pissed at you she won’t even talk to you, I might not be able to help?”
“Well, perhaps you could reach some of her family, call them out? If I could talk with them, convince them to take me to her, I could explain everything. You know,” Holland paused, tilting his head, “I imagine you’d like their city. It’s very beautiful, I understand. Full of riches.”
“Oh yeah?” He perked up. “Where is it?”
“Ah, there’s the rub. If I could find the city, I would already be camped on Nira’s doorstep trying to make her see reason.”
“You don’t know where her city is?”
“Not specifically. Generally. But without an escort, no one can find the entrance. That’s why I need Nira to come to me, or one of her relatives. Someone who can lead me to the city.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want you there.”
Holland’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile widened. “Well, she is upset with me. But I know she’ll see reason. I just need to convince her to speak to me again.”
“I don’t know…” Jon made a face and glanced past Holland’s shoulder. It all sounded kind of weird. Holland might be old, but he was rich. There had to be other girls he could get.
“Outside of the payment I’ll provide for your service,” Holland said quietly, “I’m sure her family will offer up some of those riches I mentioned. They’re a very generous people.”
“Yeah?” His legs swung faster, and he straightened his shoulders. “They might give me something worth something?”
“Worth more than you can imagine.”
But no one gave away valuable things for free. “Why?” There had to be a catch.
“It’s the way they are. Once we enter the city, once we’re led to it, I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to give you whatever you want.” Holland’s smile gleamed. “And of course there’s the salary I’ll pay you, which if you remember, was quite generous.” His voice dropped. “More than enough to buy your mother
a new car. Plenty to afford a better apartment. Even a house.”
Jon nibbled his lower lip. He could use the money for his mom. She worked so hard. He could finally give her something back. A house. With a backyard. All the bills paid on time. She’d stop getting up in the middle of the night to pace in the living room. She wouldn’t sit in the dark and cry anymore.
And Holland made this mysterious city sound really cool. Jon would like to get a look at those riches.
“You’re sure no one will get hurt?” he asked after a moment.
Holland looked him square in the eyes. “No one will get hurt.”
“If she’s not human, and I can call her, then what is she?”
“She’s a Naga.”
Jon gaped. “Hey, they’re like snake shifters sort of, aren’t they?”
“In a way.”
“Cool.” He’d like to meet a Naga.
“So you’ll help me, then, Jon?”
He bit his thumbnail and studied Holland. The guy wasn’t so bad for a demon. And he did say no one would get hurt. Two hundred and fifty grand would be really nice, too.
He rubbed his hand on his pants leg then held it out to Holland. “It’s a deal.”
Holland smiled, his big hand engulfed Jon’s, and he shook it firmly. “Deal.”
28
Cary found parking right in front of Angie’s cute little cottage-style house, a stroke of luck that helped raise her mood. The worries had only gotten worse as the week started. No word from Jaxer, Holland, Jon or Sally left her wondering if things really were settled, and she was just fretting over nothing. But she had this nagging sense that the second shoe still hadn’t dropped and it kept her sleep restless.
Well, that and thinking about Deacon. Dreaming about him. And waking up to worry that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
She really needed this girls’ night, even if just to vent to the three people who knew her best. And if more than one bottle of wine was consumed, well, she had a taxi company’s number already in her cell’s contact list.
Cary climbed out of the car just as Angie opened the front door and stepped out onto her large wooden porch. She waited for Cary at the top of the short flight of stairs right next to the hand carved, wooden sign that advertised her hours of business for tarot and palm readings. She had one front parlor set aside for work, all decked out in the typical psychic trappings of black and purple silks and velvet, candles, incense and sparkling beadwork.
The rest of the light and airy house she kept off-limits. The earthy, southwestern decor of the little cottage fit Angie’s personality so much better than the dark and moody parlor.
“Dinner is ordered,” Angie called. “Thai food. Marianne will be here soon. Lucy is running late after her last class, but is on her way.”
“Perfect,” Cary said as she straightened her skirt. They were staying in, but they’d decided to dress up a little since they hadn’t had a chance to get together in a few weeks. Cary had picked comfortable dress up clothes—a flowy skirt, a fitted but stretchy blouse, and sparkly flats—but for her anything that wasn’t jeans and boots was dressing up. Angie wore a long, fitted tan skirt with a slit up one thigh and a red sweater. She’d foregone shoes, which was typical Angie.
Cary was halfway up the walk when she noticed Angie’s frown. Almost at the same instant a tingle of warning crept across her shoulders. Before she could turn completely in the direction Angie was frowning, a bright green ball of electricity sizzled past her, missing her by mere inches. She screamed and lunged toward the porch just as another flash of green hit the bricks where she’d been standing. The smell of burnt ozone clogged her nose.
Angie moved down the two steps to her lawn, her hands twisting in a pattern Cary vaguely recognized. As Cary tripped up the stairs past her, Angie flung her hands out, palms forward, facing the threat. The gesture stopped another electricity bolt two feet from Cary’s head. It spun in the air like an angry Telsa ball, spikes of green shooting in all directions within a tight, invisible sphere.
Angie’s voice rolled out, deep and powerful, as she chanted an incantation in what Cary thought might be Latin, though she was too freaked out to be certain. The ball of electricity exploded, temporarily blinding Cary with the bright flash of white and green light. When she could see again, she scanned the street, waiting for the next attack.
Nothing happened for long minutes. Angie jerked her hands down in a deliberate gesture and murmured a short phrase under her breath. Cary sensed something different but because she wasn’t protecting anyone, she had no idea what her friend had just done.
“What was that?” she asked, her knees shaking from the adrenaline rush. She leaned against the porch railing to keep her feet under her.
“I think someone just tried to kill you,” Angie said.
“Shit.”
“Any guesses who it might have been?”
Cary gave her a look. “You want the whole list of people who want to kill me or just the most recent options?”
Angie raised her brows. “You have been going around town for the last few weeks pissing off a demon.”
“But Jon isn’t with me anymore. I stopped pissing Holland off more than a week ago.”
“Maybe he holds a grudge.”
“Shit,” Cary said again, her legs trembled so much she was grateful she was wearing flats. If she’d had heals on, she’d probably be sitting on Angie’s porch now, not leaning against a post. If Holland had decided to come after her, just her without any other agenda, without trying to get through her to someone else, she was in serious trouble.
She let out a breath, trying to slow her heartbeat, and looked at her friend. “What did you do?”
“That was magic being thrown at you,” Angie said, “so I shielded against the initial attack. Then I activated the circle around my house. I’ll have to come out and let Lucy and Marianne through when they get here.”
Angie had admitted to Cary once a few years back that she maintained a sacred circle around her home, in the soil out of casual sight, set with salt and activated by a spell when Angie felt she needed it. If she crossed the barrier and broke the circle, she inactivated its protection. But so long as they stayed within it, they’d be safe from magic. And demons.
Cary hoped.
“Come on inside,” Angie said. “I’ll cancel the Thai order until I’m sure the wizard throwing those kill spells is gone. Lucy and Marianne can handle this weirdness. A poor delivery guy shouldn’t have to.”
Cary swallowed at the words “kill spells.” Plenty of people had tried to kill her before but almost always while she was protecting someone and so was safe. This time, whoever that had been, they weren’t aiming at Angie or even trying to get around Cary to get to Angie. Cary was the target. Angie wasn’t in danger. So the Protector magic hadn’t been there to keep Cary alive.
She was more than a little terrified to think that whoever had just attacked knew what she was and had known exactly how to get around her defenses. The fact that so few people could figure out exactly what she was had typically been her saving grace over the years.
Had Holland figured it out? Was he trying to get her out of the way now just because she might be able to stop him from doing…whatever it was he was doing? She had no plans to go anywhere near the demon again if she could possible avoid it. But maybe Holland didn’t want to take any chances?
She could feel someone watching them, and realized it was the same feeling she’d been getting a lot recently, that spine shivering certainty that someone was staring at her. She’d assumed that had to do with Jon, though. Maybe she’d been wrong.
Would the wizard out there leave now that he knew Angie’s magic could keep them safe? Or would he just wait for her to leave and attack again?
Shit shit shit.
“You’ll be able to tell when whoever’s out there is gone?” she asked and was appalled to hear her voice shook.
Angie pulled her into a hug. “I’ll know.
Wizards can’t hide from me once they’ve used their magic.”
“Is he…is he testing your circle?”
“He tried once and stopped. A gentle, elegant try, though. Whoever he is, he’s powerful, and in full control of that power.”
Great. A powerful wizard was trying to kill her. For some reason, she thought of Sheldon, whose body had disappeared the morning after Halloween before Jaxer could get to him. Sheldon, who’d tried to steal Deacon’s body.
Sheldon, who’d known exactly what Cary was, what Protectors were.
Was he alive? Could this be him? But Angie said this wizard was in control of his power, and Cary had had the impression that, though he was powerful, Sheldon wasn’t necessarily a gentle and elegant wielder of magic.
Still, he had known what she was. If he was still alive…
She flexed her fists a few times to try and control the panic crawling over her skin. “Feels weird to be the one being protected,” she muttered. “I hate when people try to kill me.”
Angie hugged her tighter. “I’ve got the makings for some really disgusting nachos in the house to make up for no Thai food.”
“Nachos are good.” As if she hadn’t had enough to worry about, now someone was trying to kill her. “I could really use a drink.” She sighed as Angie turned her toward the house. She wobbled because her knees were still too shaky to support her. “It’s been a weird few weeks.”
“Death threats, demons, and new boyfriends will do that. I’ll break out the Tequila to go with the nachos.”
Cary let the tension in her shoulders relax when Angie closed her front door. “That’s the reason we’re such good friends.”
The next morning, Cary sat in an extra warm bath contemplating her hangover. Not much of one at this point. Like all other injuries and illnesses, she got over self-inflicted pain quickly, too. She’d actually slept through the worst of it, except when she woke around four a.m. with a rolling tummy and the room spinning around her bed.
Wine hangovers were the worst. The Tequila probably hadn’t helped. She didn’t envy Angie this morning. Which was why she was soaking in a tub instead of collecting her car, which she’d left behind in wise favor of a taxi. No point going to Ang’s until noon at the earliest. She supposed she could have collected her car without waking her but that might cause her friend to worry given what had happened after she’d arrived last night.
