“Okay. You have a point.” If he had turned into a naked man in the Illumination Studios parking lot, it might have complicated things. “Why become human now?”
“This place is stifling. Too much lux lucis. I wanted to go out.”
I’d been avoiding thinking about the pooka roaming around while I slept. I dreaded what he might have done, though everything had looked normal when I’d dashed down to the Dumpster. “You could go outside as a Great Dane. You’d probably have blended in better.” Barefoot, in women’s clothes—yeah, a dog off a leash would have been better.
“I couldn’t work the handles.”
I closed my mouth, defeated by logic. The pooka twisted in place, still unsure of me. I sighed. “Do you know about germs?”
I explained the importance of hand washing and supervised while he played with the soap and water for twice as long as necessary. Then I explained the purpose of a toilet. Flushing fascinated the pooka, so I also explained California’s drought and the importance of water conservation. He followed along, proving he was far more intelligent than a day-old creature had a right to be.
“I can’t keep calling you Trouble. What’s your real name?”
“Jamie.” The pooka planted his hands on his hips as he said his name, clearly proud. He looked like a cross-dressing superhero. He deflated when I didn’t immediately respond, but Jamie? I’d been expecting a much more exotic name, maybe one with some x’s and z’s in it. After all, he was an entirely different species.
“That’s a nice name. I like Jamie,” I finally said, and his chest visibly inflated again at my moderate praise. He was cute, like a teenage boy before testosterone kicked in, both in looks and confidence, and I suppressed the desire to tousle his thick hair. I couldn’t treat him like a child—he was too sharp for that, and too dangerous—but the last of my trepidation disappeared. This wasn’t imprint pheromones or post-terror euphoria. It was simply the pooka’s natural charm working on me.
Niko’s warning about getting too close to the pooka and letting him influence me rang in my ears. Jamie didn’t look or act dangerous, which was the real hazard. It would be easy to forget he might not have my best interest at heart.
I made us both peanut butter and jelly roll-ups on tortillas because the bread was moldy, and I gulped down two glasses of water and ibuprofen. Jamie thought the cobbled-together meal was divine, proving he’d imprinted on the right enforcer. Mr. Bond alternated between hissing at Jamie and wanting to curl up in his lap, depending on Jamie’s soul. I’d suspected Mr. Bond possessed sensitivity to lux lucis from the way he’d responded to Niko and Val, but this proved it. When Jamie’s soul fluctuated to show more atrum, Mr. Bond acted as if he were the enemy; when Jamie shone with lux lucis, Mr. Bond wanted to be best buds. I didn’t know what it said about Mr. Bond that he was so easily swayed and didn’t make the connection that, no matter what his outward metaphysical appearance, Jamie wasn’t changing. Maybe my cat wasn’t equipped to rationalize a creature as powerful and rare as a pooka.
I ate my roll-up slowly, savoring the novelty of not being at the mall. With Jacob recovering from Jamie’s attack and me on pooka watch, I wondered who’d been stuck with the citos. The emotion-enhancing spiders would still be active even without Jamie’s presence, though they’d be back to manageable sizes and numbers . . . hopefully. Maybe Claire had been given the task. Watching Jamie lick jelly from his fingers and forearm, I grinned. Whoever was responsible for the Galleria citos, it wasn’t me.
After I cleaned up and moved Mr. Bond’s food bowl back to its usual location, filling it under his supervision, I couldn’t put off the rest of the day any longer. As much as I wanted to climb back under the covers, I was awake, Jamie was awake, and untold evil brewed in my region. I didn’t think Liam would be willing to continue sending Summer or Rafi to cover my region, either. Taking some of his region and refusing to become his enforcer hadn’t won me any favors with the man. Good thing that hadn’t been my goal.
I showed Jamie a game on my cell phone, then used my landline to dial Mr. Pitt.
“The pooka has a human form,” I said without preamble.
“Yep.”
“Yep?” That was the best Mr. Pitt could muster for my shocking news? Let him wake up with a stranger in his home and see if he responded with equal aplomb.
“The last two hundred years of pookas have had human form. I hoped it would be the same.”
“Anyone think that might be worth mentioning to me?” My headache pulsed, and I lowered my voice. “Anything else I should know?”
“Come to the office. Your car is in your spot. The key is under your welcome mat. Is the pooka still in human form? I want to meet it.”
“Him. You want to meet him. Jamie. Yes, he’s in human form.”
“Good.” Mr. Pitt hung up.
I stalked to my filing cabinet and pulled out Val. “What’s your excuse?”
Good afternoon.
“You gave me a history lesson. You told me about pookas on other continents. But you didn’t mention Jamie would have different forms?”
I did, too.
“No, you didn’t.”
Look who woke up on the wrong side of the page. I told you the pooka would stabilize.
“And I was supposed to know that meant change shapes?”
A pause, then, I guess I could have been clearer.
“Any other surprises?”
Why don’t you ask him?
“Val, between you, me, and a one-day-old pooka, who do you think has the most expertise?”
You’re showing new wisdom every day. Words continued to flow across the page before I could respond with the appropriate sarcasm. I’ve updated the entry.
“Thank you.” I flipped ahead to the pooka entry. The first paragraph remained the same, but the second had new information.
Once imprinted, a pooka is tethered to that being, and its development in life will depend upon the imprintee and the pooka’s experiences. The relationship formed between the two is symbiotic, each influencing the other. When a pooka imprints on an enforcer, it is up to the enforcer to mold the pooka into a being of lux lucis, without, of course, succumbing to the allure of the pooka’s dual nature.
Pookas have three to five forms but always rise in their largest form. Most pookas can assume the form of the creature they imprint upon.
“Would it have hurt you to include this information last night?” I flipped back to the first page.
Val’s words formed in uptight typeface. It was an exciting evening. I was a little distracted.
I sighed and forgave the book. “Been a while since you’ve been swallowed by a vervet?”
Something like that.
“What’s that?”
I jumped, sending a sharp pain through my ankle. Jamie stood in the bedroom doorway, and I hadn’t heard him approach. His soul shifted beneath his skin like feathery clouds against a black sky. Behind him, the lichtwand glistened, a pure white backdrop.
“It’s Valentine. Val, meet Jamie; Jamie, Val.” I lifted the book and Jamie scooted closer. When he reached a hand toward the book, NO TOUCHING flashed in enormous letters across the page. Jamie jerked back. “He’s pure lux lucis. I don’t know how he’d respond to you,” I said.
Jamie nodded. “Hi, Val.”
Hi, Jamie.
This was my world. A talking book, a cross-dressing pooka, and me, all cozy in my bedroom.
“You can read?” I asked.
“You can’t?” Jamie looked startled.
I dropped it. Stepping around him, I turned off the lichtwand and blinked to normal sight. “We need to find you more suitable clothes.”
“I like these.” Jamie lifted both sides of the skirt, and I averted my gaze before being flashed.
“We’re headed to work, and I don’t want you to be cold.”
Thankfully Jamie didn’t have a football player’s body. I pulled out my baggiest jeans and a men’s black thermal shirt I usually wore a
round the house. I selected socks for him, too, but drew the line at giving him my underwear. We’d deal with that problem later.
Jamie examined each item I handed him, then yanked the WWF T-shirt off and slipped into the thermal shirt. I closed my bedroom door and revealed the full-length mirror attached to the back. Jamie admired himself, rolling his shoulders and running his long, slender fingers down his abdomen to smooth the shirt. I was struck anew by his exotic eyes when he smiled at me.
Jamie unzipped the skirt and bent to tug it down, giving me an eyeful of paper-white buns.
“Whoa, there!” I spun around, cheeks flaming.
“What? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just people . . . humans . . . we don’t show each other our”—I hunted for the word and settled on—“privates. Unless its, ah, an intimate thing. Not that you’re going to be doing anything intimate with anyone anytime soon. I mean, not that it’s a bad thing. You’re just far too young, and—” Stop talking, Dice.
“What’s a private?”
“It’s your—” Crap. “Your reproductive parts.”
“But those are the most interesting parts.”
He was so earnestly confused, I couldn’t hold in my laughter. He circled around in front of me—thankfully with pants on and mostly zipped—and checked my face.
“Are you teasing me?”
I shook my head. “Humans like to save our privates for those most special to us.”
He grinned. “That’s why you showed me yours last night.”
“Um, that’s—”
“You’re special to me. I should show you my—”
I grabbed his hand before he could unzip his pants. I didn’t need a mirror to confirm I was scarlet from my eyeballs to my clavicle. “That’s, well, thank you, but I’ve already seen yours.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Jamie turned back to the mirror and buttoned his pants. I pressed cool fingers to my cheeks and tried to dismiss the last two minutes as easily as the pooka had.
“I think I should change back to that.” Jamie pointed to the skirt with one hand, using the other to tug at the crotch of the pants. “This pinches.”
“No. Keep it. You look very handsome.” It was the truth and also easier than arguing, or worse, continuing our conversation about his man parts.
Jamie cocked his head and reexamined himself. Maybe the lighting earlier hadn’t been right, but his soft oval face had more definition than I’d noticed before. Looking at us side by side in the mirror, I tried to see the pooka the way the rest of the world would, and found myself oddly proud of his attractive appearance, as if he were my own child. His skin was fair enough to be a newborn’s, which technically it was, and his hair made my chestnut waves look sun-kissed. His hair had style, too. Close at the sides and longer on top, Jamie’s hairdo was both trendy and disarming, which was a lot for a hairstyle to accomplish. With those golden eyes, he was exotic enough to model. The pooka knew how to choose forms to impress, that was for sure.
I shooed Jamie from the room and changed into jeans, a green and tan striped shirt, and an ivory cloth jacket with a zipper that bisected my body from my right hip to my left shoulder. I hoped I wouldn’t regret wearing such a light, easily ruined jacket, but it was either me or Jamie in this jacket, and it was too feminine for the pooka. He got my black coat. I settled Val in his strap after I gave his cover a quick buffing, strapped on the knife belt, and grabbed my purse.
We left Mr. Bond on the threshold, both of us giving him a pat good-bye. As far as I knew, only I carried guilt down the stairs. I’d barely been home seven hours, and most of those I’d been unconscious. My poor cat needed more company than that. The tiny fluff ball tabby at Alex’s clinic came to mind. At least Mr. Bond would have a playmate. Maybe he needed a cat sitter, too. He’d been fond of Niko. I could offer to let Niko room with me while he was in town.
I needed more sleep if I was entertaining ideas of playing house with the optivus aegis. In lieu of more sleep, caffeine would have to do. Since I wasn’t a coffee fan—possibly the last holdout on the planet—I stopped by Jamba Juice for a Chocolate Moo’d Smoothie, then added a Matcha Green Tea Blast, just in case. Jamie ordered a smoothie from every menu. I stifled a sigh and gave the cashier my overworked credit card. I hadn’t taken into account the financial impact Jamie would excise on my bank account. Maybe I could convince Mr. Pitt that imprinting a pooka was raise worthy. If nothing else, new territory should warrant a pay increase.
I sucked down the chocolate shake while Jamie played with the radio and heater dials on the drive to the office. Jamie as a dog I could fit into my life; I’d never planned on a roommate. I couldn’t make him sleep in the bathroom every night. Did I get him a twin bed or a doggie bed? What about his goals and plans? What did a pooka do all day? Eventually, he would tire of following me everywhere. Or was it the other way around? Was I now supposed to follow him around like a perpetual moral teacher, instructing his every decision?
Great. The caffeine had woken me up, but it’d also demolished the buffer of surrealism left over from last night. The reality of imprinting a pooka jounced around my head, rekindling my headache. I set the shake down.
When we got to the office, I checked Jamie in Primordium. His soul swirled black and white, looking no more one energy than the other. I also checked the seat after he got out, having found a fine film of atrum on my bathmats this morning. The seat was clean.
I greeted Sharon as if we were old friends. It’d become a one-sided joke, and if it irritated the stoic woman, I couldn’t tell. For once, her cold gaze merely glanced off me. She locked on Jamie, unblinking eyes as expressionless as her drab face. The pooka halted. His tray of half-finished smoothies dipped, and he didn’t notice when I lifted it from his hands. He fixated on Sharon with a reciprocal, eerie intensity.
Blinking to Primordium, I checked souls. Sharon’s managed to look heavy and gritty despite being the same pure lux lucis as mine. Jamie’s made me set the drinks on Sharon’s desk and take a deep breath. Tennis ball–size bubbles of atrum lifted from his skin, dissipating as soon as they formed, and lux lucis swirled beneath, soft and frothy. I shook out my hands and prepared to tackle Jamie, but as quickly as it had changed, his energy settled, the atrum washing back into the lux lucis in tendrils so thin he looked pinstriped. He bowed his head to Sharon, grabbed the tray of smoothies, and turned to me with his wide smile, all without saying a word.
I glanced back and forth between them, decided better of asking questions or making introductions, and continued as if we hadn’t paused. Jamie fell into step beside me, slurping a thick raspberry smoothie through a straw. My spine stiffened under the weight of Sharon’s stare.
Rose peeked out of the conference room door. I jumped and only half contained my yelp of surprise. Jamie giggled. Rose finished stepping through the doorway and closed the glass door behind her. A grid work of cito spray bottles covered the conference table, all but three rows glowing with the Rose’s special blend of cito pesticide.
“I thought I felt you,” she said, then looked at Jamie. “You, I couldn’t mistake.”
These two, I introduced. Jamie didn’t offer his hand, perhaps not knowing the custom, and it was just as well. I doubted the empath wanted to touch the pooka. She kept her soul as clean as an enforcer’s, though today weariness tinged its natural glow. When I blinked to normal sight, I saw that fatigue rested in the dark circles under her eyes. She stood barefoot in stockings, a tropical-print sundress, and matching turquoise jacket, which brightened her appearance. I hoped her more typical attractive apparel was in celebration of the citos decreasing to normal levels now that Jamie had left his hatching grounds, but since I didn’t want to even whisper the word cito out of fear of jinxing myself back into mall duty, I didn’t ask.
She narrowed her eyes at Jamie. “I expect you to treat Madison nicely. She’s a lux lucis girl. Let’s keep her that way.”
Jamie cocked his head and studied me. He obviou
sly was looking at my soul. What did the world look like through pooka eyes? “But that’s so limited.”
Ooo-kay. That was an answer of a sort: He didn’t see things the same way I did.
“It’s an intentional choice,” I said, urging Jamie toward Mr. Pitt’s office. I was slacking on my first day in charge of the pooka. We needed to talk about morality and its importance. If only I didn’t feel like I’d be wasting my breath. How do you convince someone that half their nature is wrong?
You don’t, at least not when you’re supposed to be chatting with your boss.
“Madison! How’s it goin’?”
I spun to face the cubicles, dread worming through my intestines. “Sam?”
The teen popped up beside Will’s desk.
“In the flesh, superwoman. They said you were out today, which was a total bummer. Will my man’s been teaching me all kinds of exciting bumper sticker stuff. This job is wicked cool.”
Niko’s big plan was to give Sam a job in my office? Was this for Sam’s benefit or my punishment?
“Yeah, wicked cool,” I echoed. It must be the Illuminea rubbing off on him, because I had a hard time believing a teenager used to breaking into cars would find anything cool or exciting about bumper stickers.
Sam sized up Jamie. “Hey, man,” he said with less enthusiasm.
“Sam, this is Jamie.” I made the introductions on autopilot, barely hearing myself over the voice in my head nattering about what a bad idea it was to introduce the pooka to Sam.
“So, do you, like, work with Madison?” Sam crossed his arms, a challenge in his gaze.
I flicked a glance between the two guys. Jamie could have been Sam’s age. Did Sam think I’d apprenticed Jamie instead of him? He certainly looked jealous.
“Jamie’s a close friend,” I said, earning a beatific smile from the pooka.
Will stood up beside Sam and clapped a hand to his shoulder. A trickle of lux lucis moved from the Illuminea to Sam. I stared, shocked. What the hell was going on here?
A Fistful of Fire: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer Book 2) Page 28
