“No. I was elected. Well, my father was elected sheriff, and he deputized me.”
So it was his job to hunt down the guy who’d attacked me. I felt unexpectedly disappointed and got angry with myself for it. Jackson prodded his self-made stitches with a bloody finger and let the suture fall into the bowl, then leaned back heavily on the couch and rubbed his face with his good hand.
“You need a bandage,” I said. “Or something.”
“There’s gauze in the first aid kit.”
I dug through the box and came up with a cardboard carton. It was empty. “You’re out. Do you want me to tear off strips from my petticoat?”
“Now that would be worth losing blood over.”
I arched a brow at him. “Too bad I’m not the petticoat type.”
He laughed, and the humor stayed in his eyes even after the movement made him wince. “I’ve got some old dishtowels in the back of the closet. We can use one of those.”
I retrieved the softest, cleanest-looking one I could find and folded it into a precise rectangle. Jackson laid the towel over his arm, and I secured a short side with athletic tape. It caught on the hairs of his arms. It was going to hurt when he took it off. I draped it over the stiches and wrapped it back around.
“A little tighter,” he said.
I pulled harder. I had to lean forward and cover the taped part with my hand to keep it in place. My fingertips brushed his skin. The intake of his breath was close enough to sound like a gasp in my ear.
“Sorry,” I whispered. He didn’t wear cologne. He smelled like his laundry detergent. The music of his breath rasped through his lungs.
“I don’t mind.”
I laid down another line of tape, smoothing it across the makeshift bandage to his skin.
“Thank you.” His voice had gone soft. I was too close to see his face; I could only see his chest rising and falling. My heart pounded.
“No problem.” I managed a weak laugh. “Any time you need me to patch you up after a knife fight, just give me a call.”
“Is this all it takes to get you to pick up the phone? I wish I would’ve known.” He gave a soft, deep chuckle that seemed to vibrate through my whole body.
I’d grown hyper-aware of all the ways I was touching him. Too many. My knees brushed his thigh. The back of his hand rested on my calf. My fingers were still settled on the bare skin of his arm, and the pads of them felt almost hot from the contact.
Jackson’s lips parted. His eyes had gone heavy-lidded and dark. And then I felt the rush of energy zinging through my fingertips, and I remembered why I shouldn’t be touching him. I scrambled back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.” My heart pounded from the stolen power. That was what I told myself, hoping he’d believe it.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I looked at the bandage I’d just helped him create. “It’s really not.”
“Mina, I don’t—”
“I’ll let you get some rest. Let me know if you need any help.” I retreated to the spare bedroom before he could finish whatever polite apology he had planned.
I put my back against the door and took deep breaths. The contact we’d had, that slight brush of skin on skin, was making me shake. I tried to ground the power like Simon had showed me, focusing on the wooden bedpost as if I were trying to learn its secrets. It grew warm under my palm, but the hectic feeling stayed with me until I slipped into a fractured, dream-filled sleep.
Chapter Eight
I woke up the next morning to find the twenty I’d left on Jackson’s counter slipped under my door. There was a sticky note attached to it. Don’t worry about it.—J. I picked it up, crumpled the note, and started to storm back out and slip it under his door when I heard voices. Jackson and another man were talking in raised voices, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Then again, I desperately needed the bathroom. I pulled on clothes and walked out.
Jackson was sitting on his couch next to an older man who could only be his father. I’d never met James Herring, but if this wasn’t him, I’d eat my socks. He had the same tall, lean build, the same strong nose and wide mouth, and the same dark hair, albeit dusted with silver at his temples. Both men stood when I walked in.
“You must be Mina.” James came forward and took my hand. I jerked it back.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not safe to touch.”
He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “Of course—I forgot,” he said, but I wondered if he had. He gave me a little bow instead, somehow making it charming instead of silly. Jackson rolled his eyes.
“You must be Jackson’s father.”
“I am. James Herring. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I said, smiling back at him. He was sort of impossible not to smile at.
“Dad was just leaving,” Jackson said. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Oh, Jack, don’t run me off just because you want this beautiful woman all to yourself. I’ve been dying to meet Ms. Tanner for ages.”
I felt all the blood in my body rush to my face. Jackson rubbed his forehead. “I was about to make coffee. Do you want some?”
“Sure.” We’d talk about the twenty later.
“Cream and sugar, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m just going to, uh...” I tilted my head at the bathroom. James waved me off and got interested in an architectural magazine on Jackson’s coffee table. When I came back out again, Jackson was still in the kitchen.
“So,” James said, making himself comfortable on the couch. “Jackson says you’re a musician.”
“He does?”
“The fiddle, I take it?”
“Yeah...”
“Well, Vivian and I would love to hear you play some time.”
I thought about the gig I’d just said I’d think about. I’d never met Jackson’s mother, but she and James would probably be about as comfortable at Malik’s gig as an exotic dancer at a tent revival. I said “Sure” anyway. “So are you coming by to check on him?” I wanted the subject on anything else.
James sighed. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t bleed to death.” He had Jackson’s voice, deep and strong, but he used it better. The way his words rolled through that one sentence gave me the whole of their complicated history, two stubborn men locking horns trying to care for each other.
“He let me patch him up,” I said, liking James more every minute.
“Did he? Well, that’s heartening. Especially since we’ll be going out again soon.” He wiggled his eyebrows in obvious anticipation.
“I had no idea there were so many rogue converters in this city.”
“I’ve found someone who hangs around the young man who attacked Jack. He might be involved in this string of muggings and low-rent drug deals. Unlicensed pot, mostly, but maybe more.”
“And we still haven’t found the man who attacked you.” Jackson came back with three mugs of coffee floating in front of him. His face was hard. I took the cup he offered me, held it with both hands and blew on the surface.
“But you’re still hurt,” I said, looking at his arm to avoid his eyes. He was still holding it carefully, close to his body and very still.
“I’m fine.”
“Sorry, but that’s impossible.” The image of it was still raw in my head, of the way the flesh had gaped open, the way he’d bled as he’d sewn up the wound. My annoyance with him disappeared when I imagined him trying to fight off a mugger with his injury. “Maybe I could help—you know, weaken this guy.”
“No,” Jackson said, so quickly I thought he must have caught the thought before I’d spoken it.
“You do have reduced range of motion,” James said. “She could make things easier for us.”
&nbs
p; Jackson turned on his father, eyes flashing. “Or she could get hurt. This asshole could figure out what she’s capable of and snap her neck.”
James laughed. “You’re overreacting. Turner isn’t going to snap anybody’s neck.”
“I want to help,” I said. It was true, and it wasn’t just about Jackson. So far, Paulie was the only shadowmind I’d met who actually wanted to be grounded. If I had any hope of learning to control this, I was going to have to practice, and neutralizing criminals might be the only way to do it. Not to mention it would keep my own powers neutralized, at least for a little while.
“It’s her decision,” James said, and I gave him a grateful look.
Jackson said, “Of course it is,” to his coffee cup.
“Excellent,” James said. Jackson folded his arms and looked murderous. It didn’t seem to affect James in the slightest. He rattled off the time and place where they planned to apprehend a rogue converter named Turner. I was about to jot a note in my phone before I realized keeping a record of what amounted to a kidnapping was probably a bad idea. I memorized the details instead.
“Well,” James said, standing, “I’d best get home before Vivian throws my clothes into the street. Jack—until next time.” He gave me another little bow and showed himself out. Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose.
I figured it was better I make myself scarce. I retreated to the spare bedroom with my coffee, but a moment later, a soft tap made me turn around. Jackson was standing in the doorway. He’d knocked on the open door.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“But I want to.”
He took a step into the room. “Why?”
I didn’t have an answer I could give out loud. Because I’m tired of everyone trying to protect me. Because I’m tired of you trying to protect me.
Because I want to be good for something again.
“Why not?” I said finally.
His expression was even. If he’d been listening to my thoughts, he didn’t show it. “I don’t want to be the one to call your family and tell them I let you get hurt. Or worse. How would your brother feel if something happened to you?”
I knew exactly how he’d feel. I’d been confronted with it every day I was around him. The fear that he’d lost me and the compulsion to bring me back to what I’d been, to rescue me. I would have felt the same around him, I knew, but that didn’t make it any less oppressive.
“He’d survive,” I said.
“There are worse things than surviving,” Jackson said, and he finally left me alone, wondering exactly what he’d meant.
* * *
Two nights later, the speakeasy was slammed. I got in early again and helped Malik with the side work, and as soon as we turned on the sparrow, a flood of patrons came tumbling through the door.
My eyes widened. “Oh, God.”
Malik grinned. “Forgot to tell you—Wednesday night we run a two-for-one drink special.”
People started yelling orders before they even got to the bar. I scrambled to uncork wine bottles and grab beers from the chest fridge. Malik, cool as always, handled half a dozen drinks at once, cocktail shakers floating around him and agitating like bizarre birds.
Thankfully, Simon showed up around ten and pitched in behind the bar. I took the comparatively easy job of busing tables, but moving through the crowd meant I brushed up against more of the shadowminds guests, and I could tell I was picking up a charge. My skin tingled with it, and my pulse quickened. When I came back with a tub full of dirty pint glasses, Malik gave me a once-over and told me to switch places.
“Don’t argue,” he said, and took the gray bin out to the floor.
“Hey, can I get a lemon drop? Extra sugar on the rim.”
I made myself smile and say, “Sure,” then I shot a glare at Malik across the room. I wasn’t convinced this was better.
I made it through the lemon drop, three mojitos and a vodka tonic, all without spilling anything too expensive. And I was coming into less contact with the customers. Safer for everyone. I was hoping the rogues I’d take down with James and Jackson would keep my own powers in check without skimming from innocent people.
“Hey, where’s my rum-and-cola?”
“Sorry!” I started pouring for the woman. She’d ordered more than five minutes ago.
“Can I see you in the back when you’re done with that?” Simon floated two beers in pilsner glasses to a waiting customer without looking away from me.
“Sure,” I said, hoping I wasn’t about to get chewed out. I gave the customer her drink, added it to her tab on the white board. Simon signaled Malik to take over the bar, and I followed him back to the storage room. He closed the door behind him and leaned against one of the shelving units.
“What’s up?” I asked. I was betting this wasn’t about slow service or drink orders.
“Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Lot of people out there tonight.”
Could he tell I’d already picked up a charge from dozens of minor contacts? I didn’t think any one of them was enough to make an impact on a customer, but the cumulative effect was making me jumpy.
“I’m okay.” I wasn’t sure how much to admit. “It’s not much.”
“You’re going to have to practice.”
“I’m about to.” I told him about James’s plan. “I figure it’s the only way I’m going to be able to learn to control this without neutralizing innocent people.”
“Good plan. Who are they arresting?”
“I don’t know. Someone who has something to do with these drugs that have been going around.”
“Be careful. You never can tell what someone will do when they’re high. I can’t have my new bartender getting hurt.”
“Don’t worry.” I laughed humorlessly. “I think Jackson’s going to encase me in bubble-wrap before he lets me even try.”
Simon smiled. “Always did have a protective streak.”
“An annoying streak, more like,” I mumbled, and Simon laughed. A surge of gratefulness to him welled up in me. He didn’t think I needed protecting. He didn’t think I had to hide what I was. “Hey,” I said, “thanks.”
“What for?”
“For not firing me. I thought maybe once you found out...” I gestured vaguely at myself. “Well, I wouldn’t have blamed you for letting me go, no matter what Malik said.”
“Let you go?” he laughed. “You might end up being my most valuable employee. Think of how useful you’d be derailing a telekinetic bar fight.” He raised his beer to me.
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I said.
“You’ve got to start thinking like a bartender.”
We rejoined Malik behind the bar, and Simon did his usual rounds through the floor, refilling drinks and smiling and asking how everything was. He reminded me vaguely of my uncle. Lionel had always felt most at home during breakfast at the B&B, making sure everyone had enough coffee and pancakes, making them laugh, feel comfortable. A thread of grief worked its way through my chest. Malik came up behind me and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“I know you are.” He smiled and turned back to the customers.
Business slowed down steadily as the night wore on. I was glad despite the fact that it meant fewer tips. Malik and I had already agreed I could take off at midnight, and I was glad I wouldn’t be leaving him in the weeds.
Jackson came down to the bar to pick me up even though I’d told him he could just call. Not quite enough time had passed since the whatever-that-was on the couch for me not to feel awkward around him, and when he walked in, I found myself overly interested in the bottle of red I was uncorking. I couldn’t help but be aware of him as he crossed the room and sat at a barstool close to me. I s
wore I could feel his eyes on me as I leaned over the bottle, making a production of twisting out the cork. When I poured the glass and couldn’t avoid looking up anymore, he was staring at his hands resting on the bar. He traced a pattern on the oxidized steel with the tip of his finger. I remembered how callused they were. How I’d been surprised by that when we’d first met, how I’d expected him to have city-soft hands. Jackson’s eyes flicked to mine, and I realized there was a strong possibility he’d heard everything I’d just thought. Shit. I scrambled for something to say.
“Did you want a drink?”
He looked surprised. Understandably so.
“I shouldn’t,” he said. “Are you ready?”
I gave the customer her wine, marked her tab, and took off my plain red apron. Jackson led me back out through the broom closet entrance upstairs. There were still plenty of people nursing drinks in Featherweight’s and they gave us funny looks when we came out. Well, they gave me funny looks. Him, they gave congratulatory looks. I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t you ever use the alley entrance?”
“Sorry—next time I will.”
“There’s going to be a next time?”
He opened his mouth and closed it again. “That’s up to you,” he said, not looking at me.
A peace offering?
“I have to learn how to control it,” I said. “I think this will help.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Outside, it was cold and windy, and I dug my jacket out of my bag and put it on, proud of myself for remembering despite how warm it had been when I’d left for work. Jackson was parked close-by, and I let him open the passenger door for me. Once I was inside and out of the wind, I took off my boots. I’d brought tennis shoes to change in to.
“Smart,” said Jackson, watching me lace them up as he got in. “Though I have to say, I like those boots.”
I stared at him. Was he flirting with me?
He went a little red and started the car. “I mean, you know, if you had to kick someone.”
Broken Shadows Page 8
