Was he defending me? Two times in as many days? This had to be my Christmas miracle come early.
“Excuse me. I have real work to do.” Either a sledgehammer broke through concrete in my warden’s office, or Mr. Pitt had slammed the phone into the cradle. “Madison! Get your glowing Tootsie Pop in here and explain yourself.”
Stomach plummeting, I straightened, patted Valentine for good luck, and presented myself for sacrifice.
* * *
“You’re not hurt?” Mr. Pitt asked when I finished recounting my short tale.
I’d expected an explosion of candy-laden profanity. His quiet question caught me flat-footed. “Nope. Nothing a warm shower didn’t fix.”
Mr. Pitt watched me, head tilted. His complexion remained a pale pink. The vein at his temple didn’t dilate. I wrung my hands. Yelling I was used to. This somber version of my boss was worrisome.
“Good. I’m glad you told me.” He clapped his hands and I jumped. “You’ve got Jacob and Claire helping out today. Isabel ordered more spray from out of state, so we don’t have to kill Rose over this.” He raised his voice for the last sentence.
“Thanks, boss,” Rose said from outside the doorway.
“But we’ll need twice as much for Madison today.”
“Gotcha. I’ll get back to work.”
“That’s it?” I asked. I was pushing my luck, but as long as I was having an out-of-body experience, I might as well enjoy the euphoria.
“Are you asking if I’m mad?”
I nodded.
Again, Mr. Pitt favored me with a head-cocked stare. I couldn’t read his expression, other than that he wasn’t angry.
“Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone else about your adventure last night. If you feel another compulsion to get close to the pit today, call me. And trust your instincts.”
My eyebrows tried to merge with my hairline. “So what am I up against?” I asked.
“Your specialty.”
“And that would be?”
“Trouble.” Mr. Pitt’s froggy smile offered no comfort.
“Anything specific?”
“Let me put it this way: If the energy in the garage isn’t resolved by the end of today, I’m pulling you back to our region.”
I almost hugged him. My return to normal work was all but guaranteed. Still, his lack of an answer kept my celebrations subdued as I walked to my car. Mr. Pitt knew more than he was telling me; that much was obvious from my escape without a single raised word. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was concerned for me. There was a scary thought.
I settled a flat of spray bottles on my passenger seat, then walked around to the driver’s side. I also couldn’t reconcile my lingering feelings of goodwill—and my visibly brighter soul—with the dangerous energy that had knocked me unconscious. A giant hole in a parking garage crackling with Primordium energy didn’t exactly go with my vision of warmth, fur, and comfort. Mr. Pitt hadn’t commented one way or the other. Maybe the pleasant dream had been my mind’s way of shielding me from my painful collapse and chilled body.
I fielded a call from my mom as I pulled into the mall. Naturally, she wanted details about my date, which hadn’t happened.
“You can’t keep leading a man on like this, you know,” she said. “Sooner or later, he’s going to get tired of it. I don’t want you to lose your chance with him.”
I gritted my teeth, telling myself she meant well. “I’m not doing this on purpose.”
Mom sighed. “I know. I just want you to find someone you’re happy with. You need more than Mr. Bond in your life.”
It was my turn to sigh. Loudly. The traffic clogging the lane skirting the perimeter of the mall trickled away into the aisles as I coasted around the back of the mall. “I promise I won’t stand him up again.”
“And when is the new date?”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
She laughed and rang off.
I spotted Jacob where Mr. Pitt said he’d be, near the entrance to Macy’s. I parked next to his Acura as a giant black SUV pulled into the space in front of me. Claire slid out and flounced through the cars to Jacob. I stuffed my purse full of spray bottles, fitting only half what I’d brought before joining the group.
“I can’t stay past noon. I have to get back to my region,” Claire announced as I walked up.
“Don’t you have school?” I asked.
“I’m a senior,” Claire said, as if that answered my question. She graced me with a soft, openmouthed sneer before dismissing me. I thought my question was valid, considering she looked like she’d come from school, with her knee-high white socks, short plaid skirt, and button-up white blouse. Of course, I bet school policy did not allow the shirt to be unbuttoned down to her bra or her skirt to be pulled up quite so short.
I spared a wish for the more pleasant company of Summer or even Rafi.
“Hey, Madison. Long time, no see,” Jacob said. “Whoa! What’d you do to your soul?” His eyes roved up and down my body with frank admiration and a touch of something darker. I blushed.
“A good night’s sleep does a girl wonders,” I said dismissively.
Claire made a short gagging sound and drummed her nails on the top of my car.
“At least this explains things,” Jacob said. Before I could ask what he meant, he changed the subject. “Isabel’s got more spray coming express, but it won’t get here for a few hours. Did you bring extra?”
I popped open the passenger door. Jacob filled his jacket pockets and Claire dropped three spray bottles into a tiny leather backpack. If this were a normal cito day, those three bottles might have lasted her until noon. Today, she’d be out in less than an hour. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her, though.
“Here’s how we’ll do this,” Jacob said. “Claire, you’ll focus near the center of the mall. Madison, you’ll take the Macy’s half, and I’ll take the Nordstrom half.”
This left me closer to the garage, so I didn’t complain. Mr. Pitt had all but instructed me to keep an eye on it.
“Do we even need Madison?” Claire asked, as if I weren’t standing close enough to slap her. “If she hadn’t screwed up, I wouldn’t be here wasting my time.”
“I didn’t screw up.”
“It’s different this year,” Jacob said. “It’s not Madison’s fault, either.”
“Whatever.” Claire spun on her heel in a huff, flashing us white bikini underwear. I averted my eyes.
We caught up with her inside the doors to Macy’s, where she’d stopped in shock. Jacob hooked an arm around Claire’s frozen body and pulled her to a rack of fur-lined coats and out of the line of traffic. She moved with him, unresisting, wide eyes bouncing from all the gargantuan citos to their frantic, volatile hosts.
“This is bonkers,” she said.
I’d known what to expect, and I still needed a steadying breath.
Today was going to be a long day.
* * *
I stumbled out of The Body Shop, nose buried in my elbow, several hours later. A ten-year-old girl had turned the store into a war zone, goaded by a green cito the size of Mr. Bond. While her distraught father bellowed at the salesclerk for not stocking the perfume his daughter wanted, the tiny terror had climbed the display rack of glass bottle perfume samples, her resemblance to Godzilla uncanny as she shattered the heavy glass stoppers, one after the other, against the floor. I had used half a spray bottle on the lot, gone back to the girl for a second pass that finally shrank her cito out of existence, then fled the store.
My hair swung in front of my face, coated in a dozen competing perfumes. I coughed. For once, the crowds parted for me, driven away by the stench exuding from my clothing. I blundered into an open space in front of Sears and collapsed against the wall. Lifting my hair in a fist, I shook it, hoping to air it out, flapping the front of my sweater with the opposite hand. My eyes watered. I swallowed bitter-scented alcohol and resisted the temptation to scrub my tongue with my fingers.
“Hello, Madison.”
I glanced up. Isabel stood a few feet away, a heavy leather bag on one shoulder, her glowing bulbous white soul unmistakable. She wore slacks today and a button-up sweater made from patches of coarse fabric, both charcoal gray in Primordium. I straightened, trying to find my sense of humor when she took a discreet step back.
“I come bearing gifts.” She opened the top of her bag to reveal a collection of full spray bottles.
“Perfect timing. I’m almost out.” I gave my half-full bottle a shake.
“I can see why. You’re holding up much better than the other enforcers.”
“Must be all my practice,” I said, shrugging off the uncomfortable compliment. I didn’t need a reputation for being the go-to enforcer for citos.
“Here, hand over your empties, and that one. I can finish it off on my way out.”
I tried to hide my surprise. Not only had she hand-delivered fresh supplies, but she was also offering to do a little enforcer work while she was here? I pictured Mr. Pitt making a delivery run. The image of him cursing his way through the crowds was oddly funny.
I restocked my purse while Isabel held her breath.
“Brad told me you saw the little energy fluctuation in the parking garage.”
“Um, yeah, I did.” How dare Mr. Pitt tell me to keep my ill-thought-out adventure to myself and then blab about it to another warden. Was he trying to make me look bad, so they wouldn’t hire me if he was fired?
“I don’t know what Brad told you. You’d think there were enough problems in his own region to keep him busy, but he seems determined to make more of this than there is, and he’s claiming you’re in danger. I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve been telling him the last few days: Don’t worry; I’ve got my eye on it, and Jacob has it under control,” Isabel said.
The last few days. She was talking about the first day I found the pit, not last night. Mr. Pitt thought I was in danger? Was that the source of his irate calls to Isabel and Liam? Maybe he’d promised to pull me from the mall tomorrow if things didn’t change because he feared for my safety. I didn’t know if I should be pleased. An enforcer’s job was naturally dangerous. I’d have been happier if he’d given me some information—any information—to help me counter all that wild atrum. And I wasn’t going to miss my opportunity to question Isabel, not when she’d brought it up.
“About that,” I started. My words were drowned out by a loud screech. I spun to see a man jerk a shopping cart to the middle of the aisle inside Sears. He jammed a curtain rod into the cart so it slanted from the back right corner to the left front, with the sharp metal tip extending past the front of the cart by several feet. With a cherry-red cito tap-dancing on his shoulder like a deformed parrot, the man positioned himself behind the cart. I followed his line of sight. Down the aisle, another man revved the handle of a cart, the blunt end of a wooden shovel handle sticking out the front of his cart. The ruby cito braced on his shoulder was as large as a second head.
“CHARGE!” shouted the man nearest us.
The men sprinted toward each other. Shoppers leapt from their path.
Dear God, they were jousting. I bounced on my toes. I wanted answers, badly, but I couldn’t let this medieval madness go unchecked, especially not in front of Isabel. Not only could people get seriously hurt, but I’d also look like a terrible enforcer if I stood around chatting while it happened. “Thanks for the spray. I’ll be right back.”
The carts collided, impromptu lances bouncing uselessly in the baskets. On the men’s shoulders, their citos swiveled to keep the other in sight when the men jerked their carts apart and paced back to the end of the aisle. I darted through a ring of spectators and prepped a spray bottle.
The second pass toppled a display of Shake Weights and yoga mats. I crouched amid the lawn mowers, dusting the air between the men from a safe distance. On the third pass, their carts locked, and I rushed past with a mom and her four kids, spraying liberally. The citos dwindled to nothing, and the men separated their carts and sheepishly parted ways.
With Sears freed of wayward knights, I rushed back out into the mall, but Isabel was gone, along with answers to my questions.
The crowds grew rowdier after lunch, with more people shoving and cussing through the crush and a few fistfights breaking out. Claire stayed on, which didn’t improve her attitude, but her blinding-white soul would have been easy enough to avoid if I had the spare time to care. I kept a fraction of my brain tuned toward the garage and slipped outside at lunch to move my car closer to it and surreptitiously check it out. From outside the fence, the compulsion to approach the live energy was a muted buzz, easily ignored. In the courtyard, it might not have existed. Contrary to the crazed cito activity in the mall, the pit appeared to have calmed. Disappointed, I trudged back inside, telling myself it was a good thing.
I skimmed the edges of a crowd clustered inside the doors, killing a dozen citos. People parted to allow a middle-aged man with a black-smeared soul to be marched out between two Roseville police officers. Ragged black lines like stretched varicose veins webbed across a bright pink cito pulsing atop the suspect’s head. My skin crawled. Inside, two more officers stood with a young mother, who clutched a bawling little boy to her chest.
“Tried to snatch him when my back was turned but—”
I walked past, directed onward by a free officer managing the crowd. Crap, I’d let a child abductor leave with a rampaging cito. Not that I could have sprayed it without alarming the officers, but I still had to resist the urge to race after them.
A dark shape in my periphery spun me toward the long bathroom hallway on my left. A huge black ghost made of broiling black soot floated next to the drinking fountain. It grew from a point in the floor and expanded outward like a cone, and along its bulk, a dozen faces twisted and moved, tracking people in the hallway. As I gaped, a new face pushed to the surface and focused shiny ebony eyes on me.
13
Speak Softly and Carry a Big Gun
I screamed.
The sound echoed down the tiled walls, spinning a dozen people in my direction. I fumbled to the wall for support, backing up in the process.
“Spider,” I said, seizing on the first excuse that came to mind to soothe the wary onlookers. The irony was lost on the dozen cito-infested hosts. Nearly as one, they turned away from me.
A preteen boy strode through the many-faced ghost, shivering and rubbing his arms when it engulfed him. He escaped out the other side, unscathed. “Wuss,” he said when he passed me.
“It happened right there,” said a woman sitting on one of the benches farther down the hallway.
“Can you believe people?” her companion asked. “Who knows what perverted plans he had for that boy.”
As tempted as I was to sidle back into the main thoroughfare, then run from all those sickening, moving faces, I kept the monstrosity in my sight and slowly pulled Val from his strap. I held him up, closed, to my mouth, and whispered against his binding.
“I’m sorry I forgot you last night. I really am. I’m sorry for yelling at you. The garage has me on edge. The citos, too. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, Val.”
Saying a silent prayer that his fragile ego had been properly stroked, I opened the handbook to the first page.
Did you just give me a nickname?
“Do you like it?”
I’ve never had a nickname before. I guess it would be all right.
For Val, that admission was on par with a little child clapping his hands in delight. When I glanced back up at the thing, my smile faded.
“I need some help, Val. What is that?” I held him up in case he somehow missed the giant boogeyman in the hallway.
Check page 95.
Page numbers? He must have liked his nickname more than I realized. I thumbed ahead. Even though most of the pages were still blank, they all had numbers on the bottom like a proper book.
“Page numbers are great,” I said. Between screaming at
nothing and now conversing with a book, I was doing a great job projecting the vibe of a crazy lady. Fortunately, most people were too self-absorbed to notice, and the few who looked at me sideways hurried on their way. Hopefully not to return with mall security.
I reached page ninety-five and stopped caring about my potential arrest.
WRAITH. A Primordium manifestation of an incredibly intense emotion generated by an evil action, anchored to the location of the action. Once formed, they blanket anyone they touch with the emotion of their origin. Wraiths gain strength by re-creating the original action in subsequent people. Their area of influence extends no farther than they can stretch. Do not get caught inside one. Exterminate at the source.
I glanced at the accompanying picture, which looked remarkably similar to the wraith in front of me: cone shaped with five visible faces. A tiny notation at the bottom of the picture said, A wraith forms a face for each person currently in its line of sight.
I studied the wraith as a woman and a gaggle of children left the restroom and headed my way. Each one shivered as they passed through the sinister cone. I shivered, too, when four new faces rotated around the wraith to follow the family’s progress, disappearing when they rounded the corner.
Lifting Val once more so I could read and keep the wraith in sight, I flipped back to the main page.
“Is this because of the attempted kidnapping?” I remembered to keep my voice down this time and used Val to shield others from seeing my lips move.
Yes.
My skin crawled under the rock-steady gaze of the wraith’s face trained on me. Another bubbled to the surface next to it.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Claire said at my elbow.
I jumped and jerked Val away from her, shielding him with my body. I didn’t want to share Val. It also seemed prudent to separate the two people with the most volatile personalities.
“Have you encountered one of these before?” I hated the rush of relief that followed my initial surprise. Of all the people to admit a weakness in front of, why did it have to be Claire?
“You haven’t? Oh, that’s right. You’re stunted with a loser warden.”
A Fistful of Fire: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer Book 2) Page 18
