by Tricia Owens
“You’re all alone just like I am,” he said quietly, the timbre of his voice roughened just enough to make my throat ache all over again. “Of course you want to make your parents proud of you. But this is your life, Arrow. You have to live it the way that’s right for you.”
“The truth is,” I murmured as I drew a spiral on the bar top with my forefinger, “I’m not anything like them, Jasper. I’m flaky. I’m hung up on stupid conspiracies. I’ve made the worst decisions…” I swallowed hard around a truth I’d never admitted aloud. “Sometimes, I wish I weren’t a St. Marx. I wish I were a nobody. That way all my mistakes and all this—all this weakness wouldn’t hurt anyone besides me.”
I glanced up at him only to see dismay on his face. It embarrassed me. It was like I’d confessed I had a problem with alcohol or drugs. I tried to imagine my grandmother admitting to being too weak to do what she needed to, and I simply couldn’t. This failing was mine alone.
“Even with all your mistakes, Arrow, your family would be proud of you. Worse than you being a disappointment would be you not being in their lives at all. No one’s perfect. They’d understand that.”
“But how can you know that? How can I? They’re gone.”
“Not really,” he said gently. “They made you. You’re the best of both of them. Whatever you think made them great…that DNA is inside you, too. Right?”
I nodded and dropped my gaze. I didn’t want him to see the shimmer that had begun to blur my vision. I was drunk and overly emotional, but knowing that didn’t change how much his words affected me. Did the hero part of me exist and was simply waiting for the right moment to show itself? If so, I couldn’t think of a better time for me to step up. Otherwise, my grandmother was going to go insane or be pushed through the Crossing Program. She would have survived a battle against hordes of demons only to be killed by her own lackluster granddaughter.
I pointed past Jasper, relief flooding me. “That girl over there is signaling to you. I think there’s something wrong with her drink.”
“Nice try.”
“No, I’m actually serious.”
He glanced back and saw the girl in question. He gave me another look, but left to find out what she needed. I stared at the bar top, burning with shame, wishing I hadn’t said anything. Heroes didn’t bare their wounds. They fought despite them.
But I’m not a hero. That’s the whole problem.
I dashed a hand across my eyes, glad that only a little moisture came off on the back of my hand. I was in a rough spot, no two ways about it. I’d been barely keeping things together, hanging on for graduation, but now it seemed there was no need. I wasn’t going to be able to get a job that would pay for my grandmother’s suppressant. So what was left to me? I had a state-sponsored life insurance policy—a hush-hush gift from the war committee—and that was it. Still, it was a significant amount. It would keep my grandmother going for a few years at least. Better her than me….
“You’re too predictable if avoiding people was your plan,” said a familiar voice at my shoulder.
Dread clenched every muscle in my body. I raised my head. “I came here for a drink, Mr. Morrison. Is that a crime?”
“Would you care when you’ve already committed so many?”
He didn’t slide onto the stool next to me but instead leaned against the bar. He wore a dark overcoat and his head was bare. Raindrops glistened on his shoulders and on his pale, gel-molded hair. I’d never considered him handsome and seeing him now outside of school, I figured out why. There was something of the thug about him, a hardness in his eyes and an unyielding pinch of the lips.
He hadn’t always been my counselor. Filkmore Academy was a vocational school for the magic arts. Since people tended to make much more money actually using their magic than teaching or counseling, finding staff had always been a struggle for Filkmore. I hadn’t had a counselor until midway into my final year. And then she’d disappeared one day and in had stepped Morrison.
I’d had one perfunctory meeting with him which had left me cold. I’d written him off as a man with an angle that had little to do with helping the careers of his students. And then I’d tried to exploit that angle today.
“Are the police waiting outside?” I asked. I was warming to the idea of forcing them to kill me so I could get that life insurance. The payout was halved in the case of suicide, so I needed someone else to do the dirty work for me.
“They’re not,” Morrison said. “I told them today was a false alarm. I came here alone. To have a little chat.”
I looked for Jasper. He was still at the other end of the bar, serving drinks, flirting. No one else in the bar appeared to be paying any attention to Morrison and me, though he exuded bad vibes as though they were cologne.
“I escaped your office,” I reminded him, though I wasn’t sure of the wisdom of that reminder.
“And that’s why I’m here.” He smiled and studied me as if seeing me after a long absence and was curious about whether I’d changed. “This afternoon you transfigured a stapler into a gun and a cheap chair into a hang-glider. You’re very good at what you do, Arrow. Your professors didn’t mention your proficiency.”
“I didn’t exactly meddle—er, transfigure guns in class.”
“No, that would have been stupid. But you are, in fact, slightly stupid, aren’t you?” He cocked his head, his hair defying gravity and remaining solidly in place. “Or is it nicer to say that you’re reckless? Or courageous?”
“Desperate,” I muttered. “Why are you here, Mr. Morrison? You’re ruining my buzz.”
“I’m here to offer you a job.” When I narrowed my eyes, he added, “An IMT job. Under the table.”
“Extremely illegal,” I guessed.
He only smiled.
I couldn’t act offended or as though the idea was preposterous. Despite Jasper’s pretty words about me being wonderful, the truth was I was a lawbreaker. And with my inheritance expiring I’d reached the point of being ready to do nearly anything, such as walk into a hail of gunfire for insurance money.
“Why would you suggest such a thing?” I asked, the alcohol in my system softening my suspicion into curiosity. “You’re supposed to guide your students into careers that will enhance and improve society.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’re not a fan of that society.”
I avoided his gaze. He’d struck pretty close to home with his remark but I knew better than to let him know it.
“I believe in the law. Why don’t you?” I retorted.
“I think we both believe in aspects of the law, those that keep us safe and profitable, not the ones that stifle our actions or take advantage of us. Or which take advantage of those who can’t defend themselves.”
Did he know? No. How could he?
“I think you don’t know me at all.” I dismissed him with a turn of the shoulder.
“You could return to Filkmore to complete another semester,” he said to my back. “Scrape by and hopefully raise your grades enough to graduate. I’ve heard, however, that tuition rates will be rising. That’d be a tough break for someone who’s barely able to afford it as it is.”
I took a deep breath and told myself I wouldn’t react to his obvious provocation.
“Or, you could accept this job and earn more money than even a certified IMT specialist would make. I can help you, Arrow. You’re good. You’re also willing to cross the line. Those are attractive attributes to a certain class of clients. Connecting you to them will, in turn, help me.”
I wasn’t flattered since he was basically painting me out to be a criminal, but an increasingly desperate part of me was intrigued. “What would I be doing?”
“Visit the Sinistera Hotel tomorrow afternoon and find out.” He moved away from the bar. “Ask for the hotel manager, Mr. Tower. He’ll give you an interview.”
“No clue at all?” I asked cynically.
“And spoil the surprise?” He flashed me another smile before turning and
walking to the door. I watched him leave and noticed I wasn’t the only one who kept a wary eye on him as though he were a shark who’d drifted into shallow waters. No matter what Morrison told me, I couldn’t fully trust him.
What he had told me was dicey for sure. I believed him that a job opening existed that I could fill. The question was whether I could allow myself to consider it knowing that it was illegal for both me and my prospective employer. Presumably Morrison was getting some kind of kickback for referring me. That explained his angle. It was important to know, though: did he still get paid if I screwed up or was killed? He said I was good, but how could he know for certain? Or was I assuming the worst about this job and all I would be asked to do was some form of smuggling?
“No go on the blond guy, huh?” Jasper had returned. He inclined his head at the door. “Seemed like he was into you.”
I made a face. “He wasn’t hitting on me.” When Jasper continued to wait patiently for more, I took a risk. “He offered me a job. At the Sinistera Hotel. Ever heard of it?”
“Heard of it? It’s right across the street.”
I blinked dumbly. “It is?”
He grinned, making my heart stutter slightly. “It’s that huge building there. You can see it through the window.”
I turned, nearly fell off my stool, but quickly regained my balance before squinting through the window of Ozium. It was dark outside, but I could make out multiple rows of red squares rising up into the sky and out of view.
“Looks like a monument to Hell,” I observed.
He laughed. “I don’t think it’s so bad. Kind of Gothic. It’s got character.”
“Scary character.”
“Big baby,” he chided me playfully. “But I see your point. Lots of people call it the Sinister Hotel. Rumor has it that’s where criminals and creatures on the run hide out. It’s supernatural, too. The building, I mean. Which I think is fascinating.”
I didn’t share his fascination. “That sounds like the last place I’d want to work.”
He leaned one elbow on the bar, bringing himself closer to me. “If he wants you to work there you’d probably be doing something that’s not one hundred percent legal. That’s kind of exciting, don’t you think?”
I drank more beer and tried to read his expression. “Something like what?”
“I don’t know. Never stepped foot in there. Never done anything illegal, either. I’m a good boy. Are you a good girl?”
He winked and I tried not to blush. “That’s not the first descriptor that comes to mind,” I muttered.
With a smile, he moved away to service another customer. I thought about what he’d suggested and I snorted inelegantly. Being broke was one thing, but I could have been arrested today. Then no one would have been able to sedate my grandmother. I shivered to think what would have happened to her.
No, I wasn’t picking up illegal work no matter how much it paid. I wouldn’t be able to pay for my grandmother’s suppressant from jail.
What, then? Plan your death so Grandma gets the life insurance? Do you really think she’d prefer that?
Troubled, I drank more beer and studied the other patrons. The crowd was strange, as always seemed to be the case in Ozium, but now I looked at them from a new perspective. Were some of these people guests of the so-called Sinister Hotel across the street? Employees? How many of the wary gazes that had tracked Morrison had done so because their owners knew him personally?
A fine line could be drawn between scruffy, alternative types and magic criminals. I didn’t know where that line was, unfortunately. I’d hate to label a person as up to no good when they were simply punk.
“I’m too dumb and drunk for this,” I said aloud.
“That you are,” Jasper agreed, looking amused as he returned to my company. He reached across and plucked my mostly empty beer bottle out of my hand and deposited it behind the bar. “Enough for you tonight.”
“I’ll walk. I can handle myself.”
“I doubt it,” he said with a grin.
His flippant dismissal annoyed me. He knew one version of Arrow St. Marx: occasionally witty, occasionally someone who drank too much, maybe occasionally pretty when the lighting was just right. But I was very aware of what I considered the true version of me to be: averse to authority, riddled with self-doubt, and convinced of a great deceit that might not actually exist. It was a lonely place to be and not one that appealed to company. Maybe it was better that he didn’t know the real me.
“I’m better at IMT than people realize,” I told him. I heard the sloppy edges of my words, the consonants beginning to slide with inebriation. I didn’t care. I had a point to make. “If I tried, I could really be something. If they’d give me my damn certificate already.”
“Uh huh.” Jasper had eyes like a Caribbean sea. But he was going to marry someone else, so he was off-limits. “I believe you that you’re probably amazing, Arrow. It’s you we’re talking about, after all.” He smiled when I sat up a little straighter, pleased by the comment. “But these days I’m not letting any woman walk home alone at night.”
My brows shuffled together. “Why not?”
“You haven’t heard? About the attacks?”
Shaking my head was a bad idea. The room spun for a dangerous moment. I gripped the edge of the bar with whitened fingers until everything settled.
“The media think there’s some kind of virus making people randomly attack others,” Jasper told me. “Sounds crazy, right? It’s isolated, so no one can figure out how it’s transmitted. It’s always a single person doing the attacking. And they have no relation to each other. I think one was a soccer mom. She killed her mailman. Another was an executive who burned his secretary alive. Then just this morning it was a homeless guy. He chewed off the faces of a pair of teenagers.”
I gaped at him, horrified. “But how do they know the attacks are connected?”
“Because once the attackers finish their assault they suddenly have no recollection of doing it.” Jasper waggled his eyebrows. “Scary, huh? That’s why people think it’s a virus. A temporary insanity bug or something.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Neither do those attacks.”
A mixed group of seven arrived at the bar just then, so Jasper left me to work on their drinks. I sat there, trying to mentally will myself sober while cringing at the idea of becoming a victim of a random and gruesome attack. Being shot was one thing; torn apart, however…
Victory City was a relatively safe place to live. I attributed it to the high population of magic users, one of the highest in the nation thanks to all of the vocational schools. When most residents could defend themselves in a variety of magical ways it discouraged muggings and assaults. At least, it used to. Not much one could do against a virus.
After twenty minutes of trying unsuccessfully to wish the alcohol out of my system, I conceded defeat and called for a ride home. If the police were waiting for me…I didn’t know what I’d do. But I couldn’t stay here all night. Before I staggered outside, Jasper promised me he’d throw my scooter in the back of his truck and drop it off at my place after his shift.
Outside, the rain had slowed to a fine mist. I remained beneath the front awning anyway, naturally resistant—as most Victory City residents were—of being wet. Too many associations with the war.
A sensation of movement drew my head around to peer into the mouth of the nearby alley. Rain puddles and the mist made everything appear doubled and tripled or slightly warped. I didn’t completely trust my eyes when I saw a shadowed figure creep along the wall of the adjacent building.
Adrenaline spiked anyway, driving me into a mostly sober state. It couldn’t be a cop, which had been my first fear. Nor did I think Morrison would resort to being sneaky like this. He seemed like an upfront kind of thug.
I kept my eyes pinned on the pool of shadow into which the figure had melted. I hadn’t been able to tell if it was a man or a woman, young or old. The tempta
tion was there to reach out and meddle with the steady stream of water pouring off the corner of the awning, to turn it into a gas that I could aim at whoever was hiding in the alley to flush them out. I wouldn’t push my luck by doing any more meddling today, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t satisfy my curiosity…
I stepped out from beneath the protection of the awning. Jasper’s warning, rather than deterring me, had intrigued me. A virus that caused peaceful people to attack and then forget why they’d done it? I’d never heard of such a thing. It sounded like an excuse.
Or like a cover-up. My radar pinged.
I squinted against the drizzle as something moved within the shadows, something too large to be a stray dog or cat. I stepped into the mouth of the alley, still within the glow cast through the windows of Ozium. Still within its perceived safety.
“Hello?” I called out.
The door of the bar opened and shut behind me, voices swelling and ebbing and leaving me alone with the patter of rainwater and my own hesitant steps carrying me deeper into the alley. I felt in my coat pocket and found a hair tie and a bobby pin. They were useless for meddling purposes so I pulled my hand free again, kept both loose by my sides.
“Is someone there?” I demanded in a firmer, authoritative voice.
The shadow rippled slowly, like a black bed sheet riding a puff of wind. It was an oddly playful movement. Almost taunting. Almost…baiting.
I looked down and to either side of me, hoping for a piece of trash I could meddle into a weapon. But whoever maintained the property did a good job of keeping the grounds clean. Unlucky me.
Regretting my boldness, I began to slowly walk backward, keeping my eye on the pool of shadow. I didn’t miss it when part of the shadow moved to follow me.
I stopped.
Watching.
Waiting.
When, after several seconds, nothing moved, I began my retreat again.
The shadow moved with me.
I stopped again.
“Who are you?”
I didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t get one. So I clapped my hands loudly.
