"What's his damage?" she said.
Jaesung glanced in the rearview mirror and yawned. "Told you there were weirdos.”
I kept from looking behind us the whole ten minute drive to Jaesung and Krista's. Despite the lack of headlights reflecting in the rearview mirror, it was a matter of time before the Sorcerer figured out a way to follow me. This was the exact reason I hated license plates—so easy to look up when you knew the right people.
I was surprised to find us driving into town. With all the amber waves of grain we'd passed on the train, I'd assumed the dog rescue would be on a farm at the edges of Henard. Instead, Jaesung drove us down an idyllic Main Street with drugstores, boutiques, and barber shops, then turned left on Erickson Street. We pulled up in front of a three-story brick firehouse.
A pair of enormous garage doors dominated the lower half of the building's facade, with two stories of bay window jutting out over the sidewalk. A smaller door peeked from under an arched lintel on the left, bearing a plaque that read: Ruff Patch Dog Rescue.
"Vintage firehouse. Sweet, right?" Krista said, correctly interpreting my appraising stare.
"Does it still have the pole?" I asked.
"Everyone wants to know about the damn pole," Jaesung said. He flicked off the headlights and killed the truck engine. "No pole. My cousin wanted to keep it, but the fiancée thought it invited disaster."
"She's not wrong," Krista said. “I’d ask all sorts of people to come polish it."
Jaesung laughed through a yawn. Krista pushed open the door, letting in a flood of frigid air. My skin shrank into goosebumps, but I followed her out, shifting my backpack onto my shoulder. I winced as it scraped over my hand, grateful it was too dark to see the bruises forming on my knuckles. This time I didn't protest when Jaesung snatched my bag from the truck bed and, holding both handles in one hand, slung it behind his shoulder.
That is, until I noticed the knife still protruding from the fabric, flopping near his shoulder with each step.
I flashed back to the fight, when the Sorcerer had blocked my stab with the bag. He'd twisted the knife from my hands with it, and I'd lost track of the blade after that. But there it was, still tangled in the shreds of gray nylon. Even I hadn't noticed it.
God, how was I supposed to explain if they saw it? If they found out about the fight, they'd do what most civilians did: call the police. That would be a whole lot of attention I didn't need, especially if the local force had any Sorcerers on roster. What excuse would I have to own a knife? Most girls carried pepper spray, not razor-sharp tungsten steel.
As Krista unlocked the door, I shuffled back, pretending to admire the architecture, and moved in behind Jaesung.
"How old is the building?" I asked. Krista grumbled at her keys.
Jaesung gave a sniff, as if his nose was running from the cold. "1913? 1903? More than a hundred years old. There's a plaque somewhere."
I nodded, extending my fingers until they curled around the handle. Jaesung was squinting at Krista through his glasses. His shoulder was level with my eyes, which put the knife at convenient grabbing-level.
"Did it take a long time to remodel the building?"
"Jesus, yes," Jaesung said, and as he expounded, I squinted at the knife. The guard had gotten tangled in frays of nylon, so I made the twists as slowly as my sleepy, shaky hands could manage. "They'd already been at it for ten months when I moved to Henard, and they didn't finish until I was nearly done with my Freshman year."
"They?"
"Dude, can you shine your cell phone over here?" Krista asked. Before I could react, Jaesung stepped forward, and the knife jerked at the bag and sprang free. Unfortunately, it also tugged at the duffel, which tugged at Jaesung, who had to twist around or fall off balance.
I whipped the knife behind me, fluttering it closed and shoving it into the side pocket of my backpack, behind a map of Union Station. Jaesung blinked at me, and I held my breath. Had he seen it? His pinched eyebrows told me he'd seen something, but I might have been fast enough. Expectation is everything when tricking the senses. Who would have expected to see a knife?
He opened his mouth, but a soft sigh of parting fabric cut him off as the duffel bag regurgitated its contents onto the dog rescue's front stoop.
"What-" he twisted, slinging the bag so the last of my clothing and toiletries scattered across his shoes. Krista turned around and squeaked, which alerted the rescue’s occupants of our arrival. A single bark sounded, like the first drop of rain, and was followed by a hurricane of howls and excited yips.
"There was a tear!" I said, sinking to my knees to stop a bottle of shampoo from rolling back toward the street. "Sorry, I'd only just noticed and I was trying to hold it closed-"
"Fuckballs!" Jaesung crouched. The deluge of doggie greetings crescendoed as Krista swung the door open and ducked inside. “Sorry—I didn't notice there was a tear," Jaesung said. “It was probably something in my truck. Shit.”
I wanted to protest, because he had a frantic look in his dark eyes. It took me a moment to recognize it as guilt. I gave a one-shouldered shrug, making use of a few pairs of underwear to smuggle the knife from the backpack's side pocket to the top. It dropped in, settling behind the book, and I shoved socks and tee shirts on top of it.
"It could have been something on the train too," I said. "Don't worry about it."
"No, I feel bad. We can replace it-"
"It's fine."
Jaesung winced, his hands grabbing anything and everything, including underwear, jeans, a box of tampons, and stacking them back into the bag’s flaccid remains. Krista reappeared with an enormous dog bed.
"Pile that shit on here," she said, flopping it on the threshold. Hands on hips, she surveyed my things, then frowned.
“I am disappointed in the lack of sex toy." I rolled my eyes at her.
"You're always disappointed in the lack of sex toy," Jaesung said, scooping up the majority of the mess. "Though she did hide something in her backpack."
I squinted at him. "You are terrible at secrets."
He smirked. "I promise you, I am very, very good at secrets."
His eyes went dark when he said it, intense like the stare of a predator, and for a moment my pulse thrummed in my throat. Had he seen the knife after all? Or did he know another, worse secret? How had that Sorcerer found me anyway? I gave him what I hoped was an arch look.
“Maybe it was a sex toy,” I said.
He smirked, eyebrows lifting.
Krista gathered the dog bed into her arms and stood. "If you're done with the grand tour of the front step, can we go inside?"
The dog rescue’s front room had a wide counter and racks of collars, leashes, treats, toys, and other pet paraphernalia. A computer blinked from a desk behind the counter, its scrolling screensaver proclaiming, "Ruff Patch Dog Rescue - Man's Best Friend's Best Friend".
A door stood on the righthand wall, into what had once been the fire station's garage. Now it looked more like a cross between a science lab, a kennel, and an industrial kitchen, with polished concrete floors and incandescent track lighting. The back wall was lined with built-in kennels housing a dozen dogs, all attached to very excitable tails. The shelves were stacked with labeled tubs and bottles, and the center of the room had three jumbo-sized sinks with shower heads. A large examination table dominated the back wall. The place’s smell was part dog, part bleach, and part evergreen sap.
Krista dropped the laden pet bed on the examination table with a grunt, then pivoted around to face me, arms out like a dolphin trainer.
Krista grinned. “This is it! My Queendom. And those are my babies.”
I was already moving toward the cages.
Jaesung yawned, leaning against a sink. “Wouldn’t they be your subjects if this is your Queendom?” Krista ignored him.
I paused in front of a kennel where a skinny German Shepherd mix sniffed my bruised hand. A pink tongue curled out, warm and damp, and stroked my injured knuckles. I crouche
d, seeing not the dog before me, but Morgan’s hound form, starved and timid, with patches of missing fur giving evidence to long mistreatment. Torture. Like the Sorcerers were probably torturing Eamon now.
My eyes burned, and I swallowed at the ache in my throat, fighting the weakness that seemed to follow me no matter how far I ran. I trailed my fingers over the German Shepherd’s furry face and silken, upright ears. Krista crouched next to me and stuck a hand through the bars. If she noticed my glassy eyes, she said nothing.
“This is Poo-stank,” she said. “We actually named him Radar because of the ears, but he smelled so bad for so many days after we caught him that Jae just kept referring to him as Poo-stank, and then the rest of us couldn’t remember anything else.”
I heard Jaesung’s footsteps behind me, his shadow falling against the cage bars just before he squatted on my other side, hands clasped behind his back. Poo-stank wagged his tail and whined, greeting the new arrival with desperate energy.
“Poo-stank! Poo-stank!” Jaesung said, in that cartoonish voice people only use when they’re trying to rile up a dog. “How’s my Poo-stank?” The German Shepherd’s whine turned into a bark and he shoved his nose between the bars. Claws scrabbled the concrete.
“Oh my God, Jae. Give him whatever you have before he wets himself.”
Jaesung snickered, then brought a nubbly chew toy from behind his back. Poo-stank grabbed it, chewing even as Jaesung used both hands to scratch and ruffle his ears. “Were you a good boy for Gene? Did you poop on his shoe? You did? Good boy!” Poo-stank dropped the chew toy as Jaesung talked to him, that pink tongue reappearing to bathe his favorite person’s face. “Not the glasses! Not the—gah, blegh.”
Krista rolled her eyes. “I told you to keep your mouth shut,” she said.
The exchange had given me enough time to banish the weakness. I stood, turning away from the licking, wagging reunion, and let Krista introduce me to the other dogs. There were eleven, some who had been almost fully rehabilitated from their separate ordeals.
I met the eyes of a skinny boxer and though he raised his hackles, there was a tiredness in his eyes I thought I recognized. Maybe, if he could learn to be happy here…. No. This was a pit-stop. A one-night respite from running. No matter how good the Ruff Patch Dog Rescue team was, I doubted they could fix my problems in one night. Or ever.
“My loyal subjects,” Krista said. “I am their Queen.”
“Some of them like me better!” Jae called from the cage of a one-eyed teacup poodle.
Krista didn’t look at him, but her face twitched theatrically. “Some of them like Jae better because all he’s qualified for are walkies and play time. Sanadzi and I do all the medicating and examining and poking.”
She led me back to the exam table, and as I slung my backpack over my shoulder, she hefted the dog bed and nodded toward the stairs beside the garage doors.
“Sanadzi is…Jae’s cousin?”
“She’s the vet—engaged to Jae’s cousin, who owns the building. She works at a regular vet downtown, but the rescue is her labor of love, I guess. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
“And you two work here?”
I resituated my backpack, which dug into my trapezius muscles with insistence. I imagined the book inside as an imp crouching on my back, sharp little fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Sort of?” she said. “We’re technically volunteers, but we’re both poor students, and Jae’s family, so—” she shrugged. “We’re 24-hour live-in volunteers. The whole upstairs is a boss-ass finished apartment. I’ll never be able to afford something like this on my own.”
We climbed up the staircase, which curved alongside a cutout that must have once encircled the fireman’s pole. Now it held a thick pane of plexiglass.
Krista lumbered through the door with her armload of dog-bed. I followed behind her into the smell of coffee, pine, and lemony cleaning solution. The light up here was warmer, reflecting off cognac-colored hardwood. The whole floor was open but for two brick columns.
Had it been well-decorated, it would have been the kind of place where rich people have gallery openings or parties with wine and things served on toothpicks. It was not well-decorated. At least, it didn't look like the fancy sort of places Gwydian had used to swindle clients. They had furnished the place with overstuffed bachelor-pad castoffs and the flimsy particle board fare of back-to-school sales. Bottles of liquor made a little cityscape on the fridge, and they'd utilized every horizontal surface as a repository for books, loose change, and discarded outerwear.
I halted on the welcome mat. This wasn’t some drug lord’s living room, all cold marble and sleek leather, the air tinged with bleach and cologne. Nor was it warehouse lighting and mattresses parked on concrete. It was so normal, so nice. I wasn’t used to normal. I certainly wasn't used to nice.
I did not belong here.
Krista marched around the huge brown sofa and dropped the dog bed onto a coffee table, displacing a stack of magazines. She ignored the glossy-paged deluge and pointed to the blankets folded on the arm of the sofa. “You. Here. Sit.”
My brain stuttered, unable to step into the strange, warm, normal-person home. Would it be weird to insist on sleeping with the dogs?
Krista trundled into the kitchen and opened a cabinet, oblivious to my internal struggle. Footsteps clanged on the stairs. I had deliberated long enough. I scampered to the couch, the hairs on my arms prickling as Jaesung sprang, graceful as a deer, up the last three steps. He really had great body control—quick feet, and a boxer’s tight, explosive power. All that disappeared under his jacket.
Once again, I scanned his ears and fingers for jewelry, but the only metal he wore was a heavy silver watch. He had narrow wrists, which gave me pause until I noted the thick veins standing out over his knuckle, and threading down the back of his hand. The paranoid part of me demanded wariness, but Jaesung was too athletic to be a Sorcerer. I’d never seen one who could eat enough to put on muscle, not when so much of their protein-consumption went toward spellwork.
He pulled a large FedEx package from under one arm and slapped it onto the counter.
“Why is my mom sending you packages, Kris?” He gave the package a shove, sending it sliding toward the edge. Krista abandoned her cereal box and dove for the package, but it hit the hardwood with a slap.
“Asshole!” She said, straightening with the package in her hands.
“What did she send you?”
“Nudes.”
“So, the bridesmaid’s dress?”
Krista scowled and marched around the counter to a long fold-out table beside the bay window, snatching up scissors. Jaesung smirked and picked up the abandoned cereal box, pouring out three bowls.
I sank onto the leather couch, which gave a squeaky protest at my bodyweight. The leather had scars and no few stains, which I imagined was why it had stayed here and not left along with Jaesung’s cousin. I let the backpack slide between my feet, flexing knuckles that still stung from their impact with the Sorcerer’s jaw.
Krista pulled something blue and filmy from the package, shuffling for a moment before holding up a strapless dress. I couldn’t remember the style's name, but the skirt started just below the boobs and hung in layers of sparkly, sheer blue. The top was a band of shiny blue slightly darker than the skirt.
It was pretty, but all three of us could fit into it at the same time. And maybe Poo-stank.
Krista’s face had gone scarlet, clashing with her orange hair. “Your mom knows I’m not 500 pounds, right?” she asked, one dark-drawn eyebrow lifted. “I mean, I’m thick, but….”
Jaesung grimaced. “Maybe she thought we measured in inches?” he offered. “I should have told her it was in centimeters—I just assume she knows I change everything into metric for her.” He walked over with two bowls and held one out like an apology.
Krista shook her head and tossed the dress over a chair, blinking fast. “Whatever. I’ll have to get it fitted.” She trud
ged into the kitchen and dumped the last bowl of cereal back into the bag.
“Krista!” Jaesung admonished. “Come on, you know you’re not fat.”
“Whatever you say.” She rinsed out the cereal bowl and shoved it back into the cabinet with a clatter. “Clearly I’m Korean fat.”
“I’m Korean fat. Anyone who’s driven past a McDonalds is Korean fat. Most of South Korea is Korean fat.”
Then he glanced at me. His expression was a clear plea for help, those dark eyebrows lifted and pinched together, mouth set in a grimace. I wanted to shake my head. You can’t spit in downtown Miami without hitting someone who’s counted calories or carbs or steps, but it always seemed like such a pointless thing to worry about. There were way worse things a person could be than fat.
Jaesung jerked his head toward Krista, clearly thinking that, as a fellow girl, I might have something comforting to say. But I was an athlete. A half-starved one. I doubted she’d find anything I said comforting. “Or, if you don’t alter it, you could smuggle in two or three dogs.”
Jaesung’s expression spasmed. Before I could decide what that meant, Krista let out a sound that was something between a squawk and a honk. She disappeared behind the counter, crouching and clinging to the edge so that just her sparkly-blue fingernails were visible.
Jaesung and I froze, both waiting to see whether her helpless wheezing was laughter or despair. The high-pitched keen made me think despair, and I leaped up, an apology getting tangled on its way past my tongue. Jaesung, however, relaxed. A laugh bubbling up from somewhere in his chest.
The next shriek from behind the counter was slightly more distinguishable as a laugh. Jaesung set the bowls on the counter and danced around it, leaning over the spot where Krista still crouched. A moment later, he had pulled her upright, and she leaned onto the breakfast bar, still making helpless sounds.
My comment hadn’t been that funny, but laughing was clearly an emotional release for Krista in a way it never had been for me.
“B-B-” she stuttered, struggling over the word. Jaesung’s grin was a white streak, crinkling his cheeks and eyes as he caught the giggle bug. Krista managed a gulp of air and said: “B-bridesmutts!”
Unleash (Spellhounds Book 1) Page 7
