My stomach grumbled, so I ate—and ate and ate. In addition to my extreme expenditure of lux lucis, I hadn’t consumed much the previous day, and the combination gave me the appetite of a sumo wrestler. I gorged on half a gallon of yogurt, a pear, a cold bean burrito, and an entire bag of salad, stopping only when I felt too stuffed to move.
After standing in the bedroom doorway, watching Jamie sleep until it began to feel creepy, I settled in the front room recliner and wrapped myself in a blanket. Dame Zilla rushed to my lap and curled her almost weightless form into a tight ball across my thighs. Mr. Bond gave her a sour look and flopped across my dirty shoes.
The tracker jabbed my ankle, and I used the toes of my opposite foot to slide it into a more comfortable position. What I really wanted was to cut the cursed contraption off.
My hand paused above Dame Zilla’s back, arrested by the thought. Jamie was back with me, under my guidance. All of Pamela’s dire predictions of me being turned evil had been disproved. The situation no longer warranted the tracker. I could cut it off!
If only I believed Pamela would see it my way.
I almost rose to get the scissors anyway, but logic stopped me. The moment I severed the tracker’s band, Pamela would show up. In fact, the tracker was probably the only reason the inspector hadn’t already barged in. I’d done exactly as I’d promised, coming home and staying put. I could tolerate the dull pain and annoyance for a while longer if it meant delaying Pamela’s intrusion in my restored relationship with Jamie.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes. Drones rushed me, a flurry of dark bodies through which I could see the tyv holding Jamie pinned to the ground, devouring his life.
My eyes snapped open. The wards remained strong and bright around the sliding glass door. No mixed-energy mutant mosquitoes flew against the Primordium-dark sky. Dame Zilla shifted, stretching out and resting her chin on her extended legs. I ran my fingers through her downy fur and took intentional, deep breaths to slow my pulse.
It’s over. Jamie’s safe. I’m safe.
My phone rang and I lurched to answer it before it woke Jamie, speaking a soft “hello” into the receiver.
“Madison?”
“Alex?” I scrambled to remember a reason for him to be calling. Had I stood him up for a date I didn’t remember? Did we have lunch planned for today? No, that had already happened. My thoughts jumbled together, canceling each other out and leaving my mind blank.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I’ve been up awhile. It’s a workday.” I felt smart for adding the last fact. I couldn’t remember what day of the week it was, but knowing it wasn’t the weekend felt like a victory.
“Oh, good. I had a few minutes between surgeries, and I was thinking about you.”
“I’m flattered?”
He chuckled. “The two are completely unrelated. Actually, I’m calling about this weekend. The forecast says this storm will clear before Saturday morning. I thought I could show you one of my favorite hiking trails. If you’re still dog-sitting that Great Dane, I bet he’d enjoy it a lot more than the restaurant patio. And I’ll bring my dog, too. It can be a play date for them.”
The poignancy of having a second chance with Jamie, one that would include nonwork outings, brought tears to my eyes. My pooka was back with me, and safe. It was also sweet for Alex to design a date around the dog he thought I was watching. I opened my mouth to thank him, but no sound made it past my emotion-choked throat.
“Oooor”—Alex drew out the word when I didn’t respond—“it’s an awful idea, since it’s supposed to be freezing and the trail will be muddy and—”
“No. It’s not that.” My voice caught, and I cleared my throat. “It sounds great, but I can’t. I need to take care of a friend this weekend.” I didn’t know when Jamie would be up for leaving the house, and I wasn’t in any rush to share my time with the pooka. Choosing my words carefully, I parsed out what I could share with Alex without scaring him off. “My friend has been sick for a while now, and it got really bad last night, but I think the worst is past.”
I noticed how careful I had been not to use a gender-specific pronoun. I was doing my best to be honest with Alex, as much as I could be, but if I told him my friend was a man, he might get the wrong idea. Or maybe I was overthinking it. “Actually, I owe you an apology. I’ve been a complete basket case about this for several days. The dancing—that was an attempt to blow off steam. I shouldn’t have used you like that.”
“Trust me, I didn’t feel used.” He paused, and I heard people talking in the background and a dog bark. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Restrained curiosity colored his voice, but he didn’t pry for information. More points to him. I assured him I just needed time and hung up after promising to call him in a few days to set a date for our hike.
I hoped I was doing the right thing with Alex. I really liked him, which made lying to him difficult. Keeping all the important parts of my life a secret from him would only get harder the closer we got. It wouldn’t just be my weird hours I’d have to find excuses for. How would I explain the new bruises and cuts I acquired with alarming frequency? What would he say about all the weapons I carried? Most of them looked harmless, but the knife couldn’t be easily dismissed. And what about Jamie? I wouldn’t be able to introduce him as a pooka or explain our bond. We’d need a cover story . . .
I shook my head. Now, while sleep deprived and crashing after an extreme adrenaline overload, was not the time to attempt to answer tough questions.
I contemplated the phone in my hand, then dialed the office. An enforcer kept her warden in the loop, especially when she had good news for the first time in days. Besides, if I didn’t call Brad, he’d call me, probably right when I got to sleep.
“Jamie is with me,” I said when he picked up.
He didn’t respond for a second, and the indistinct arguments of prajurit queens filled the phone line. “I’m coming to you.”
“No. Please. We’re both fine. Jamie is asleep and I’m exhausted.”
“Pamela told me you almost died. Hang tight. I’ll be there—”
“I did die. Jamie brought me back to life. He rescued my soul.”
“He what?!” The background chorus of prajurit silenced at his outburst.
As succinctly as possible, I filled my boss in on the night’s events, including how I’d helped heal Jamie in my apartment.
“I think we mended the rift between us, but if you come rushing over here, Pamela will, too. At least give us a few hours of uninterrupted sleep first.”
He paused. “Send me a picture of you both.”
“Okay.” I understood his need for proof that neither of us were dark.
I scooted out from beneath Dame Zilla, walked to the bathroom mirror, and snapped a shot of myself, using the app that took pictures in Primordium. Then I took a picture of Jamie curled up on his dog bed, his soul a gentle swirl of balanced energy. I sent both pictures to Brad.
“I’ll give you until three p.m.,” he said, relief softening his voice.
“Thank you.”
A knock on the door tugged me from sleep sometime later, but Dame Zilla’s sharp claws scratching my inner thigh as she launched from my lap finished waking me. Clouds blanketed the sky, casting the afternoon in deep shadows. The recliner creaked as I sat up, and I listened for sounds from the bedroom, wondering if the knock had woken Jamie, too. Beneath the hum of the refrigerator, the apartment sat silent.
Too silent.
27
Time to Get Chocolate Wasted
I rushed down the hallway, heart in my throat, and swung into the bedroom, grabbing the door frame to stop myself before I tripped over Jamie’s bed.
The pooka lay sprawled on his back, mouth open, sound asleep, oblivious to my panic. I blew out a deep breath and hugged myself. Jamie was safe. He hadn’t gone anywhere while I’d slept.
I would have stood there until my heart settled, but anothe
r knock echoed through the apartment. Dreading a confrontation with Pamela, I scurried back down the hall. Maybe if I pretend to not be home . . . Except so long as I wore the tracker, the inspector knew exactly where I was.
I put my hand on the dead bolt and checked the peephole. Bright red curls filled the magnified circle. Relief rushed through me, and I opened the door, a finger to my lips.
“Hi!” I greeted Bridget in an enthusiastic hush. “Jamie is asleep.”
“Okay.” Bridget stepped over the threshold with exaggerated care, pausing just inside the door to take in my apartment. Her eyes widened as they swept across the jungle of plants and the puffy white buffers casing both doors.
“You’re going to have to tell me who your decorator is,” she said.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I took her coat. Beneath it, Bridget wore an obvious office ensemble: a gray pencil skirt and a peacock-blue silk top.
“I’m at the dentist.” She slipped out of her spike heels and handed me a Tupperware. “I brought cookies.”
I peered through the clear plastic. Peanut butter and chocolate sandwich cookies. She’d brought the heavy artillery.
“I hoped I’d catch you at home since you’ve been working nights lately. I’m glad you’re taking time to rest.”
I squinted at her over the container of cookies. “How bad did my parents tell you I looked?”
“The words gaunt and haggard might have been used. I can’t say they were wrong.”
“Stop. You’re going to make me blush.”
Mr. Bond, who had been cowering in the kitchen, frightened by my dashes up and down the hall, trotted out to greet Bridget with friendly chirps. He twined through her legs and accepted a few pats before settling in for some serious shoe sniffing. Emboldened, Dame Zilla crept out from behind the recliner, her tail springing up when Bridget crouched and held out her hand.
“You must be Dame Zilla,” Bridget said in the same voice she used on babies. “You’re adorable, yes you are. Are you keeping Mr. Bond on his toes? He needs someone to chase him around and eat his food.”
I set the Tupperware on the dining room table and helped myself to a cookie.
“So, how’s the region?”
I grimaced, picturing the enormous tyv loose somewhere, ready to rise and wreak havoc again tonight. “It’s definitely been better. Last night was a doozy.”
I decided not to tell her about dying. It sounded too dramatic, especially since I felt fine. Tired and sore, but basically fine. Bridget wouldn’t be here if she weren’t concerned for me; I didn’t need to add to her worries. However, since she wasn’t blind, humility seemed the best approach.
“I managed to cut myself on my own weapon.”
“Badly?”
“I didn’t need stitches. It’s this sucker that hurts more.” I turned around and lifted my shirt to reveal my lower back. Landing on my knife’s sheath had given me a radiant purple and black bruise the width of my back.
Bridget winced in sympathy. “Aspirin?”
“Yes, please.”
She retrieved two capsules from the bottle in my cupboard and brought it to me with a glass of water. “Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but I needed to get up soon anyway.” I swallowed the aspirin, hoping it’d counter the headache building behind my eyes. Ah, the joys of liquid lux lucis.
Bridget nibbled on a cookie while she roamed the front room. She gave the puffy traps on the door a poke. “Do I need to be worried?”
“Not as long as you don’t hang around outside, especially at night.”
“I meant about you.”
“Other than the fact that I’m destroying my wardrobe faster than I can replenish it? No.”
Bridget studied my face and let the comment stand. “I’ve been researching pookas.”
“Oh?” I had Val. It’d never occurred to me to look anywhere else. “What’d you learn?”
“That they’re shape changers.”
I tried not to let my surprise show. “You got that from . . . ?”
“The Internet. There were other myths, like how they drink blood—”
I shook my head.
“And spoil fruit and crops.”
“That’s a weird one.”
“But all sites agree on shape-shifting.”
A soft rustling emanated from the bedroom. Bridget appeared not to notice, just as she probably didn’t realize her tone had taken on the inquisitive cadence she used in a courtroom.
“Does Jamie have any other forms?” A slight squeak in her voice betrayed her, as if she couldn’t believe she’d spoken such an incredulous question.
“Funny you should ask.” I could hear Jamie coming down the hallway now, his stride audibly human. Please be clothed. Please be clothed.
The pooka stopped at the edge of the front room, clearly unsure of his welcome. I let out a relieved breath: He wore a long-sleeve thermal shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Better yet, a healthy pink flushed his cheeks, and the skeletal shadows that had haunted his features last night had been softened by rest and a restored soul. The last of my internal tension unwound, and I gave Jamie a welcoming smile. With his ebony hair haphazardly sleep tousled and his bare toes scrunched into the carpet, he looked young and insecure, and I wanted to smother him with reassurances.
“Jamie, you remember Bridget, right? Bridget, this is Jamie in his human form.”
Bridget had gone perfectly still, mouth agape in shock. Jamie’s eyes bounced from her to me.
“Bridget’s the only norm I trust not to reveal your secret,” I added. “With her, like me, you can be yourself.”
Jamie’s tiny smile stretched to a full grin, and I couldn’t help but beam back at him. Bridget narrowed suspicious eyes at me, but I raised my hands in silent testament to the truth of my words.
“Hi, Bridget,” Jamie said. “I liked your backyard. Your lawn smelled so much better than the ones around here. Maybe Madison and I can visit again soon.”
I laughed, partially at Bridget’s dumbfounded expression, but mostly because hearing Jamie talk about the two of us as a unit again filled my heart with joy.
Jamie spotted the container of cookies and made a beeline for it. His eyes lit up when he opened the lid and breathed in the sugary aroma. He stuffed a cookie into his mouth and shot me a wide-eyed look. Another cookie followed before he’d swallowed. Bridget watched him as raptly as if he were putting on a performance.
“What are these?” Jamie asked around a mouthful of crumbs. “Why haven’t we had them before?”
“They are cookies. We didn’t have them because you have to make them by hand, not purchase them in a store.”
A third cookie disappeared into Jamie’s mouth. “Are they hard to make?”
“I don’t know. Bridget?”
Bridget jumped as if she’d been goosed, a bright flush staining her freckled cheeks as she turned to me. Using a hand to direct her words toward me, she hissed, “The way I greeted him last time! Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I liked it,” Jamie said.
I shrugged.
Bridget gathered herself and addressed Jamie directly. “You’re really the . . . the dog? But that’s . . . that’s . . .”
“Impossible?” I suggested. “Welcome to my world.”
When Jamie and I pulled into the parking lot of our dilapidated headquarters less than an hour later, my sugar buzz battled with nervous anticipation, and I drummed my fingers anxiously on the steering wheel. Seeing Pamela screwed the knots in my stomach tighter. She barred the front door with her body, seeming oblivious to the tiny snowflakes layering her hair and crossed arms. On the other side of the office’s glass front, Sharon glared from behind her podium.
I parked but didn’t remove my hand from the key in the ignition. The urge to fire the car back up and tear out of the lot nearly overrode my sense of duty. With a heavy sigh, I pocketed my keys and shoved from the Civic. Frozen snowflakes tapped my face, the sharp, cold points remini
scent of imps’ claws. I double-checked our surroundings. The only atrum in sight existed in Jamie’s soul.
Echoing my sigh, the pooka climbed out of the car, shutting the door softly behind him. His wilted posture and downcast eyes drew me around the car to his side.
“I don’t care what she says. It’s you and me doing this together,” I said.
Jamie nodded, not meeting my eyes.
I’d put off leaving the apartment as long as possible. The thought of confronting the tyv again made me queasy. So had the thought of facing Pamela. I dreaded the strain she and others would put on my untarnished new bond with Jamie. More important, I worried about my pooka’s health. He’d been so close to death just a few hours ago, and his soul still had a fragile quality to it. Running around at night in the freezing cold couldn’t be good for his health.
I guessed the same could be said about me, but sitting out tonight hadn’t been an option.
The fluid energy of Jamie’s soul fluctuated with agitation, and tension stiffened his stride as we marched across the parking lot. I tried not to read too much into my own flush of nausea-laced anger at the sight of the inspector, chalking up my reaction to a conditioned response from all of Pamela’s purity tests.
Jamie’s hand fumbled for mine, and I wrapped my chilled fingers around his warm palm. The nausea receded. I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders. In my periphery, Jamie did the same.
Pamela drew up straight, tucking one hand into her coat pocket and dropping the other out of sight at her side. Most likely, she had a weapon in each hand, something designed to take me down or capture Jamie. Maybe both. Whatever plans she had for him, she’d have to go through me first. I slowed and shifted to keep myself between Jamie and the inspector, giving my hand a shake to free it in case this came down to a fight. Jamie clung tighter.
The door burst open behind Pamela, and Brad stepped halfway out.
“Madison, Jamie, get inside.”
“Not before I test Madison’s purity,” Pamela said.
“Inside.” Brad’s tone brooked no argument.
A Fistful of Frost Page 38
