The Fire and the Veil (Veronica Barry Book 2)

by Sophia Martin

  Veronica nodded. She’d been in some Asian supermarkets, with their tanks of huge live toads and the slaughtered turtles. She wasn’t exactly reassured. But it was sweet that he was thinking of introducing her to his family. It meant he really liked her, didn’t it?

  For the rest of dinner they talked about other things: old detective movies, whether Sam Spade was tougher than Dirty Harry—Veronica said he was, but Daniel had been raised on seventies movies so he disagreed—and other light talk. Daniel didn’t say anything at all about work, which Veronica was beginning to realize meant he had had a particularly unpleasant week and was trying not to think about it. She wondered if they would ever get to a point where he’d want to unload the burdens of his job on her. She was ready to listen. She thought she could understand a lot of what he went through, after the experiences they’d shared trying to get to the bottom of Grant Slecterson’s crimes. Veronica had found Sylvia Gomez’s body, so she even knew a little about the horrors of a crime scene. But then, Daniel saw horrors a lot more often than she did. Fortunately not every day, but sometimes more than once in a week. Veronica suspected that he didn’t want to lay any of that on her. She hadn’t exactly reacted with composure to finding Sylvia’s body, either. She wondered if he thought she was weak. Maybe she was weak.

  As the waiter returned with his credit card at the end of dinner, Daniel hopped up and offered a hand to help her rise from her chair. Veronica contemplated his manners. Daniel was quite a gentleman. He seemed to have learned all of the right gestures: holding doors and chairs, serving her wine first if they were sharing a bottle, helping her step over puddles. When she’d tried to insist that they go dutch on their second date (the first had been at his house so there was no check to pay), he’d refused, saying that if she wanted to pay, she’d have to be the one to ask him out. She wondered if he expected her to hold the door if she did, too. She also wondered if his manners implied that she was weak. That was the basis for the argument feminists had against all the gallant gestures of a gentleman.

  So maybe Daniel was treating her so politely because he thought she was weak. Maybe he liked her because he thought she was weak—a real damsel in distress. After all, hadn’t she fainted when he shot Grant Slecterson by the banks of the American River? Maybe in his mind, he’d rescued her. Well, he had. She wouldn’t have gotten far with her broken arm.

  Veronica chewed on her bottom lip as he held the restaurant door and they walked out into the night. Maybe she was reading into all of this. Maybe he didn’t think she was weak and he was just trying to show respect the way he’d been raised to.

  And even if he did think she was weak, was he wrong? She had needed rescuing. Was it bad to be with man who took on the hero role willingly? Maybe she just needed to accept her limitations.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Daniel said as they neared his car.

  She almost asked him, right then, “Do you think I’m weak?” but she stopped herself. How could she expect him to answer that truthfully? Instead she said, “I guess I was wondering what happens next.”

  He smiled. “You want to come back to my place for a while? I got some new fish.”

  “From your uncle’s store this time, I hope,” she said, thinking of his uncle, who was not pleased when she met him, because Daniel had bought a fish from another store than his.

  “Oh yeah, from his store. I got a whole second tank and four fish, so far. They’re saddleback clownfish.”

  “There are different kinds of clownfish?”

  “You want to see them?”

  “Sure,” she said. She felt the flush returning to her cheeks, but the air was cool. His car waited another block down the street and she took every moment to breathe in the refreshing air as deeply as she could without giving herself away.

  Daniel lived in a modern building in downtown Sacramento. She’d been there twice—once, before they were dating, when she was still trying to convince him that she really was psychic. The second time had been their first date. She hadn’t really been nervous either time, but now she was.

  Daniel lived on the fourth floor, in a condo with industrial style. The walls were unfinished with pipes visible here and there. It had a cold quality to it that she hadn’t really liked from the beginning, and tonight with her anxiety, she found the decor all the more off-putting. The huge bay window overlooking L Street reflected the room back to her, and if she looked at herself in it, it seemed like she was standing over the drop to the street below. She glanced away. The black leather couch looked cold and the plastic coffee table looked hard. Veronica suppressed a shiver. It’s just a bachelor pad, she thought. Of course, that made her feel worse. Bachelor pads were for bachelors, or men with swinging lifestyles, who brought women home for just one night. Was that where this was headed? And should she be okay with that? What kind of a wuss was she?

  The medium fish tank against the left wall now had a second one next to it of the same size: about thirty gallons. The original tank had six orange and white fish swimming in it. Daniel turned on the fluorescent lights in both tanks. The second tank had four similar fish in it, but instead of orange and white they were black and white. Veronica approached the tank. Some had varying amounts of yellow on their faces, and on one the black was more of a dark brown. The white spots glowed in the light.

  “They’re pretty,” she said.

  Daniel beamed. “They aren’t cheap, but Samchon Jung-Hwa gave me a family discount. I’ll probably get one or two more, eventually. You want to feed them?” He handed her a little can of pellets. She took off the lid and pinched a few, dropping them into the open part of the aquarium cover.

  “I thought you stopped by on your way to pick me up to feed them,” she said as she watched the fish gulp the pellets.

  “I did,” he said, stepping closer to her. “They’re always hungry.”

  She turned and glanced at him with a smile. “What about the orange ones? They’ll think we’re playing favorites.”

  “Sure, toss them some pellets too.”

  Veronica dropped some food in the orange clowns’ tank. They darted around, catching the pellets as they floated down to the floor. Daniel took the canister from her hand, still holding her fingers lightly as he put it away.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say. She wanted to think of something to say, though. Anything, really.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

  “Um, sure. Of course,” she said.

  “It’s just that you seem… nervous.”

  Veronica attempted to laugh lightly. Even in her own ears it sounded maniacal. Oh, kill me now, she thought.

  “You like me, right?” he asked. “Women don’t go out on three pity dates, do they? I mean, one I’ve heard of. But not three. This isn’t pity date number three, right?”

  For a moment Veronica still couldn’t make her voice work. Then she took the hand he’d been holding her fingers with in both of her own hands and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she said.

  His face fell. “…Sorry?”

  “I’m sorry! I’m such a basket case. I feel like I’m thirteen years old. I don’t know what’s the matter with me!”

  Daniel frowned in confusion. “Okay. So for a second there I thought you were going to tell me it is a pity date, or something to that effect. But I’m not seeing how being thirteen years old fits in with it.”

  Veronica closed her eyes and gave an agonized whimper.

  “Hey, it’s okay. Come over and sit for a second and try to tell me what’s wrong.”

  He guided her to the couch and they both sat down, angled so their knees touched. He held on to one of her hands.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

  “I feel like such an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot.”

  “God, listen to me. I sound like a thirteen year old. This is so ridiculous.”

  “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  All of her insecuriti
es flashed through her mind: that he thought she was weak, that she was weak, that she was a silly prude, that she was stuck in the mindset of forties movies, that she was a freak with psychic powers, that he was going to figure out sooner or later that he was making a mistake seeing her, but what came out of her mouth was, “I haven’t had sex in three years.”

  If she’d felt flushed before, it was nothing compared to the fire that caught in her skin when she heard herself blurt that out. She pulled her hand out of his and buried her face.

  “Oh my god,” she muttered. “I’m such an idiot.” She shook her head, her face still covered by her hands. “I can’t believe I said that. I just assume that’s where all this is headed, and I’m freaking out about it, and what do I know, maybe you just wanted me over here to show me your fish—”

  “Veronica.”

  She stopped talking and peeked at him through her fingers.

  “I didn’t just invite you over here to see my fish,” he said. “I did have ulterior motives. I mean, I wasn’t sure you’d be spending the night or anything. But I was kinda hoping for at least second base.” He grinned.

  She smiled back, but her face was still burning.

  “Let me get you a glass of water,” he said.

  She nodded. He stood and stepped into his small kitchen area, getting a smoked glass from his cabinet and filling it with water from a bottle in the fridge. He returned and sat by her side, giving her the glass.

  She took a long swallow. The water did help. It was chilled and as it cooled the inside of her mouth and throat, she felt better. “Am I a complete nerd in your eyes, now?”

  “No, of course not,” he said seriously. Then he smiled. “Three years. Man. That’s a dry spell. I’d probably be as nervous as you if I went through a dry spell that long.”

  “It’s not easy, you know, when you realize things about a person on the first date… it usually means no second date,” Veronica said quietly. She took another sip.

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “Your visions. You have them about people you date?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “It’s more like I just know stuff. The visions don’t happen that often. But I’ll know a lot more about a person than they intend for me to find out. You know, when you go on a first date you usually aren’t really trying to lay all your cards on the table right away.”

  Daniel nodded, eyebrows raised. “Very true. You’re just trying to make a good first impression.”

  “Yeah, it’s too weird, knowing things. One guy was a teacher: he had a crush on one of his seniors. Yucky.”

  Daniel nodded again. “That’d kill it for me.”

  “Another guy had just spent the night with an ex-girlfriend. I mean, the list goes on. And I didn’t used to even acknowledge to myself that I knew these things, that they were really true. But I’d think, ‘I just have a feeling there’s something like that going on.’ And it didn’t matter if I accepted it or not. It made it impossible to go further. I just couldn’t do it.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. After a moment, he shifted a bit in his seat. “So, uh. What about me?”

  “What? What about you?”

  “What do you know, about me?”

  “I, uh… what?”

  “Well, something turned you off. What was it? Was it the baseball card collection? I know it’s kind of juvenile, but those are actually worth money—”

  “Daniel, nothing turned me off,” Veronica said. She realized it was true. In fact, she didn’t have any extra information about Daniel, unless you counted the bit about how he didn’t mean her any harm. “They haven’t told me anything about you.”

  “They?”

  “The voices in my head, Daniel. You know.”

  “They haven’t told you anything about me? Why not?” He almost sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I think maybe… cause they like you. I think they warn me when someone’s not good for me. They think you’re good for me.” That was something. If the spirits liked Daniel, maybe she should pay attention to that. But was she really going to let ghosts dictate who she should date? What kind of life was that? And why did they like him, because he would take care of her? Did the ghosts think she was weak, too?

  Daniel seemed pleased, however. “They like me.”

  “I guess so.”

  He nodded. Then his face grew serious. “That’s nice,” he said. “It really is. But what about you? I mean, that’s what matters. Do you like me?”

  Veronica gazed at his beautiful face. “Yes, I like you.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth soft against hers. She hadn’t seen it coming, and hadn’t tensed. The kiss was sweet. He put his hands carefully on her shoulders, and she leaned closer as his lips opened and she felt his tongue. Her body relaxed and she was in his arms. He felt strong and warm. She could feel herself melting against him. All thoughts of being weak and what the spirits said and whether it was good that he was a gentleman left her mind, and all that remained was sensation.

  Chapter 3

  It was night, and cold, and she was in a group of about eight people. Teenagers. She recognized one of them from French III: Caitlin Garrity. The others she didn’t know. She thought she recognized some of the faces from Eleanor Roosevelt, but not all. It was hard to tell, anyway, because the only light was from a street lamp. She could hear the freeway nearby. Glancing over, she saw it was two blocks away, behind a high chain link fence.

  Four of the kids were smoking a joint, passing it between them, but the others seemed uninterested. One of the four offered the joint to her, and although Veronica would have refused, she took the joint and sucked in the smoke. That’s when she realized she was seeing through someone else’s eyes. One of those dreams.

  “Where are we going next?” one of the girls asked. She had heavy make-up around her eyes, long, wavy blond hair, and a pouty mouth. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

  “We can go to my place,” a boy said. He was one of the ones who hadn’t been smoking. His brown hair was combed straight and purposefully over his eyes. He wore rumpled jeans and a tuxedo jacket over a thin, striped tee-shirt.

  “How far is it?” Caitlin asked. Her over-bleached bangs hung in her eyes, the rest of her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a tiny skirt that barely covered her tush and boots with impossible heels. She had a little hooded jacket on, which she clutched closed over her chest.

  “Just over there,” Tuxedo Jacket said, gesturing towards the freeway.

  “We have to cross?” Caitlin whined.

  “The nearest bridge is like, a mile that way,” said the girl with the pout.

  “I can’t walk that far in these heels,” Caitlin said, rolling her head back in frustration.

  “I’m not carrying you,” a boy with a mass of curly hair and caramel skin said.

  “Who asked you?” Caitlin snapped.

  “Just sayin’,” Curly said.

  “We don’t have to walk to the bridge,” Tuxedo Jacket said. “That would be stupid. My house is like, right there. Just on the other side.”

  “So?” Curly asked.

  “So, we climb over the fence and run across. No big deal,” Tuxedo Jacket said.

  “Are you crazy?” Caitlin said.

  “There isn’t even a fence on the other side,” Tuxedo Jacket said. “I’ve done it a hundred times.”

  “Shut up,” Caitlin said.

  “I’ll do it.” This came from Veronica’s mouth. Or at least the mouth of the person she was seeing all of this through. The words chilled her. She knew she was watching something happen to someone else. But what if she was meant to stop it? She didn’t know where these kids were. She couldn’t see any signs or landmarks. Were they really going to run across a freeway?

  “Shut up,” Caitlin said, turning on her. “You’re full of shit.”

  “I said I’ll do it.”

  “We’ll all do it,” said Pouty. “Like Rich said,
it’s no big deal. Come on, we’ll see if there’s even any cars.”

  The group all walked to the chain link fence and looked through it at the freeway.

  “See, it’s cake,” Rich—the one wearing the tuxedo jacket—said.

  True, there weren’t very many cars. It must be very late. The ones that passed drove fast, however.

  “I don’t know,” Caitlin said. “I can’t run in these heels.”

  “Why’d you have to wear those ‘fuck me’ boots anyway?” a girl with half her head shaved demanded. She was the only other girl in the group; the rest were boys.

  “Shut up, Maricela. You wear heels, like, all the time.”

  “No, I don’t, puta. Not unless it’s like a dance or something. You’re gonna slow us all down,” Maricela said. “I’m cold. And hungry. You got food at your place, Rich?”

  “Yeah,” Rich said, gazing at the freeway dreamily.

  “Your parents better not be home, dude,” said Curly.

  “Dude, they don’t care about anything. My dad just gets stoned in his room and my mom spends all her time in the neighbor’s house anyway.”

  “Let’s go,” the girl Veronica was seeing through said. She saw her hands reach up and grip the links of the fence above her. Across the middle phalanxes of the fingers of both hands were spelled the words “fuck” and “slut.” She pulled herself up quickly, toes finding purchase in the links below, and the others began to climb as well, Caitlin complaining all the way. Veronica swung a leg over the top of the fence as Rich caught up to her. The inner thigh of her jeans got caught and for a moment she couldn’t swing the other leg over. Then she heard a rip and she was free. She and Rich landed on the other side at the same time, and she started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I ripped my pants,” she said, and found the hole with her fingers, touching soft skin.

  “Whatever,” Rich said. “Come on!”

  He started running across the freeway. She would have followed but she got knocked over when Curly came down off the fence and hit her. She grunted with his impact and then again as her knee smashed into the concrete.