The student we were looking for was named Shana Walker, but the Society file specified that she preferred to be called Black Dahlia. The picture included with the file showed a young woman who looked much more like a Shana than a Black Dahlia. I pointed this out to Lucy.
"What's with the weird nickname?" I whispered.
"Lots of people like to re-invent themselves when they get to college," replied Lucy, motioning me to follow her upstairs.
"Yeah, but Black Dahlia? It's a total stripper name," I said.
"Misogynist," Lucy said over her shoulder.
"Misog – what is that supposed to mean?" I said, offended.
Lucy sighed, slowing to a stop. "It means that just because a woman has chosen a unique name, it doesn't make her a stripper. But even if she is a stripper, so what? Does that mean she's stupid or less than? She clearly had the smarts to get into Stanford."
I had no response. I thought about it as I continued following after Lucy. Was my attitude misogynistic? Shana – Black Dahlia was a sophomore at one of the premiere US universities. Why should I judge her by her choice of name?
My silent self-assessment was interrupted. Lucy had stopped outside a door at the end of the hallway. She gave me her 'are you ready' look. I gave her a thumbs up and I tried my best to look casual and non-threatening. Lucy's knock once again went unanswered.
"Doesn't anybody stay home and study anymore? It's a school night," said Lucy, exasperated.
She made quick work of the lock and we slipped inside. The room was so thick with magic residue I could almost smell it.
"Jackpot," I said.
"Yeah, our friend Black Dahlia is involved with some serious juju," said Lucy, poking through Black Dahlia's things. An enormous collage of pictures was pinned to the wall over a small dresser. I was able to pick out Black Dahlia, but just barely. She had done more than just change her name; she had gone with a complete makeover – black hair with pink streaks, black lipstick, black nail polish, and a closet full of clothes to match.
"I didn't know Goth was still a thing?" I said.
"Goths don't use the term Goth. 'Alternative' is a better description, and it encompasses a bunch of different styles and music genres," Lucy over-explained. I stuck my tongue out at her. "Are you sensing anything specific, other than the general vibe of the room? Any books or any other artifacts?"
I scanned the room again, looked under the bed, and poked around in drawers. In the magic spectrum, just about everything in the room had a dull glow, but nothing was radiating power.
"Nope," I answered. "What do we do now? Wait here for her to show up?"
"Yes, but not here in the room. That's too confrontational. We don't want her freaking out on us. We'll wait outside. She's got to come home, eventually."
"A stakeout. Cool." I smiled.
Lucy rolled her eyes. "Let's go."
It took me two-and-a-half hours to realize it, but Lucy's eye roll finally made sense. Stakeouts were not as cool as they appeared in movies. Luckily, we found a bench to park ourselves on while we waited. Lucy's magic kept us from being reported to campus police as suspicious lurkers. Being a shifter, I didn't get cold. Having a raging bear living inside of me had its pluses.
"Are you cold?" I asked Lucy. "It seems cold. Is it cold?"
"It's cold, but I'm not cold," said Lucy, with a wave of her hand. "Magic."
"Right, of course. How about food? Are you hungry? You know I'm always ready to eat." I craned my head around. "Do you think there are any vending machines around here? Or, hey, maybe we can order something . . . have it delivered? I have this app on my phone. We could totally order any kind of takeout."
"Orson, I know this is boring, but you need to chill," said Lucy.
"What? I'm good, I'm just wondering if you're hungry," I said unconvincingly.
"You know what? Food sounds like a great idea. You pick, but no Chinese, and make sure they can deliver it to us here at the bench."
I pulled out my phone and found a local sandwich shop that catered to late-night eaters. I ordered a turkey and cheese for Lucy and two meatball subs for me. I added several bags of chips and a dozen assorted fresh-baked cookies. The sandwich shop was already hooked into all the hot delivery apps. We were only a stone's throw away from Silicon Valley, after all, so delivery to a specific bench on the Stanford campus was no problem.
Waiting for the delivery and eating the food after it arrived kept us occupied for an hour, and then the tedium returned. It was now pushing midnight and there was no sign of Black Dahlia.
"Isn't there some kind of spell you could do to locate her?" I asked.
"No."
"So, we're just going to sit here all night?"
"Yes."
"We could come back tomorrow morning, she's bound to—"
"Orson, we're going to wait. Normally, yes, we'd come back tomorrow, but the ogres and the troll have changed the parameters. We need to make contact as soon as possible, which means we need to wait for her to show up."
"I understand. Hopefully, she'll show up soon."
But Black Dahlia didn't show up soon. We waited all night. It wasn't until well after sunrise, closer to noon, that she finally appeared. Black Dahlia looked like she'd had an interesting night.
"Well, it's not the walk-of-shame, but she definitely had a much more exciting night than we did," Lucy remarked, grinning. "Wow. Are you checking her out in the magic spectrum?"
I switched my sight on. Black Dahlia had some strange things going on with her aura.
"What is that?" I asked.
"She's been doing some serious spell work," said Lucy, standing up and stretching. "Come on. Let's introduce ourselves."
Before we had taken three steps, a crazed looking dude in pink pants, a wrinkled button-down shirt, and a serious case of bedhead came sprinting up to the building. The guy's aura was doing the same intriguing energy-tango that Dahlia's was doing. Interesting.
"Dahlia!" Pink Pants shouted.
Lucy paused, a serious look on her face. She held up her hand, indicating that I should wait.
"What the hell did you and Tinkerbelle do to me?" Pink Pants was frantic.
"Um, did he just say Tinkerbelle?" I asked.
Lucy shushed me.
"I woke up covered in chicken blood!" Pink Pants was getting louder.
Dahlia grabbed Pink Pants by the shoulders. "Jimbo, you need to relax, dude."
"But . . . I . . . you guys . . ." sputtered Pink Pants, who apparently went by the name Jimbo. I mean, what's wrong with Jim or James? They both worked for Captain Kirk.
Dahlia pulled Pink Pants closer, one of her hands snaking around his head, her fingers weaving through his hair. "Jimbo, sweetie, calm down."
"Is she flirting with him?" I asked, surprised. "She looks exhausted and he looks like . . . I don't know . . . not her type."
Lucy shushed me again. I glanced over at her, and she did not look happy.
Black Dahlia continued, "Everything is cool. You need to relax. Everything went exactly like it was supposed to last night. Just keep to your normal routine today. Okay?" Dahlia waited for Pink Pants to nod in agreement. "Good. I need a hot shower and a pick-me-up, but I promise to text you later. I've got a coffee date that I know you're going to want me to keep."
"Coffee?" Pink Pants sounded completely confused. "Al – alright. If you're sure . . ." said Pink Pants.
"I'm positive," said Dahlia, leaning in to rub her nose against Pink Pants's nose.
Yep, she was definitely flirting. Hey, it's the age of Tinder and casual hook-ups. Maybe Jimbo-Pink-Pants was more impressive than he appeared. But Jimbo-Pink-Pants visibly stiffened at Dahlia's Eskimo-kiss; he looked like somebody had just kicked him in the nuts.
"Ah . . . Dahlia . . . um . . ." Jimbo-Pink-Pants was freaked out.
Dahlia released her hold on his shoulders and patted his butt. "You run along, Jimbo. We'll talk later. I promise." With that, she turned toward her dorm and disappeared inside.
Jimbo-Pink-Pants stood motionless, staring after Dahlia. The look on his face was both sad and creepy at the same time.
"When he stops staring like a weirdo, you need to follow him," said Lucy.
"I need to—" I began. "Wait! What are you going to do?"
"I need to keep an eye on our girl, but his aura is as guilty as hers, and I don't like this talk about chicken blood . . ." Lucy glanced back at the dorm, the unhappy look still on her face.
"What? Chickens . . . Why not?" I asked.
"They can be used magically. Specifically, their blood," said Lucy.
"Chicken blood magic? Are you serious? I know blood magic is some seriously bad mojo, but how much trouble can somebody cause with a chicken?"
"You'd be surprised," said Lucy. "I want to keep an eye on Dahlia and make sure she doesn't do anything naughty. You need to follow our pink-panted friend. See if you can get any more info on this Tinkerbelle person."
"You seriously want us to split up?" I asked, not able to keep the worry from my voice. "Isn't that like cardinal sin number one in any monster-evil magic-scenario?"
Lucy cocked her head at me and huffed. "Seriously? This isn't the movies, Orson. We'll survive being apart for a few hours."
"But, you know, this is my first mission thingy and what if—"
Lucy cut me off. "Orson, you can turn into a giant supernatural bear. I think you can handle following a guy wearing pink pants."
"It's not that I'm afraid. I just don't want to screw anything up. You've been doing this," I waved my arms around, "a long time. I'm the newbie – you know, the guy who zigs when he should have zagged and then all hell breaks loose."
"All you need to do is follow him. No zigging or zagging." Lucy smiled, but then quickly added, "But just so we're clear, no shape-shifting and try not to kill anyone."
I stared at her, horrified. Why would I have to kill somebody? We were on a college campus, not in some secret bad guy lair. Lucy let me dangle for a moment, my mind racing and my heart beating way too fast, and then she burst out laughing. She was joking. Lucy had made a joke. Lucy had a sense of humor. A twisted sense of humor, but a sense of humor.
"That's not funny," I insisted, trying to get my heart rate back to normal.
Lucy snorted. "You should have seen your face – priceless," Lucy wiped at her eyes. "Seriously though, just follow Jimbo over there and listen in on any conversations he has. We'll keep in contact. Say we check in every fifteen minutes, okay?"
I nodded, still not completely convinced with this plan of action.
"And as far as your abilities go, do try to keep them on the down-low," Lucy instructed. "We don't want to scare any of the coeds. But if you need to lay on some speed or something like that, just do it casually."
How do you casually move at supernatural speed? If Jimbo-Pink-Pants, jumped into a car, I would need to run to keep up and with my size, I wasn't exactly invisible.
I sighed. "Got it, boss," I said. "No magic in front of the Muggles."
Lucy shook her head and was about to respond when Jimbo turned and walked straight toward us. Lucy stepped in close, looping her arm through mine, turning to face me.
"And then Rachel realized that Ross had cheated," Lucy started chattering really fast, "but Ross insisted that they were on a break, and so it wasn't really cheating. Can you even believe that?"
Jimbo passed us with only the briefest of glances. I did notice that his eyes slid down to Lucy's butt. It was a typical guy thing to do as Lucy was in great shape and the jeans she was wearing were a perfect fit. Still, Jimbo's roving eyes made me tense up just a bit and a small growl rumbled through my chest.
Lucy pinched my arm, breaking my concentration.
"What's with the growl?" she whispered.
"Sorry," I said. What the hell was wrong with me? It's not like I had feelings for Lucy. I was still getting to know her and trust her. We'd been thrown together by circumstance. The fact that we had common enemies had accelerated our relationship, but there was no way I thought of her as more than that, end of story. And yet, I'd responded in a possessive way when Jimbo had checked her out.
It had to be my animal.
My bear.
The Ollphiest.
The witch is desirable.
Oh no.
We take what we want, what we desire. We are Ollphiest.
Oh, shut the hell up. I don't have time for this nonsense.
I only –
I said shut it!
I smiled at Lucy and quickly changed the subject. "Were you just talking about the show Friends?"
"Your pain-in-the-ass Ollphiest aura fritzed-out my camouflage spell," Lucy said, glancing over her shoulder, making sure Jimbo was out of earshot. "And yes, I was talking about Friends. It's called blending in," she said, pulling her arm free. "Something you need to be better at. Growling. Seriously?"
I wasn't about to discuss my growling. That was a can of worms I'd happily leave closed forever. Instead, I asked, "You think talking about a TV show from the Nineties is blending in?"
"They still air reruns all the time," argued Lucy. "You know what? We're not having this discussion. You need to start following your guy. I'll text in fifteen minutes."
"Text? What about our cool magic walkie-talkies?" I asked.
"Are we in mortal danger?" Lucy asked.
I shook my head.
"Then texting will work just fine," she said. "We need to keep the comm spell charged and ready, just in case the poop really hits the fan."
I saluted. Lucy shook her head at my antics.
I spun on my heel and started after Jimbo-Pink-Pants. In truth, I wasn't really worried about following, Jimbo. I didn't think this guy was capable of getting into or causing any serious trouble.
I would soon find out that making assumptions based on first impressions was a rookie mistake. And sometimes mistakes carried life-changing consequences.
CHAPTER 8
Jimmy was still confused and, to be honest, a little aroused by his meeting with Dahlia. He accepted the fact that his ability to read the intentions of the opposite sex were limited and most of the time way off base, but even so, Jimmy was pretty sure Dahlia had been flirting with him. She had pressed up close and done that nose rub thing. What else could that mean, except that she was flirting? Maybe she and Tinkerbelle had spent the rest of their night drinking, or getting high or something, and her brain was still loopy. That could be the only reason she would act the way she did, because she had made it abundantly clear in the past that she wasn't into Jimmy, except for his brain in relation to their work together in Chemistry.
Jimmy was so deep in thought he didn't notice the woman standing in front of him until he almost collided with her.
"Oh . . . sorry . . . I wasn't paying attention," Jimmy apologized. He sidestepped so that she could pass by, but she matched his movement remaining in front of him.
"Hi. I'm Nicole," the woman said, smiling.
She had a pretty smile.
"Er – um, hi. I'm Jimmy," he said, confused as to why she was speaking to him.
"What year are you?" Nicole asked.
Jimmy glanced around. It was early, by College standards, but other students were already filling up the campus on their way to a late breakfast and morning classes, and a few of the super eager were even out for what looked like a run. He looked back at Nicole; she was dressed in leggings and a Stanford sweatshirt, her black hair intricately pulled up in a green bandana. He didn't see any books or a backpack, so she was probably on her way to or on her way back from the gym. But the question remained: why had she stopped to talk to Jimmy?
Nicole was looking at him expectantly and Jimmy realized he hadn't answered her question. "Sophomore – I'm a sophomore. How about you?"
"Junior," said Nicole, pulling out her phone. "Jimmy I have a study group I can't blow off, as much as I'd love to, so why don't we exchange numbers and we can hook up later?" said Nicole, her last words dripping
with promise.
"Huh?" It was all Jimmy could manage, his mind was blown.
"Your number, Jimmy. I'm asking for your number," said Nicole, tilting her head toward the phone.
"Right – yeah – of course." Jimmy fumbled his own phone out of his pocket and he and Nicole traded information. When Nicole handed him his phone back, Jimmy checked to make sure she had actually entered her name and a number. Yep, there it was. Nicole giggled, kissed her fingertip, and then pressed it lightly against Jimmy's lips.
"Until later, then," said Nicole.
He watched her walk away, her firm butt accented by the tight leggings. Nicole looked back over her shoulder and caught Jimmy staring.
Oh crap, she's going to be pissed, Jimmy thought. Instead, Nicole giggled again and gave her hips an exaggerated swagger as she continued to walk away.
"What the hell?" Jimmy asked himself.
He continued to stare after Nicole until she disappeared around the corner of a building. Jimmy smiled to himself. He had gotten a girl's number – no, not just a girl, a hot girl with a banging booty.
Jimmy resumed walking toward the parking structure where his car was parked. As he walked, he noticed several other girls staring in his direction. He looked around to make sure it was him they were looking at. No such luck. Several yards behind him was a huge guy with more muscles than Jimmy had ever seen on someone outside of the movies. The guy was oblivious to the attention he was drawing, absorbed in something on his phone. Usually, Jimmy would fume at the unfair advantage someone like this guy had, but he was in too good of a mood to care today. He turned and almost started skipping he was so happy.
When the two staring girls giggled and waved at Jimmy, he almost tripped. He gave a small wave back, just to be sure he wasn't crazy, and sure enough the girls waved again before giggling and whispering to each other.
What was happening? Was he the mark of some elaborate joke?
Jimmy faltered, slowing almost to a stop.
Gypsy Witch: A Paragon Society Novel (Book 2) Page 8
