by Evelyn Snow
“You can’t keep us here.”
The statement wasn’t true, but I figured a good offense was the best defense. Especially when dealing with a twitchy bridge tender under threat of a lunar eclipse.
Ballard Kepler glared at me. At least he’d come down from the third floor and was throwing his authority around at eye level. “Yes, I can. I’m in charge, and I can do whatever I deem important for bridge security.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I can. But then, it’s not really about the law. You need to learn that everything isn’t about you, Evangeline. If no one else will step up, I guess the job falls on my shoulders.”
Ballard looked like he‘d been run over by a pickle wagon. Both solar and lunar eclipses had a big effect on the bridge, weakening the Pale and the protection it offered the magical realm. That said, Ballard was in rough shape. His hair was dull and slicked against his skull. Every bit of color had been leached from his skin. For a guy who’d started out paler than the Pale, that was saying something.
“Fine, you hate me,” I shot back. “Get in line. How is my friend here supposed to get home? Or do you hate him, too?”
“Evie—” Holden began. I shushed him with a hand.
Ballard made a sour face. “Not my problem.”
“Yes, like it or not, it is your problem. Or it will be your problem in about a minute.” I could feel my temper getting the better of me and, rules or no rules, I didn’t care.
Wrong.
The first rule of the bridge: The bridge tender makes the rules. The second rule of the bridge: Never question the bridge tender. I had so many issues with the first two, I’d never bothered learning the other rules.
“If you could let us pass, we’d be grateful,” Holden offered, stepping between me and the bridge tender while scanning the open lanes on the other side of the turnstile. There was no traffic. All the shops on the lower levels were closed. Behind us, Serenity Point had rolled up the sidewalks, shuttered their windows, and battened down for the night.
“This isn’t personal. I’d like to go home, too,” Ballard complained, “but I can’t.”
I frowned. He lived on the bridge, so he was home. Pointing that out, however, seemed counterproductive. And as long as I was in his sights, every word Ballard said was very personal or maybe that was just me.
“You always put in long hours,” Holden said in a conciliatory tone, “without getting the credit you—”
“Your flattery is wasted.”
“Still,” Holden continued, undeterred, “you deserve to have help. It’s not fair you operate the bridge alone with almost zero support. If you put out a call for help, I’d volunteer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ballard sneered. “Do you know the first thing about ethereal physics? Don’t bother answering. I know you don’t. Maintaining a trans-dimensional bridge is the very definition of a delicate balance. The two of you are the last people I should have to remind that we can’t afford another disaster.”
Through the hazy clouds and fog of the Pale, I could barely make out the line of the California coastline on the other side. It was almost dark in the Greater World, and I hated walking to the bus stop along the highway when it was late. Gunny’s warning from this morning came back. Be sure you’re under a roof before dark.
Also, I had a new badge and a new career about to begin. I shot Ballard my shiniest smile. “You’re here. We’re here. Give us ten minutes—five if we hustle—and we’ll be across the bridge before you know it. Then you can close up shop and go home. Everybody wins.”
He ran a hand over his lank hair. “I’ve already begun the shutdown process and—”
“You can make an exception this one time, my good man,” came a booming voice from behind me.
I turned to see Professor Ashmore approaching. Where had he been a moment ago? The roadway had been empty. Apparently, Sullivan Shield wasn’t the only wizard who knew how to translocate.
“Professor,” Ballard blurted. He hastily straightened his jacket and scrubbed at a spot on his sleeve. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s not your evening for a stroll.”
Ashmore beamed at the three of us. “Hello, all.” It never failed to amaze me that a scarecrow of a man who looked like the sounds from his throat should emerge in a thin and raspy wheeze had the voice of an operatic baritone. He was still wearing his stylish houndstooth sport coat. Black straight leg jeans and a pair of loafers without socks had replaced the simple trousers and oxfords he’d worn earlier.
“My evening has been like the famous quote about life happening when you’re making other plans or something to that effect.” He hesitated, scrunching up his face. “John Lennon, if I’m not mistaken.” The professor prided himself on his knowledge of Greater World pop culture.
Ballard mopped his brow. “I’m afraid the shutdown has begun.”
“What’s this?” Professor Ashmore pulled a small black notebook from his inside pocket and consulted a page. “According to my documentation, we have thirty-nine minutes remaining.” He peered over the top edge of his unframed glasses. “Am I in error?”
Judging by Ballard’s caught-in-the-act expression, the error belonged to the bridge tender, but Professor Ashmore said, “It would be very kind of you to make an exception. I know I won’t forget it. How about you, Miss Jinx? Mr. Blackwood? Can you find forgiveness in your hearts?”
In a rush, I said, “Yes, I’d be very grateful.” Holden echoed his sentiments.
Ashmore tucked the notebook away. “There you have it, Ballard. No fuss, and best of all—no grudges. I know how you hate unpleasantness.”
After what felt like a long deliberation, Ballard turned on his heel and stalked toward the Crossing House. He passed close enough to mutter for my ears alone, “You owe me one. Make no mistake, I’ll collect. When I do, don’t even dream of refusing.”
Completely nonplussed, I let it ride. With no idea what I could do for Ballard Kepler—now or in the future—I was about to say something I’d probably regret when Professor Ashmore went on. “Everyone I talk to in town appreciates your efforts to keep us all safe, Ballard.” He waved a hand at the spire arcing into the sky high above us. “Getting any interesting readings these days?”
A faint green light glowed at the tip of the spire. It measured the magical energies of the Pale and in the realms on either side of the fault. Holden would have traded a year of his life for a closer look at the inner workings that made the bridge function. His offer to volunteer to help hadn’t been flattery, but I doubted Ballard saw it that way.
With his back to us, pushing buttons and pulling levers inside a panel he’d opened, Ballard said blandly, “The readings are about what you’d expect—if you knew what to expect.”
The professor rolled his eyes and said in a loud whisper, “True artists never reveal their secrets. It’s part of their charm.”
“Art has nothing to do with it!” Ballard shouted while the professor gave us a conspiratorial wink.
It was work to make myself smile in response—like watching Drunk Uncle and Nerd Uncle argue at Thanksgiving. All I wanted to do was go home and let them fight over the last piece of pumpkin cheesecake.
A minute later, Ballard closed the panel and waved us on. “You’re free to go.” He paused before adding darkly, “But I wouldn’t advise you to dawdle.”
Professor Ashmore gushed profuse thanks—making it sound like Ballard had parted the Pacific Ocean with a flyswatter—and strode for the Greater World.
I held off following because Holden stood with his head tilted back, studying the spire high over our heads. “Unless that thing’s blinking the secrets of the universe in Morse code, let’s go,” I hissed.
“Wait…” Holden didn’t move.
Following where he was looking, I saw the light on the tip of spire had shifted colors and was no longer green.
“If you’re not on the other side in nine minutes and twenty-three seconds,” Ballard snapped, “I’m clos
ing the bridge. Hope you’ve learned how to swim—or fly—because I won’t be responsible for where you end up, dead or alive.”
Always the charmer.
“On our way.” I dragged Holden by the arm, and he stumbled after me, muttering under his breath. Ignoring Holden, I shouted to the bridge tender, “Thanks again.”
When we’d covered enough distance to be out of earshot, I asked Holden, “I get it that you’re fascinated with the bridge, but what was that all about?”
“It was purple,” he said. “Have you ever observed the light turn purple before? Because I haven’t.”
“You ‘re the bridge whisperer, not me. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know. There wasn’t anything about purple in the old traveler’s journal either. Not in about a hundred years of observations. I call that strange.”
“Strange and Ballard go together like peanut butter and chocolate.”
“It’s still strange,” he said. “Do you think the professor could have done something to it?”
“That’s impossible,” I scoffed, “and besides, Ashmore didn’t use a wand or voice a spell. Even without a wand, I think I would have noticed. And Ballard would die before letting anyone mess with the bridge.”
Holden ducked his chin and walked faster, apparently lost in thought. With his long legs gobbling the ground, I had to trot to keep up. We made it to the other side with time to spare before the clouds of the Pale closed behind us.
Along the side of the highway, a black Mercedes idled. The professor stood next to the vehicle. “May I offer you two a ride?”
“I live nearby,” Holden said. “Evie might—”
“No,” I interjected hastily, “but thank you for the offer.”
It was an easy choice considering which I’d hate more—walking alone along a dark highway, worrying about Gunny’s warning, or being stuck in close quarters with the professor. I was sure Ashmore wanted to interrogate me about my test today. While it would be an opportunity to counter whatever Cassandra might have told him in The Demon’s Horn, I was too tired to care. I’d only managed a few hours of sleep the night before, and it had been a long day.
“If you’re sure …” The professor opened the rear passenger door. I glimpsed the side of the driver’s pale face, dark hair and matching suit. He looked like a human accessory that had come with the luxury car.
As he climbed in the back seat, the professor finished, saying, “Congratulations on your test today, Miss Jinx. Very impressive. I find nothing more satisfying than seeing young people come into their own.” The door closed after him and a tinted window rolled down. “In case it has slipped your recollection, I’d like to remind you my offer still stands.”
“Um … thanks, but I’m good.”
“If you change your mind, I’m at the Whitfield Clinic most days. The estate is off the coast highway north of the city, just down the peninsula. You can’t miss it.” He gave me a card.
The window slid up and the big car eased onto the highway, made a U-turn, and sped north.
To his credit, Holden covered nearly half a mile of walking before he asked, “What was that about? Why would you need rehab?”
“I don’t … need rehab. Why?”
“Because Whitfield is a rehab hospital. It’s popular with the rich and famous because their location out on the peninsula is remote. Makes it hard for the paparazzi to get good shots of the latest celebrity meltdown.”
“How did you hear about the place?”
“Buddy of mine worked there for a while.” He slid a gaze at me. “What’s your deal with Ashmore?”
There were a lot of things that happened in Serenity Point five years ago we’d never talked about.
“Remember when I was still in the city dungeon and the covens convinced the Wheel to have me banned?”
“Yeah, but that was nothing more than fear in the heat of the moment. They never proved anything about you. Besides, Devi made them back down and reverse the ruling.”
“That’s how it worked out. In the beginning, the covens were winning hearts and minds. Everyone was afraid of me. Even Devi had her doubts. That’s when Professor Ashmore offered to put me through a battery of tests.”
“Tests for what?”
“He never gave me any details except he wanted to make me the centerpiece of a research project. The gist of it was to prove my identity as a witch and a human and that I wasn’t a demon from the void between the worlds.” Five years after the fact, it sounded so crazy coming from my lips, I almost laughed. Holden didn’t.
He grimaced. “That’s messed up.”
“In his weird way, Ashmore was trying to help. Who knows? He might have been right.” I shrugged. “Anyway, Devi stopped the testing talk before anyone ran with it.”
While I hadn’t been enthusiastic about letting the professor poke and prod, I couldn’t see why Devi had been so against the idea. Maybe if a renowned expert had offered his opinion regarding my identity, it might have changed attitudes. I would have been able to point to something definitive. Who wouldn’t want to be able to whip out a card certifying she was definitely not evil?
I’d also wondered about Devi’s unflagging support. She’d never let her doubts about me get in the way. While she and my mom had been best friends, my mom had been gone a long time, and Devi and I weren’t family. Still, her championing of me had been powerful enough to force Fiona Storm to reconsider her options. Who did that? No one, as far as I knew. Kerri—who had forgotten more about Serenity Point politics than I would ever know—assured me that once the Wheel banned someone, they never changed their position. My case was the only time it had happened in modern memory. It was why Cassandra and her ilk liked to point out how the rules were different for Evangeline Jinx.
My doubts about Devi made me feel disloyal and ungrateful. For the last five years, she’d been nothing but helpful. I couldn’t forget there was no love lost between the MBI and the Wheel. As the respective heads of each organization, Devi and Fiona had been getting after each other for a long time. It was probably nothing more than politics. I didn’t want to find myself in the middle of their battles.
“I get that the professor was trying to help,” Holden said, interrupting my train of thought. “What’s messed up is the idea that you’re dangerous.”
“Only to shrub roses.”
“I have it on good authority you’re on the Rose Society’s Ten Most Wanted list.”
“Do they have a list?”
“I’ll bet they do now. Don’t you feel special?”
Another mile down the highway, we hung a right down a sloping two-track toward the doublewide Holden called home. Calling it a doublewide was being generous. The home had started out life as a single-width modular before they had attached a second unit. A lean-to occupied one side to expand the living space with a covered porch running the length of the opposite side.
Behind the house stood a dilapidated barn that served as a warehouse. After his father shuttered his business, Holden continued scavenging for valuables and quality junk he repaired for resale online and at flea markets.
A thick layer of moss covered the roof joining the two sides of the house and rounded the harsh, metal edges. If I squinted, the mossy green allowed me to imagine I was looking at a cottage in Middle Earth—almost—and only because I wanted to see things that weren’t there, like mythical cats in the shadows. The bobtailed semi-hauler parked in front of the house wrecked the illusion of the Shire. It must have arrived recently because as we passed, I got a whiff of diesel fuel.
“Did you know your dad was coming home?” Since he’d stopped trading in the Nightingale Lands, Holden’s father worked as a long-haul truck driver in the Greater World.
Holden glanced toward the rapidly darkening horizon where the moon would rise later tonight. “If he’s home, it’s because of the eclipse.” What little I knew about shifter traditions was that they hunkered down during the eclipse season.
&
nbsp; “Will you be all right?”
Holden bristled. “That whole thing about werewolves going mad during a full moon is an urban legend. An eclipse plus a full moon ramps our instincts, sure. That only means a wolf is more likely to head home for the duration. If they’re smart, that’s what they do.” He shrugged. “At least my dad’s home—even if it’s only because he’s putting together a poker tournament. You want to come in for a while?”
He hesitated, looking from me to the house and back again. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. My dad’s friends are…well, I mean, you know how they get. It’s going to be a weird night.”
“I should be going. If I don’t, I’ll miss the last bus back to town.”
“Now you’re MBI, did you find out when you get paid?”
“Devi didn’t mention anything. The job has to pay, right?” Magic was the currency of power in the Nightingale Lands. They handled other transactions with gold. I’d heard talk about a movement for a new currency, but nothing had come of it so far.
Holden snorted. “Did you expect them to have you sign a W-2?”
“Only if the W was for wand, and it was a requisition form. They owe me a wand for the one Cassandra shredded. What if they don’t pay?” I’d wondered if that was why Devi and Sullivan both had side gigs as bounty hunters.
“Stop expecting the worst.” Holden rested his hands on my shoulders and hit me with his trademark serious expression. “You’re letting Cassandra get to you. Don’t do that. She’s just—”
“The perfect endpoint of witch evolution as we know it?”
“No,” he said as he pulled his hands away, “but I wouldn’t throw her out of bed.”
“Six thousand years of magical refinement and all you can think about is sex?”
“Hey, I’m a wolf. I have my priorities.”
“You going to mark that girl, boy or just keep her dangling? In my book that isn’t fair.”
Holden stepped away from me as his father emerged from the deep shadow of the covered porch. Shane Blackwood was as tall as his son, but where Holden was lean, muscle corded his father’s arms. His dark hair was shaggy and always looked messy. He wore jeans and cowboy boots and his chambray shirt hung open, a can of beer in one lazy hand.
