“Jacob doesn’t report to you,” Mr. Pitt said, his voice flat. “Shockingly, if you do exactly as you’ve been told, you’ll be fine, and we’ll make it through this season. Work the mall. Don’t go back to the garage. And above all, stick to citos!”
The connection went dead.
Mr. Pitt’s offhand reassurance of my safety had done little to soothe my frazzled nerves; his refusal to share vital information sparked an unpleasant suspicion about his competence. I scrolled through my contacts and hovered a finger over Jacob’s number. Just a quick call and I could get some answers.
Yet, my finger refused to hit CALL. If I consulted Jacob, it would get back to my boss. Worse, it would show everyone I didn’t trust Mr. Pitt. As much as my boss irritated me, I wasn’t ready to hand Liam and his conspirators another reason to fire Mr. Pitt.
I shoved Medusa back into my purse. “Run along and spray invisible spiders,” I mocked. “Don’t worry your inexperienced enforcer brain about the big bad ugly in the garage.” Yeah, right. I was getting Mom and Aunt Evelyn out of here ASAP.
“What took you so long?” Mom asked when I caught up with them at JCPenney.
“Did you go swimming?” Evelyn teased.
“It’s really coming down outside,” I said, ignoring Mom’s question. “I’m beat. You guys ready to go?”
I scanned the clothes racks while Mom consulted her list. No evil creatures leapt out of hiding to attack. I almost wished some would. My nerves stretched on a wire strung between me and the impossible writhing energy, and the connection grated, even if it was in my head. Doing something, even killing a few imps, would be a great distraction. I couldn’t even address the citos on the nearby shoppers; my last bottle of spray had run out before I’d reached Mom and Evelyn.
Fortunately, Mom decided the two items not crossed off on her list weren’t important, and after one frustrating detour to Crate & Barrel to order an out-of-stock gravy boat, we left. I didn’t breathe easy until we’d cleared the mall traffic and were on the highway back to my parents’ house.
“I can’t wait to get home and tally how much I saved,” Evelyn said.
“Me too,” Mom said.
I drooped behind the steering wheel. I couldn’t wait to get home. Period.
After sorting bags among their respective owners at Mom’s house, I said good-bye to Mom and Aunt Evelyn, gave Dad a quick hug when he came out to help carry packages inside, and then drove straight back to the office.
Sharon manned the receptionist helm with her usual statue-like skill. She got a limp hello from me. It seemed to satisfy her as much as a cheerful greeting, which is to say, she looked as pleased as deflated pudding.
The soft sounds of the office felt like velvet on my assaulted eardrums. I waved at Rose through the glass conference room wall, and despite my quiet steps and her back to me, she waved back. Will clicked softly at his keyboard, but he glanced up long enough to give me a friendly smile. He was pleasant-looking in a way that managed to not cross the line to handsome or sexy, and if I’d looked at him in Primordium, his soul would have glowed with the inhuman warmth of a sunbeam. He was an Illuminea, a creature of lux lucis, but he looked human to everyone who couldn’t see souls. Since he was in the office, the hotel must be doing well. Any other time, I would have stopped to ask him, but I was on a mission.
I rapped on Mr. Pitt’s door, and he lifted his eyes from his computer. Polite inquisitiveness turned to his familiar scowl.
“What are you doing back so soon?”
“I’m all out.” I pulled empty vials out of my purse and lined them up on his desk, then collapsed into the leather chair. “What is the thing in the garage?”
“It’s none of our concern. That’s not our region.”
His use of our not your took some of the sting from his words. “The wardens all decided I should work the mall.” And you agreed, I added silently. “It’s not like I was trespassing on some secret project. I was told to be there.”
Mr. Pitt smiled. It was a tiny twitch of his lips, but I pounced. “Wait, that’s not what it is, is it? A secret project?”
“It’s not a secret project, but it’s none of your business. What’d the book say?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Good. The less you know—about this—the better, for both of us. How were the citos?”
I held Mr. Pitt’s hazel gaze. I really, really wanted to press for more. Keeping me ignorant wouldn’t help me or him, not in any way I could see. Was he trying to sabotage me? Or was this a backward form of protection?
I drummed my fingers against my knee, cursing Niko for refusing to give me his opinion. Could I trust Mr. Pitt or not?
“Not bad,” I finally said.
Mr. Pitt grunted.
“You know, it occurs to me we’re going about the citos backward.” I’d given this a lot of thought, especially during that last useless half hour at Crate & Barrel. “I’m taking citos out one at a time, when we could be exterminating them en masse.”
Mr. Pitt flattened his wide lips but motioned for me to continue.
“We could be piping cito spray in through the vents. The circulating air would kill them for us.” And free me to do something more enjoyable that requires my talents. “Or at least put vents at the exits, like those fly fans at drive-through windows.” I mimed a downward rush of air.
“Gosh, boss, are you hearing this?” Rose asked, storming into the room. “Little Miss Dinky Enforcer has a perfect solution. Good thing we’ve got her around to educate us. How did we survive the last umpteen Christmas seasons without her?” Her ponytail whipped through the air when she spun to jab a finger in my face. “And who, O Wise Non-Empath, is going to make all that spray? You?”
Eyes wide, I pushed my chair back, away from Rose’s hot glare.
“Oh, no, wait. I’m the only empath in the building. I’m the only one working my emotions to nubs so you can traipse around a mall all day.” Rose planted her hands on her hips. “Since you’ve got all the brilliant solutions, how about this: How are we going to keep that cito spray fresh? Do you even know the shelf life of spray?”
I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head.
“Of course you don’t. Forty-eight hours for most empaths. Mine lasts almost seventy-two. That’s why I’m making spray for seven different regions.”
“You are the best,” Mr. Pitt said.
I leaned around Rose to double-check my boss hadn’t been swapped for a stranger. I’d never heard conciliatory in his tone before. I also noticed all the bottles that had been stacked beside his desk earlier were missing.
“Pshaw,” Rose said. She flounced to the chair next to me and sat near the edge, then reclined her body to rest her head on the low back, eyes closed. “You did not go through all six of those bottles in the last few hours.”
“Um. I did. But technically it was nine or so hours. That’s a little under a bottle an hour.”
Rose cracked an eye at me. I’d never seen her this on edge, not even when in the vicinity of a demon.
“I swear I wasn’t wasting it.” I raised my hands in innocence. Guilt twisted my stomach. I had wasted a lot in the beginning. “I’ll do better tomorrow. You can call me Ms. Conservative.”
Rose glared. I did my best to project earnestness. Finally she closed her eyes. I glanced at Mr. Pitt, who watched Rose with a wariness similar to mine. Easing back in my chair, I strove for a neutral topic.
“How’s the region looking today?”
Mr. Pitt’s expression clouded, proving I brought good cheer wherever I went.
“The Century Theater had a small plague of vervet. Judging from the amount of atrum, they should have been there over a day, but yesterday the area was spotless.”
“Do I need to—”
“Summer took care of it,” Mr. Pitt said. “Along with a newly formed demon at the Automall.”
I slumped in my chair. In one day, Summer had done as much as I’d accomplished in my entire enfor
cer career.
“Newly formed demons are cakewalk compared to that monster you took out,” Rose said without opening her eyes.
My gratitude swelled disproportionately to her meager defense, mostly buoyed by the fact that I hoped this meant she had forgiven my ignorant suggestion.
“There was a fire near the lake, a definite salamander attack.” Mr. Pitt rose from his desk and stalked to the map on the wall. “And three minor disturbances along the western border. None of this makes sense. There’s no pattern.” His fist smacked the wall.
“Anything I can—”
“No! You’re handling the mall. Stay focused.”
I took that as my cue to leave. Rose came with me. She doled out nine vials from the new batch on the conference table and a stern warning to be conservative. Stepping back from the table, she surveyed the work left in front of her.
“How was the date?”
“Didn’t happen.”
“Damn.”
“Were you going to mooch my happiness?” I tried to look affronted, but my smile ruined it.
“You’ve got your tricks . . .”
“We rescheduled,” I offered. I summoned Alex’s handsome face but couldn’t work up enthusiasm. With two more mall-filled days stretching before me, Sunday evening felt like a lifetime away.
Rose turned back to her work. “I hate this time of year.”
“Let’s form a club.”
* * *
“Ignore the impossible maelstrom of energy in the garage,” I grumbled the next day, spritzing a lime-green cito the size and shape of a black widow. “Don’t you dare go near it. You might get to do something exciting.” Another cito, this one maroon, disappeared in a puff of spray. “Stick with boring citos.”
After four hours working through Saturday’s dense horde of shoppers, I hardly noticed the people beneath the citos. I’d already gone through a little more than three vials—right on track with yesterday’s use despite being consciously conservative. Rose wasn’t going to be happy, but I was sure she didn’t want me to let citos escape just so she didn’t have to do more work. Pretty sure, at least.
I slid a hand to the base of my spine for the hundredth time. Hidden under my sweater, the knife lay horizontal against my hips in its belt sheath. Any minute, I expected the blade to clatter to the floor, despite the buckle strap holding it in the sheath. The rest of the time, I waited for someone to call mall security on me or, at the very least, to scream and point.
Despite my paranoia, I couldn’t bring myself to put the knife back in my purse. I wanted the knife where I could get to it quickly.
My stomach churned. You better know what you’re doing, Mr. Pitt.
Being forbidden from going back to the garage didn’t stop me from obsessing over it. Mr. Pitt thought my ignorance could be a defense—against what, he wouldn’t say—but I couldn’t flip a switch on my curiosity. Plus, I could either work on the puzzle in the parking garage or contemplate all the evil being fought in my region by other enforcers. Of the two, the enigma proved more entertaining. Maybe it was a geyser of Primordium matter, a kind of source—all this lux lucis and atrum had to come from somewhere, right? Or it could be the remnants of something: When large evil creatures were killed, their remains released atrum, which collected and stained an area unless cleansed, much like the atrum left at the charred Christmas tree stand. If something had died or been killed beneath the garage, all the energy could have collected in the hole.
It would have taken the death of something enormous to leave such a massive amount of atrum, though, and it seemed unlikely it wouldn’t have come up in the meeting. Plus, my theory didn’t explain the lux lucis. Unless the construction site was an old slaughtering ground of evil creatures and enforcers—a theory too scary and gross to contemplate and fortunately one that didn’t make sense. Leftover atrum or lux lucis was inert. The energy in the pit acted alive.
My top theory—and the only one that made sense—was that the raw energy was responsible for the uptick of evil. The mall squatted at the center of all the affected areas, or close enough. Given its impossible nature of interwoven lux lucis and atrum, the seething crater probably had untold abilities, including antagonizing salamanders into starting dozens of fires and attracting demons, newly formed or not.
I thought back through my conversation with Mr. Pitt after I’d fled the garage. He’d initially seemed surprised, but by the energy in the garage or the fact that I’d gone out-of-bounds to discover it, I couldn’t tell. Since then, he’d seemed more concerned about regional boundaries than by the massive amounts of active atrum. When I’d petitioned for more information this morning, Mr. Pitt had shut me down, saying Isabel would handle her region as she saw fit. Considering a warden’s job was to monitor all Primordium energy within his or her region, there was no way Isabel wasn’t aware of the crater of swirling energy. If she knew about it, she would know when it had appeared and whether it was connected with the multiregional increase of evil. All of which put a major dent in my best theory.
None of my musings got me any closer to answering my core question: What was the thing in the garage?
Round and round my thoughts looped, as repetitive as my sweeps through the mall.
I was circling an indoor play area, liberally spraying the rampant cito infestation overtaking parents while entertaining the idea of the pit being a grounded Primordium storm, when I spotted Isabel. She wore a long skirt, English riding boots, and a button-up blouse, emphasizing her schoolteacher vibe, but it was her bright soul that caught my eye. It’s hard to miss true white in a sea of gray and even harder to overlook the distorted soul of a warden.
“I’ve been trying to catch up with you for ten minutes,” she said after we exchanged greetings. “You simply don’t stop moving.”
“Neither do the people with citos.”
“Isn’t that the truth. I figured you might need a pick-me-up.” She handed me a tall cup. Through the clear plastic lid, the inside glowed faintly. I blinked to normal vision. A brilliant purple smoothie filled the Jamba Juice cup. Isabel held up her other hand, showing me she already had a juice for herself.
“Thank you. Was there something you need me to do?” I tried to sound polite, but my words came out cool. The last time I’d seen the warden, she’d insulted my skills as an enforcer.
“Jacob was far too busy today to check in with you, and I wanted to see how you’re doing. You’ve so little experience, I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed.”
Overwhelmed? By a task Jacob had told me usually took him an hour or two a day? “It’s been mundane,” I said.
“I should have expected as much. You’ve proved surprisingly resourceful. Are you sure you didn’t do some freelance work before you took your job? You know, on your own before learning about the CIA?”
“Not a drop.”
“No, probably not. If you had, I suppose you would have aimed for a larger region than Brad could offer.”
Isabel hadn’t come right out and insulted me, but these backhanded compliments and insinuating comments felt like a personal attack. I decided to try a little offense. “I’m finding my region to be the perfect size, and Mr. Pitt has been wonderful. After all, with his guidance, my lack of experience didn’t prevent me from taking on a demon.”
Isabel pursed her lips. “Yes, we’re all so thankful you survived. Brad really bungled that one. He knew the danger and should have pulled you out and let Niko handle it. I don’t know why Brad’s continuing to put you at risk, either. He should have you training under another enforcer.”
Ah. Here was the real reason Isabel had hunted me down in the mall, smoothie in hand. If she could convince me to train under Jacob, the chain of command would put her in control of my—and Mr. Pitt’s—region. She’d initiate the coup Niko said Mr. Pitt feared.
On cue, Isabel said, “I offered for Jacob to be your tutor. He’s a quick learner, and he has really flourished since transferring to my region. He could teach
you a lot, fast. Brad can’t keep you in the dark if you make a formal request to work with Jacob.” She gave me a motherly smile, then sipped her smoothie.
My fake smile melted from my face.
“Oh, speaking of Jacob, he said he ran into you outside yesterday.”
“Yep. I was getting some fresh air.” I’d been considering trying to interject a hint of my knowledge of the energy in the garage, but her attitude had stalled me. Now her forced “casual” interjection of my encounter with Jacob yesterday set off an internal alarm.
“He said you about ran him over.”
“I needed an escape from all this.” I forced a chuckle and gestured to the screaming children in the play area and the greater crowds flowing around us. “I got a little carried away when I spotted him.”
Isabel made a noncommittal sound, then took another sip of her smoothie. “Brad’s making poor decisions lately—letting you handle the demon was only one of many. If you feel unsafe in any way or need to talk about any concerns, call me.”
We exchanged numbers; then Isabel said good-bye. I watched her back until the crowds swallowed her. Remembering Niko’s assurance that none of the wardens were my enemy, I replayed the conversation, trying to edit out my inclination to see insults where maybe there hadn’t been any. Viewed from a different angle, Isabel had been nice. She’d brought me a smoothie, actually left her office to check on me, and was campaigning to get me more training and to keep me safe. If I took out the possible political maneuvering, Isabel’s actions were far friendlier than my own warden’s. Maybe she was right: Maybe Mr. Pitt was making bad decisions, including keeping me in the dark about the energy in the garage. Maybe I’d been too quick to jump to the wrong conclusion about the other wardens, Isabel included.
I stared at Isabel’s number still highlighted on Medusa’s screen. The political jockeying among the wardens did exist, and pretending otherwise was foolhardy. Even if I saw insults where Isabel only expressed concerns, I couldn’t go behind Mr. Pitt’s back. The only reason I wanted to call Isabel was to discuss the wild energy in the garage—the very thing Mr. Pitt instructed me to ignore. Essentially, if I placed the call, I’d be telling all the wardens I trusted Isabel, not Mr. Pitt. It might be the smart thing to do; shifting my loyalties might help me retain my position if Isabel took over my region.
A Fistful of Fire: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer Book 2) Page 13
