“Everything about my life has been hijacked. I’ve had no say in where I live, where I work, what I do—”
“No say in what you do?” The words were staggered, each pronounced with emphasis. His eyebrows couldn’t have lifted higher on his forehead.
“Fine, perhaps I’ve had a little say in what I do. My point is, I’m maxed out on being dictated to. I’m not putting up with it.” I shrugged and waited for him to do his worst.
“I told you this was non-negotiable.”
“I remember what you said, and I’ve decided it is.” I yanked my arm back again and crossed my arms in front of me, tighter this time. If he wanted a limb, he was going to have to seriously fight for it. No more easy conquests.
“Come with me.” He started taking off in the direction of the elevator, but I didn’t follow.
He looked back to see I hadn’t budged and walked back. He reached out for an arm and I turned my back on him. When he moved with me, I wouldn’t let him budge it away from my body to get a firm grip.
It was a good thing the hall was empty. We must have looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. He wasn’t getting a hold. I’d beat him at his game.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and just lifted me entirely.
“That’s cheating!” I yelled, my feet dangling as he started walking.
“It’s not cheating, because there are no rules.” His voice was smug. “There is no legal system for us.”
I was torn. If I undid my arms to hit him, he’d just grab one of those. If I didn’t, he’d just keep carrying me. Without another clear-cut plan of action, I figured a verbal assault would be the most prudent. “Why do you insist on physically forcing me to go where you want? Have you no couth?”
“No. I don’t. Why do you refuse to do what I want you to?”
“Because I don’t have to do what you want.”
“Looks like you do.” He wasn’t laughing but he was definitely close to it.
I made the mistake of looking back at the office door down the hall. Someone had opened it and they were all hovering nearby. Every head swiveled guiltily away the second I saw them.
“Do you know what this looks like? They all think we slept together now.”
He leaned his head closer to mine. “No, they all know we slept together, remember?”
“Now that you’ve done even more damage, would you mind putting me down?”
“Sure,” he said as we strode through the hallway. “In one minute.”
We left the building and I thought he was going to try and make me go somewhere with him, but he stopped at his car.
“Do you plan on putting me down?” I asked. My legs were still dangling a foot off the ground and I was surrounded by his body heat.
“Are you going to listen?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll hear you out.”
“Why do you sound so winded when I’m the one that carried you?”
“You were squeezing my lungs.” That sounded a lot better than the truth.
He set me on my feet and looked around to make sure no one was listening. My arms were still wrapped tightly around me, just out of principle.
“You aren’t going to be able to walk away from this.”
“Why? Because I know about your men? If the paltry amount I know is too much, you guys are in worse shape than I gave you credit for. And as far as catching your objective, I’d say you’re chasing your tails more than your target. Maybe it’s time to pack up and call it quits.”
“You can ID my guys,” he said, but I couldn’t help feeling like he was just throwing out excuses.
“But I haven’t.”
“But you can, and they don’t feel comfortable with someone that isn’t with us knowing who they are.”
“Then they can come talk to me.” I remembered the night it had all gone down. I really thought they would try and kill me after I’d stabbed Suit. But I’d had time to adjust and take stock since then. I wasn’t going to live out the next thousand years being bullied.
“I’m talking. For now.”
I didn’t like the implied threat and it made my hackles rise. “What would you like? Do you want me to come and sit in your warehouse, drink a couple of beers and ponder the mysterious bad guys? Fine, I cave, pencil me in.” I whipped out the cell phone from my pocket. I’d finally pestered Harold into an upgrade with a calendar option. “I’m free for ten minutes next Saturday. That should be enough time to cover all the leads you guys have and squeeze in a beer, too.”
“This isn’t a joke.” His hand ran through his dark hair as he shook his head, looking more frustrated than anything else, like I was wearing his patience down to the nub. “Don’t act like everything is just some game that you have no part in. I know better.”
I smiled. “It is a game, and in case you don’t realize, I’m winning.”
He leaned against his car with a look that made me nervous, but didn’t stop me from walking away.
I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the lot to my Honda and got in. I’d thought he knew me, but maybe not as well as I’d imagined.
Nothing about this was a game. I was running scared.
Chapter Three
I’m currently away from my table right now.
After ditching Fate in the parking lot, I’d barely had time to get the polishing compound for the guards before my job. As it was, I’d have to cut the explanation of the directions down to a minimum, which could be a problem. They took polishing very seriously, and did not appreciate being rushed.
“Now, you need to wait for this stuff to turn white before you rub it off.” The medieval looking armored guards of the doors nodded their heads as I handed them both a bag. “If this one still doesn't make you as shiny as you want, we're going to have to start doing mail order. This is the last brand sold locally.”
They nodded again. They weren't known for their great communication skills. I often wondered what was under those suits. When I’d tried to peer into the eye slits, I never saw anything but pitch black. I’d stopped looking after that. It was a notch creepier than I preferred to know.
As it was, I could barely see past the reflection they were throwing off, but if it made them happy, I'd keep finding new polish.
The guard on the right started making circling motions with his left hand. I knew what he wanted but tried to ignore it. The guard on the left joined in and did it in larger motions until it was impossible to pretend.
“You couldn't have gone through all of them, already. I just bought you a new pack two days ago.” I was on a first name basis with half the staff at the hardware store these days.
They both nodded vigorously.
“What are you doing with all the rags?” They didn't look like much, but they weren’t free and I was on a fixed budget. I hadn't been out to Vegas with Luck in a while, and my paycheck was barely over minimum wage. If I’d had to pay rent at the condo, I would've gone under for sure.
They dropped their heads but didn't answer. Then they both slumped their shoulders.
I’d never done well under the force of a guilt trip, and they had me reacting true to form. “Okay, I'll get more rags, but that's it for the rest of the month.”
When they nodded eagerly, I felt bad about giving them a hard time. The polish made them so happy that I hadn't waded into a lake or pond in weeks.
My watch ticked to three p.m. “Time for work. I'll see you boys in a bit.”
The doors shimmered into existence and swung open to a street in historic Montreal. The crowds swelled past as I walked into their midst, sending my senses on a roller coaster of awareness. Ever since that night on the beach with Lars and Fate, I could feel each individual's karma hit me right in my core, as if it were magnified by a thousand.
At first, I’d had trouble even walking through a small group of three or four people. But I'd adjusted. It's amazing what people can live with when given no other option.
The only ones who didn't affect me at all
were the people who were in perfect alignment. It didn't mean they were good or bad; just whatever they'd done had caught up with them. They'd either reaped the benefits or paid the piper for their misdeeds.
Looking around, it appeared like the Universe was behind, since there were so few of them. When I really thought about it, shockingly few. Is this how it had always been? I mean, there was only one of me. I could only get to so many people, and my workload was supposed to be dedicated to those who had an immunity of sorts to being balanced out.
Appraising the busy streets right now, there was probably only one in ten who looked like they were in balance. It just didn't seem like it should be this off kilter. But at least one more would be, by time I was done today.
I walked along the cobblestoned street, lined with shops that had signs hanging from wrought iron posts above their doors, until I spotted the name I'd been looking for. Vintage Reads.
No one saw me as I entered, blind to my form walking in and deaf to the chime of the door opening. The store was a front—one of many—to launder money from illegal sex trafficking. And there, behind the register right now, was the man in charge. Everyone thought he was a pillar of the community. A criminal of the worst type, he was hiding in plain sight.
He sat behind the small counter, probably looking like an average man to most, in his plaid button-down shirt and khakis. They couldn't see the deathly pallor of his skin, or the cracks along his cheeks that oozed the sickness of his soul. That was my special gift, if you wanted to call it that; being able to see him for what he was.
An officer of the Sûreté du Québec, the Montreal Police Force, walked in the store behind me, and then past, equally oblivious to my presence. He wasn't dark or bright, just perfectly aligned with his karma.
“Hey, Tim,” the officer said, greeting the owner.
“Nick, how is everything?” His cracked skin erupted into a smile, forcing pus from the cracks in his cheeks.
“Pretty good. How's the wife?”
“Same old. Complaining about my hours.” Tim stood and moved toward the back stock room. “Hang on, I'll go get that book from the back I was telling you about.”
Their entire conversation had been in French and I'd understood it. Wow, that was a neat new trick. Could I speak it, too? I didn't have time to ponder it now; I had a job to do.
I grabbed the passport that had appeared in my hand this morning when I’d had the vision of the job. I still hadn't opened it. I didn't want to see the face of the young girl staring back at me again. It was too late for her. She was already dead but her passport would hopefully save many others from the same fate.
The store's walls were packed with shelves of antique books. I tossed the passport at the police officer's feet, and he immediately looked upward, assuming it had fallen.
He scooped the passport up, probably out of reflex, and looked at the picture. It was the same image as the one posted in his station earlier today, right before his shift.
His face transformed and then he looked at the door leading to the back, where Tim had gone. He pocketed the passport and called out to him, “Hey, I gotta run. I'll be back in a few hours.”
“Sure,” Tim yelled from the other room.
Tim didn't realize Nick would be returning en masse.
***
The leather-bound notebook had cost twenty-five dollars, but I'd wanted something that would hold up over the years. Harold wouldn't pay to have copies made for something that was against the rules, so this was it. It had a ringed binder inside, so I could add pages as needed.
Flipping to the first page, I wrote the title.
A Transfer's Guide to Forces of the Universe
Skipping a couple of lines, I jotted down a brief introduction.
First of all, if you are reading this, you’re a new transfer to the agency. I'm sure you've looked around and felt as if the world has turned upside down. That you are the one who’s gone crazy. Don't be alarmed. It’s them, not you. This place is odd. The people are even odder. The whole situation is reminiscent of a bad acid trip.
Second, flip to the page of your new occupation. This manual will give you a description of the position and a run-down of all your new responsibilities.
It's very important to do this, as no one else will tell you. I'm not sure if it's from unwillingness or inability, but don't kill yourself trying to get answers out of them—please don't be offended by that last statement if you actually got here by killing yourself. Answers are few and far between. If you do get them, they tend to not be worth the time and energy you invested.
Hopefully, this book will get you through the initial confusion. But keep in mind, it's written by a transfer, just like you.
I flipped to the next page and titled it Harold. In charge of...reading papers? I'd leave him for later, I decided, and flipped to the next page.
“What are you doing?” Murphy asked as he sat down at my favorite table with me.
“Writing up a manual for transfers.”
“What's going to be in it?” He lifted his chin, trying to glimpse over my hand at what was written on the page.
I tilted up the edge of the book. “A description of all the positions.”
His eyes opened up just a smidge wider. “Is that allowed?” he asked, intrigued.
My lips parted in a smile I couldn’t seem to stop. “I haven't been told it isn't, exactly...yet. I'm sure that will come as soon as Harold finds out.”
Murphy dragged his seat a little closer to me, the glimmer of a coconspirator shining in his eyes. “Can I help?”
I didn't try and stop smiling now. “Sure.”
Turning to a fresh page, I put in big fat letters, Murphy's Law.
A car door shutting caught his easily distracted attention. Murphy had a rather bad case of ADD.
“Fate's here,” Murphy said, looking out the window we were seated by.
I ripped out his paper from the notebook. “Take this and just write down anything you think is pertinent to your position and don’t tell anyone.”
Then I ripped out another sheet and scrawled out a quick note.
Look at that, I managed to dodge you again. See? It is working.
I folded the paper and handed it to him as well. “Give this to Fate for me? I've got to run.”
He nodded and I thanked him. Slinging my purse onto my shoulder, I grabbed my notebook and high-tailed it out of there.
Chapter Four
A past that won’t stay dead.
The electronic doors of the local Wal-Mart swung open. It was the only place that carried this particular brand of polish, so it was here or pay for shipping.
This place was always so busy that it had taken me a while to build up enough karma stamina. Even now, a gentleman paused his cart at the opening of an aisle to allow me to pass first, and I had to focus on not throwing up from the stench of him. I used to think people who did that would always have good karma. Not even close.
The people with the worst karma often had a foul smell, which lingered around them. But the people with really good karma smelled like a spring day in a garden full of roses. In the beginning, I'd actually found myself following a few of them unintentionally.
Between the pretty glow and the sweet scent, I just sort of got sucked in. I'd follow a couple of people home by accident, but after a few calls to the police, I was more careful. Now, I made sure I concentrated when I walked down the aisles. It was really embarrassing to be called out as a stalker and the Universe didn't always shield me from things like that. Somebody in charge definitely had a warped sense of humor.
Surrounded by the overwhelming smell of cleaning supplies on either side, I wasn't prepared for what I suddenly sensed. I almost choked on the smell of a bad karma so strong that it radiated outward, even when the person wasn't in clear view. It wasn’t just the smell, either. There was a feeling of spiders crawling all over my skin.
I'd felt it a week ago, but I hadn't been able to find the sour
ce. I'd been driving down the road when it had hit. I'd tried to turn around, but it was gone by time I did. I'd driven up and down different streets for hours with no lead. I wasn't losing it again.
The smell and feeling were so strong, I feared I wouldn't be able to handle it up close, but that didn't stop me. I dashed down the aisle, and made a right. No, not that way. I backtracked toward the toys.
Then it was there at the end of the bike aisle. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. I stood there, frozen in my spot by the atrocity I saw before me. He wore shorts and a t-shirt, and everywhere I looked, his skin was blackened as if it had been burnt. Cracks ran up and down his exposed skin, oozing a constant drain of pus.
He turned and looked at me. At first I thought it was because he'd caught me staring, and it was retaliatory glare, but then he smiled like he knew me. He was human; he couldn’t possibly know me.
He was with two other friends and I heard him telling them he'd be right back. He walked toward me, dripping ooze as he came. Someone would trip on that ooze later and never have any idea why they fell.
Flashes of what he'd already done in this life hit me; animals mutilated, smaller children beaten. I wasn't surprised by anything I saw. You weren't oozing like that as a teenager unless you had some horrible acts on your resume already.
What shocked me and made my breath catch was when images from another century came slamming into me. How could this be? Was I sensing what he'd done in a past life? This had never happened before.
Bodies bloodied everywhere. Images of the worst part of war, people in agony, loss on a level rarely seen.
A swastika.
He kept walking toward me and I took a step back. I caught myself before I took another. It was hard; the pure evil of what was heading my way instinctively repelled every cell in my body.
He stopped a foot away from where I stood. “I was wondering when we'd meet.”
JINXED: (Karma Series, Book Two) Page 3
