The Neon Graveyard

by Vicki Pettersson

  Well, I could locate it handily enough now, I thought, rubbing at my lower back. I knew where it was . . . what I didn’t know was what it was.

  “Oh, no one can tell you that,” Io said when I told her as much. “That is . . . not unless they had somehow handled it or possessed it too.”

  Our gazes locked. Like Solange had.

  I squinted, thinking. She’d told me her house was my house. That I couldn’t compete with a goddess. That I wasn’t as broken as I thought I was, and that I could regenerate. I looked at Io, and narrowed my eyes. “She said that imagining things into existence was natural to me.”

  And not only did it make me squirm to think that Solange had known what my essence was before I did, it kinda pissed me off. Plus, even though it had apparently reattached itself to my spine, I didn’t feel any different than I had before entering Midheaven. Now that I’d stopped puking anyway.

  Io shook her head, her hair backlit and threaded with light as she hovered over me, the black orbs of her eyes absolute. “What else did she say?”

  “That was it.” I shrugged. “I couldn’t see a thing. She had the room blocked off somehow, like she’d drawn a curtain over the entire world.”

  “Interesting . . .” And her tone said, And not in a good way. “So she allowed you to cash out your most personal power in hopes you’d use it to return to Midheaven through the tunnels.”

  “Gee, Io. You say that like you suspect she’s up to something.”

  Io didn’t smile. “You can’t trust her.”

  “I know. But it doesn’t mean she’s lying. And it helps explain what Harlan Tripp told me before he died.”

  I’d first met Tripp in Midheaven where we’d been pitted against each other in a particularly competitive game of soul poker. However, back on this side of the smoky veil, we’d become unlikely allies, and he’d ultimately given his life over to save my own. But before he died, he told me I was still a high roller. Still a player, and still in the game.

  “You don’t look too excited about that,” I said, after telling Io this.

  “I’m just a former ward mother. It don’t matter much what I think,” she said, then surprised me by placing her hand on my belly. Her expression softened so much it looked painful. “But I know one thing for sure. You need to be extra careful now.”

  “It’s an opportunity,” I told her, and rose from the table with a smile.

  “Be careful,” she said again, shaking her head.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, reaching for the door.

  “You got a power you don’t know what to do with,” she called after me.

  No, what I had, I thought, shutting the door with another small smile, was one foot back in the Zodiac world. Now I could do what Carlos wanted, access the underground tunnels, save the rogues trapped in Midheaven, and save him.

  Locate it in yourself, harness it, and use it to get what you want out of life.

  An image of Hunter raced through my mind and my smile widened.

  8

  Grays were always the last to know what happened in the world of the Zodiac. As outcasts, we couldn’t just enter a comic book shop and snap up the latest manuals detailing this valley’s supernatural war. Current issues, like the one Joseph had brought us, were rare, and we most often relied on bootleg copies, written and drawn by memory and word of mouth. It was an oft-entertaining way of relaying information, but could also be unreliable. Sometimes we’d get lucky and steal one from some unsuspecting seven-year-old’s backpack, but that was rare. Grays were even more unlikely to mix with the mortal population than Shadow or Light.

  The kids who read and obsessed over the Zodiac series were also possessive of their manuals and territory. Since they were naturally suspicious of any adult who dared enter their shop, the secretive den of high fantasy and zit cream, interacting with them felt more like a hazing than a conversation. So my hope, when I entered city boundaries the next day, was that my past involvement with the agents of Light—as well as my willingness to die for one of the kids’ geeky little peers—would compel them to help me.

  Because now, more than ever, I needed what was in those manuals.

  “Carlos won’t like it,” Vincent said, after I told him of my plan. “He ordered us to stay with you at all times. Someone has to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Grays can’t enter the shop,” I reminded him. Even there they were outcasts. “I can because I’m also mortal.”

  “And the shop is a safe zone,” Milo pointed out. “No one can touch her once she’s inside.”

  “Provided she makes it,” said Foxx, crossing his arms, and we all glared at him.

  But there was no choice.

  In addition to being a hotbed of prepubescent angst, Master Comics was Las Vegas’s outpost for all things Zodiac. There, information about the Zodiac world was passed around in trading cards and hushed whispers, and it was the one place I knew for sure I could discover more about the constellation Kai had pointed out at the rave. The one the Tulpa was so determined to find.

  “Look, the only other option is to wait in a bombed-out sinkhole in the middle of the desert.” I let that hang in the air for a while. Despite the inherent dangers in forming this ragtag group of grays, I knew these men liked being relevant again. They were back in the game, counted among those who made things happen in our world, instead of ghosts whose final acts had been to fail.

  Besides, if we turned back now, it wouldn’t be long before the grays disbanded; slowly drifting apart like oil beads floating atop water. The newer ones, like Foxx, would go first. No one would make a big deal of it. Personal choice and the right to change one’s fate and mind was something Carlos adamantly preached, yet that defection would soon be followed by others. No announcements, no acknowledgment, just the rest of us performing a silent mental count the next morning over a meal of tortillas and rice, taking note of who’d slipped away. Wondering who would be next.

  No, I thought, looking back at the shop door now. There was nowhere else to go but forward . . . and for me, specifically, that meant straight through the three hundred yards that lay between the shop door, and the grays gathered behind me.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Gareth encouraged, peering around the brick face into the L-shaped parking lot.

  “They’re Zodiac agents,” Foxx reminded him, slumped against the wall. “You won’t see them until they strike.” He jerked his head at me. “She won’t see them at all.”

  “Shut up, Foxx.” Milo, so large and dark he nearly blotted out the sun, turned toward me, concern welling in his dark eyes. “Steady but fast, Jo. They don’t even expect us to enter the city, so no one will be looking here.”

  It was more hope than promise, but I nodded, and took the first step. I didn’t sprint toward the pink-stuccoed building, though I had to fight the desire to break into a fast jog. Especially after the scent of garbage from a nearby Dumpster reminded me of Warren, and had my fragile stomach flip-flopping on itself. I continued down the street like some apathetic, overaged Goth girl, feigning a yawn as I stepped over a patch of sidewalk someone had stepped in before it’d dried. The heel prints and shoe size matched mine perfectly, but I just tucked a hand into the pocket of my loose cargos, fingering my sheathed soul blade, and kept moving at an even pace. Finally reaching the shop, I yanked the door open, the attached cowbell jangling like an open nerve.

  There, in a dimly lit shop that looked like a gamer’s basement and smelled like a jock’s shower, over a half-dozen kids turned my way, gazes both curious and knowing. As if on some silent mental cue, they nodded as one and, gravely, the skinniest preteen spoke.

  “Check the unit, dudes,” Dylan said. “The Archer’s back.”

  “I liked your other costume better,” Dylan said, giving me a deliberate up-and-down as I let the door shut behind me.

  I glared at him until he was forced to take a hit on his inhaler. “It wasn’t a costume. It was a cover identity.”

  “Whatever,
” piped up a voice beside me. I glanced down to find Kade, a kid who’d clearly cut his hair, Bieber-style, with children’s scissors and a funhouse mirror. “It was way hotter.”

  “It’s nice that they let you keep your boobs,” piped up a small voice behind me, and I turned around to find Li Chan—happy, healthy, whole—the child I’d also saved while giving over all my powers for her sister’s life. Li had once been as close to death as possible while still breathing, but she now bounced on her toes in full health, tilting her head as her eyes grew wide. “They even look a little bigger.”

  “They didn’t let me keep anything,” I said, flushing, before quickly shaking my head. “I mean, these are mine. And I didn’t ask to . . .”

  Wait. Why was I talking about my chest size to a bunch of socially challenged rugrats? I looked around the dingy shop at the eight prepubescent children, and shook my head. “Where’s Zane?”

  Zane Silver, owner of Master Comics, was an ubiquitous presence, and not because he didn’t want to leave shop grounds, but because he couldn’t. Ever. His geeky persona was as much a mask for him as my sister’s identity had been for me . . . and as convincing too. Because beneath his rat’s-nest hair and chunky, pockmarked cheeks was a seventy-three-year-old man trapped in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.

  Bound and sworn to the duty of record keeper, Zane was charged with recording the events of the Zodiac world in comic book form until some other dumber-than-shit kid agreed to take his place. It was a critical position because it allowed the kids to think, speak, and dream of us—in other words, to believe. That strong, young mental energy was critical for our survival, and when the kids hit puberty and moved on, there had to be another group ready to take their place.

  Zane, however, had languished in this shop for decades, growing older on the inside, remaining ageless on the outside. Additionally, if he didn’t record our stories or if he got some wild hair and tried to leave the premises, the voices in his head would drive him to madness. It was as Faustian a deal as was ever made.

  “Resting his old bones,” piped someone from across the room and I nearly sighed in relief. Carl Kenyon, the series’ penciler, and head dork. His punk-rock edge had taken on a decidedly Davy Jones feel, and today he sported a skinny black tie, rolled shirt sleeves, and black pencil jeans about four inches too short. “He’s not feeling well.”

  “Hey, Carl. You look different.”

  “Things change.” He shrugged and pushed himself onto the U-shaped countertop splitting the room, while jerking his chin at me. “And I could say the same for you.”

  I shrugged too. “You know how it goes.”

  “I know how it goes for you.”

  I let that one slide. It was hard to argue. “So what’s going on? Zane just left the shop untended?”

  “It’s not untended,” Carl said, swinging his arms wide, affronted.

  “Yeah, what are we?” asked Kade, bouncing beside me like a coiled spring. “Window dressing?”

  “She didn’t mean that,” said Li, lifting her chin, then smiling up at me loyally.

  “ ’Cuz you’re not that pretty,” I said to Kade, sinking to his level. I couldn’t help it. Something about the little shit made me want to stick out my tongue and fire spitballs.

  Douglas, a bony beanpole who rooted for the Shadows, glared at me from the gaming tables. He was the changeling who protected Shadow agents if a warring agent of Light appeared in the shop at the same time. Changelings deterred conflicts within the safe zone by literally morphing into living shields, with fangs, to keep the peace.

  But right now Douglas better resembled a pit bull with an old bone. “You think we’d let anything happen to this place? We’re keepers of the gates. We’re the first line of defense between that sad, bleak place called reality and the powerful Universe ruled by the Zodiac! We protect, serve, and still manage to keep up a collective 4.0 GPA, give or take a hundredth of a point.” At this, he glared at Dylan.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving my hand as Dylan took another anxious pull on his inhaler. “But I need to talk to an adult.”

  “Zane’ll be fine with letting us take care of it,” Carl said, leaning back on his palms.

  “Zane’s not fine unless he has eight ounces of prune juice with his early bird special.”

  “You shouldn’t even be here,” Douglas said, lanky body coiled like a cobra about to strike. “You’re just a mortal claiming to be a part of a supernatural splinter group, though you have no powers, aura, or even cold, hard cash.” And the way his fists bunched said that because of all of that, he thought he could now take me in hand-to-hand. I kinda wanted him to try. If I were ever going to hit a kid, this would be the one. “You’re no different than us.”

  “I bathe,” I pointed out dryly, thought that wasn’t the sole difference. Whatever noxious mixture of magic and science turned these hormone bags into protectors for their chosen sides of Shadow and Light was pretty powerful juju. More than I had at this point, really.

  I looked around, wondering if any of these kids would stand for gray. Unlikely. Kade was glaring at me like I’d just discovered his Playboy stash, and I caught Dylan mining for nose gold from the corner of my eye. Li, though she loved me for my sacrifices for her and her family, was decidedly the changeling for the Light.

  Carl banged his heels against the counter cabinet, something I’m sure drove Zane crazy. “Ever think that Zane just doesn’t want to see you?”

  “Ditto, geek pie, but you still show up here every day.” I shot him a sweet smile and raised my voice to drown out his protest. “And I’m not here for me. I need help. I’m going to free Hunter Lorenzo from Midheaven.”

  The room fell silent, and I mentally patted myself on the back. Hunter had been one of their favorites. Even Douglas had collected his trading cards.

  “You serious?” asked Carl, in a low voice.

  “You think I’d risk my life, as well as this really cool Goth girl cover, otherwise?”

  “I do like those boots,” Li said sweetly.

  “She’s still ancient,” muttered Kade.

  Carl, at least, stayed focused. “So you want the latest manuals.” He jerked his head at the reinforced glass case protecting the manuals of Shadow and Light, then bit his lower lip.

  “Do you have them?” I raised my brow, he lifted his own pierced one, and we both crossed our arms.

  “Hot off the press.”

  “But it’ll cost you,” piped up a new voice. With a sense of déjà vu, I looked over. And down. There, I found a new addition to the nerd squad.

  I looked back at Carl. “Who’s the twerp?”

  “Oh, that’s Donny. Don’t mind him. He’s still in training and a bit of a spaz.”

  “Hey!” said Donny, spazzing.

  “It’s true. Donny fucked up and protected the wrong agent last week,” Li told me, in a voice a soprano would envy. “We had to use Crisco to pry his aura from Douglas’s.”

  “It was an accident! She was pretty. She didn’t look like any Shadow I’d ever seen. Not like this pseudo agent. You’ve got wannabe Shadow written all over you.”

  I sighed and looked around for another friendly face. Even a sane one would do. All I got was Carl, laughing as he threw Donny a key. “Why don’t you escort the former Archer of Light to the manuals. Let her pick one out.”

  Donny swelled with the importance of his mission. Yanking his pants high, he jerked his head at me. “Fine. But don’t try anything funny. I’m a changeling with the power and authority to stomp your ass!”

  Using nothing more than my mortal strength, I lifted the little shit high in the air, tightening my grasp as he began to squirm. “I understand you might be feeling powerful just because you suddenly know the secret password to Weirdo World, but in case you haven’t heard, I’m a mortal with a history of violence, a jumpy trigger finger, and absolutely zero fondness for other people’s children. So you’d do well to just unlock the manuals and keep the mouthing off to a m
inimum.”

  I glanced over to find Carl half smiling, almost looking nostalgic. “That okay with you?”

  He shrugged but repeated, “Remember, you only get one.”

  “Wait a minute. What the fuck, Carl?” Douglas was suddenly by my side, finger pointed at Donny. “Why does the noob get to escort her?”

  “ ’Cause she’s not a Shadow agent, douche bag,” said Li from my other side, her high voice curling around the last word like a warm, wool sweater.

  Douglas whirled on her. “Well she ain’t Light either, Li, so you need to step back. This is a safe zone. A haven of neutrality. And if anyone’s going to escort her to the manuals, it’s me.”

  Li smoothed out the pleats in her skirt. Sharply. “We’ll all escort her.”

  I looked back at Carl, who gave me a cheesy thumbs-up. I hate you, I mouthed to him, which made him nod cheerily.

  So I made my way to the back of the shop flanked by the changelings of Light and Shadow, and a strange newbie who couldn’t seem to tell one from the other. And while they battled over my supernatural virtue with vicious mutters and glares, I came to a stop in front of the locked, wood-paneled cabinet holding the latest manuals.

  “They’ve got a new series sidebar,” I said, surprised, as I studied the manual of Light. Tekla was featured on the cover, backlit as she emerged from a dark tunnel, but unmistakable in a long salwar-kamiz, her weapon palmed, anchor and chain outlined against a full moon.

  “Yeah, Carl’s idea,” Donny said, warming to the subject, if not to me, as he keyed the lock. “Don’t you love the tagline? Fighting for a New Dawn.”

  “A new dusk,” Douglas corrected, pointing at the Shadow manuals. “And the Light readership is fading.”

  Not a surprise, really. These comics were aimed at an American audience. Losing was worse than cheating.

  “And your rogue troop is stealing energy from them both,” Donny told me. I looked down at Li, who hesitated, her loyalty to me warring with the truth, but eventually she lowered her eyes and nodded.

  “Just like a Shadow,” Douglas said, smugly.