Greer was generous with his fortune. “Whatever you need, Alex,” he’d say. I woke each morning with an envelope on my nightstand, but since I rarely left the house, the cash usually went untouched. As the weeks passed, the fear of leaving my fortress subsided to a level where I could go out and buy the things I needed. Even Greer eased up on his controlling hold. I had a feeling Leda had something to do with that. Everyone agreed that the target on my back had been reduced to a watch beacon, and my mental health outweighed Greer’s obsessive need to keep me under glass. Besides, I was more valuable as a dangling worm for when the big fish finally decided to surface.
Sophia’s cooking had converted me from a breakfast skipper to a breakfast evangelist. I could recite half a dozen reasons why skipping it was a bad idea, the main reason being French toast. On one of the rare mornings when Greer decided to join me, I declared my independence. “I’ve decided to get a job.”
He didn’t respond.
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Do you need more money?” he asked without looking up from his paper. “I’ll leave more on the table.”
Sophia looked at me sympathetically as I rolled my eyes. She understood what I needed.
“I don’t need a job. I want a job.”
That brought his eyes up from the paper. I could have said I was planning to scale the Empire State Building, and his reaction would have been the same.
“That’s absurd,” he said.
“Sophia has a job.” I glanced at her, apologizing for the reference. “Are you saying Sophia is absurd?”
Greer looked to Sophia and then me. “Enough. We’re not having this discussion. I’ve allowed you to come and go as you please, but—”
“Allowed me? You’ve allowed me?” He needed a reminder that no one owned me. I’d been reasonable for months, letting him make all the decisions for me. Now it was my turn to make a few decisions about my own life.
“I’m not your kept woman.”
The paper slipped from his hand as his eyes rose up to mine. “Fine.”
I waited for the but to follow, but he left it at that. He picked up the fallen paper and resumed reading.
I’d won. I’d actually won my freedom to get a job. The truth was I didn’t need a job or Greer for financial security. I had my own money from the small trust my mother left me, but Greer refused to allow me to live off of it while I was under his roof.
“You’ll need that money someday when this is all over,” he said. “I will not let you waste it while I have more than enough.”
I couldn’t wait to start looking
When I was sixteen, I got a part-time job at the Books and Binders Used Bookstore. The pay was crap, but it was better than working at the Dollar Mart. At least I got first pick on hundreds of used books that came through the door each week.
My vast bookstore experience probably didn’t factor in, but I landed a job at a used bookstore on Columbus Avenue. I think they were just happy to have a live body willing to work for the meager pay. The books were more diverse than those at my previous establishment, but the business model was the same—one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. In an age where the big boxes and the internet were quickly driving a stake through the hearts of the mom-and-pop stores across America, there was still a need for inexpensive books for students and the environmentally conscience. Some people get attached to their books, hoarding them for years after they’ve been read. Others like a clean start to the next story, ending their relationship with a book on the last page and never looking back.
The day after Greer and I came to our agreement on me getting a job, I headed over to the shops along Columbus Avenue. I was walking south when I got a strange urge to scratch my right ear. Good thing I did, because my earring was gone. Silver wasn’t very expensive, but they were my favorite pair. I backtracked over the block to see if I could find it.
It was Saturday and the first day without rain in a week, so the sidewalks were packed. With my eyes focused on the pavement, I worked my way through the mass of people like a salmon swimming against the tide. Maybe it would have been easier to just buy a new pair, but I’d had them for years and there was something perfect about the way they hung from my lobes.
Two blocks back, I spotted the earring and reached down for it. As I stood back up, I saw a hand reach over a stack of books to place a HELP WANTED sign in a window.
“Clever earring.” I took the left one off and put the pair in my purse.
I walked in and applied for whatever position was available. I didn’t care. As long as I got paid in U.S currency, I’d take it.
The low pay was understandable considering the cost to sell a single used paperback. The pros of working with thousands of books and a location within a reasonable walk from Greer’s place made up for the cons. After all, I was looking for something to keep me busy, not for something to pay the rent.
Katie Bishop, a junior at Columbia University, had worked at Shakespeare’s Library for the past eleven months. The first thing I noticed were her striking eyes, but it was the large tattoo crawling over her shoulder and right arm that got my attention. Through her white tank top, the silhouette of the creature—a snake or mythological serpent—continued down her back. She wore a gold ring in her right eyelid and a small ruby in the side of her nose, but oddly, her ears were bare. Her blue eyes were striking against her jet-black pigtails and perfectly symmetrical bangs. Not since Constantine had I seen hair as black, and when the light hit it at a certain angle, it looked midnight blue. She was beautiful.
She took me under her wing on my first day and helped me navigate through the giant stacks of old magazines and books. “Be careful in this area.” She pointed down one of the aisles. “Pervs like to hide back here. Anything with an illustration gets them off. Never buy a used sex manual, Alex.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She was working on her degree in environmental engineering. “Do you drink water from the tap?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Not a good idea, Alex.”
I couldn’t help but see the dichotomy between the girl maverick leading me through the stacks—in a kilt and combat boots—and the thoroughly structured world of mathematics and science. Not that I bought into the stereotype, but I just couldn’t imagine so much free expression being stuck within the confines of corporate America.
Apollo, the store manager, couldn’t have been more than twenty-three. According to Katie he was a genius. He’d graduated from NYU at the age of nineteen with a dual degree in finance and literature.
“That’s an unusual combination,” I said.
“So is he. He just finished his MBA last spring. I’m telling you, the boy is wicked smart. Gets offered shitloads of money all the time, but he refuses to spend his life in what he calls ‘the vacuum of middle management.’”
“If he isn’t interested in business, why’d he bother with an MBA?”
“He wanted to get his master’s in comparative literature, but his father went ballistic and threatened to cut him off. Said it was a useless waste of money. The finance degree and MBA were to please the old man, but once he finished school he told his father, and I quote, ‘I plan to pursue my love of the written word.’”
“Good for him,” I said.
“Yeah, that boy is my personal hero.”
Shakespeare’s Library was large compared to the other shops along Columbus Avenue. Every inch of space from floor to ceiling was strategically used to house the massive inventory. Katie continued with the tour, pointing out each row by genre or general subject matter. A small section of the store was dedicated to what she called “true literature.” In other words, books not targeted at the horror, crime, or romance crowd.
“Did you know that romance is a billion-dollar industry? Sells more than any other genre.”
“I didn’t know this,” I said with genuine surprise.
She took me down an aisle toward the bac
k of the store. “This is the cool stuff. Metaphysics.” I scanned the bindings and realized we were in the section that most correlated with my life at the moment.
“This one’s really cool.” She plucked a book from the shelf: The Works of Aleister Crowley, Vol. 3. Her fingers tiptoed down a few shelves and grabbed another book: Astral: What Other Temple Do You Need? “Out of print. You won’t find this at Barnes and Noble.” She replaced the book and kept moving along the stack. “You see a lot of interesting characters combing through this section.”
“Katie, would you mind watching the register while I steal Alex away from you for a while?” Apollo asked.
“But of course,” she replied.
“I thought we could drudge through the clean-up pile. Gives me an excuse to get to know the new girl. Hope that doesn’t sound creepy,” he said, scratching one side of his face. “Just the three of us here. It’s nice to know whom you’re working with.”
My new boss was tall, lean, and had a head full of curly brown hair in need of a pair of scissors. He fit the description of a nerdy college student more than an entrepreneurial genius. But under his thick glasses and worn khakis, a future hottie was waiting for the right girl to draw him out.
From what I could see, everything Katie told me about Apollo was accurate. He was a brainiac and a genuinely interesting guy. In the course of thirty minutes, he’d told me about his disownment from his wealthy Greek family and his goal to own his own publishing company—a venture that would require some soul selling and emergence of that reluctant businessman. By the time we were through, I had no double Apollo Vidales was a future force to be reckoned with, and anyone who crossed him today would regret it in ten years.
My first assignment was to help Apollo clean up the books people didn’t return to the shelves. Piles of them were stacks on the old library table in the center of the room, and just as many books with dog-eared pages littered the floor. Maybe our fine customers took the shop name a bit too literally.
“I’ll never leave unwanted clothes in a dressing room again,” I said.
Apollo and I must have sat on the floor for another hour sorting through all the books. It was impossible to organize them without commenting on the ones we’d read, giving commentary on our likes and dislikes.
We’d just about reached the end of the pile when I leaned back, misjudging the distance, and hit the stack hard.
“Ow!”
“You okay?” Apollo asked.
Something hard hit me on the head and then bounced in my lap. I rubbed the tender spot as I looked at the offending book. The title was written in bold letters across the worn fabric cover: Prophecies. “How appropriate,” I snorted.
“Something interesting?”
“Finding a book like this.” I shook my head. “Inside joke.”
“Looks like that book found you.”
I opened the cover and fanned through the pages. It was a reminder that I still had work to do, and this job was second in priority.
“Don’t worry,” I mumbled, “I haven’t forgotten.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I put the book back on the shelf.
By the time we finished cleaning up, it was almost five o’clock and I’d made it through my first day. Tomorrow was my late night. I was expected to work the closing shift two nights per week, and that meant leaving the shop after dark. Greer would have a field day with that.
“Bye, Alex,” Katie said without looking up from the book she was reading. “I think I’m going to like working with you.”
“Your first day went well? Hope Katie and I—and the enormous pay—haven’t scared you off,” Apollo said. “See you tomorrow?”
I grabbed my bag and reached for the door. If they only knew how welcome their brand of normalcy was, they wouldn’t have asked.
“Yep. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I went to my new job each day and enjoyed the gift of a halfway normal life. The fact that Greer’s spies were everywhere didn’t matter, because any day that didn’t include a witch, a wolf, or something equally nasty trying to snatch me, was a peaceful one.
The more I got to know my co-workers, the more I was convinced that I wasn’t such a freak after all. We each brought our own brand of fucked-up to the table, and as different as the three of us were, we all shared a common goal—to figure out where we fit and how to maintain some semblance of sanity until we got there.
My first week went by smoothly. On my late nights, one of Greer’s men was usually waiting for me at the curb. Sometimes they made themselves known, and sometimes they followed me in shadow. Rhom always walked with me. Once I got to know him, he moved to the top of my list—right next to Leda.
“Sorry you got this shitty babysitting job,” I said to him as he walked me home one night. “I’m sure it’s not what you signed up for.”
“Please.” He dismissed the apology with a shake of his head. “Gives me a chance to wind down.”
“Tough job lately?”
“Greer’s got us patrolling the city like the fucking Secret Service.” He glanced at me. “Sorry.”
I snorted. “Said the sailor to the sailor.”
“You’re my kind of girl, Alex.”
“For the Vargr?” I asked.
“All of them. We’re seeing a lot of activity. Hence the escort duty.”
I stopped walking. His back and shoulders expanded as he took a deep breath. “I’m not moving until you talk.”
Poor Rhom. All he had to do was collect me and get me home safe. He should have known that his comments wouldn’t sail past me without question.
“We found another one.”
I didn’t reply immediately, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he was referring to. Life had been peaceful and somewhat normal for a few weeks. I’d made some friends and had a job I actually liked, and now I had to find out what another one meant.
“Another what?”
“The Vargr left a second marker. Lower East Side.”
“When?”
He didn’t respond. We stood staring at each other without saying a word. Rhom was a smart man and had no intention of driving the conversation any further. He’d already said too much and knew he’d pay for that indiscretion.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think people have the right to know when their life is about to be compromised.”
Compromised. I guess it was a kinder word than wrecked or destroyed.
“Apparently Greer doesn’t.”
“Come on, Alex. Greer will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, and that includes keeping you psychologically sound.”
“Oh, so now I’m crazy.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What? He thinks I’m too delicate to handle the truth? That is just like him to think that.”
Rhom’s shoulders heaved as he closed his eyes and took a therapeutic breath. “Would you just listen for a minute, Alex.” I folded my arms and waited for him to continue. “If you had the power to protect someone from harm, and you could do that without scaring the hell out of them, would you do it? For someone you gave a shit about?”
“So you’re saying Greer gives a shit?”
He looked at me like I was an insufferable child. “Conversation is over. You want more, you’ll have to talk to the man himself.”
I didn’t take it personal. Rhom was a precious ally, and he’d already said more than he had to. As grateful as I was for the truth, I felt guilty for putting him in a situation that may compromise his relationship with Greer.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll work it out. Takes more than a little truth for Greer to kick my ass.”
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Ask all you want. Can’t guarantee an answer, though.”
“Do I ever have any privacy?”
He hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of an answer. None was given, w
hich was answer enough.
Katie intercepted me when I walked in the shop the next afternoon. “You’re bruising me.” She had a vise-like grip on my arm, and I wondered if I was about the meet the real Katie Bishop.
“Oh, sorry.” She loosened her fingers and pointed to a man pulling books in the non-fiction section. He was medium height, pudgy, and looked fiftyish. His suit looked two sizes too big, which made him look even pudgier, and his shoes were draped with pooling fabric that trailed along the floor as he walked. I was surprised he hadn’t tripped over it yet. The guy was no supermodel, but I didn’t take Katie for a snob, and it seemed out of character for her to make fun of people based on their looks.
“See that?” she said.
What was left of his dark hair was slicked back with some kind of oil. I could tell by looking at him that if I got any closer, I’d get a whiff of some outdated cologne with a hint of leather or spice. Other than his lack of style and hygiene, there was nothing significant about him except for his facial expression. The man looked like he’d just eaten something sour or rancid.
“Hmm, he looks happy today,” she observed. “Rolph Milford. He comes in here every few weeks and flounces around like he owns the place. Rude as hell.” She grinned at me. “If you can handle that one, you’re golden.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Consider this a part of your probationary training.”
“I don’t have a probationary period.”
“You do now.” She patted me on the ass. “Go get him, tiger.”
I grabbed a box of books and started restocking the shelf on the other side of Rolph Milford’s aisle. Since he was a regular, I assumed he knew his way around the place and wouldn’t need any help. Assumptions are for fools.
“You.”
The sharp pronoun came from the other side of the shelf. I looked around to see if it was meant for me, saw no one, and kept working.
“That would be your cue to do your job,” Milford said.
I nearly fell backward when I saw him peering at me from the next aisle. His face appeared through a hole in the shelf where the books had been pulled out. I was wrong about the cologne. Rolph Milford smelled more like hair grease and stale tobacco.
The Amulet Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 1) Page 21
