Synergist

by Chloe Adler

  “She’s not an object, Cheryl.”

  “When she’s here, in my vectum, she certainly is. That’s what I’m paying her for. If she doesn’t like it,” Cheryl turns her cold eyes toward me, “you can find another job.”

  I clench my jaw shut to keep from saying something I know I’ll regret later, like when I’m homeless and penniless because of my big, fat mouth.

  Drama-Free Drinking

  By the time I get home, I’m exhausted and it’s crazy late. Almost morning, but not quite. Grateful that Jules stayed with me for my entire shift, I insisted I was fine alone in my house and sent her on her way.

  I fling my denim jacket on the floor and drag myself upstairs to my room, flopping facedown on my bed. Before I can take off my clothes, wash my face or brush my teeth, I’m fast asleep.

  The doorbell rouses me. Peering around my sunlit room, I jump up and run downstairs to fling it open. Standing on my stoop is my landlord, Cheryl’s brother. The harsh midday light does not help Bob’s complexion in the slightest. His palm is out.

  “I heard you made a pretty penny last night.” He leers at me, licking his cracked lips. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

  “Good morning to you too, Bob.” I force myself to smile.

  “That ain’t gonna work with me, little girl. Just because you’re getting paid to whore yourself at Cheryl’s doesn’t mean all men will fall at your pretty little feet. Plus, I’ve never been into chocolate,” he smirks.

  Oh no he didn’t! Clenching my fists at my sides so hard my fingernails cut into my palms, I force myself to calm down. This man holds everything near and dear to me in the center of his sticky hand. I ought to be used to racist comments by now. It’s not like I haven’t heard my share of them, growing up here in the Edge, where Signum outnumber humans and Caucasians outnumber people of color. But I’m not, and I rarely let it fly. I grit my teeth. And is it common knowledge that Cheryl turned Ichor into a whorehouse? Does Janice know? Certainly Jules isn’t involved on that level. Is she?

  There’s no point in arguing with him that I’m not a whore. “Well aren’t you your usual dashing self.”

  He sneers, revealing yellowed teeth, then clears his throat and holds his hand out again. “Money, now, girl. No more distractions.”

  “Wait here.” I slam the door in his face and go to retrieve my wallet, counting out all the money I earned last night. Vasily paid a hundred and fifty for my time, despite my protests that I hadn’t done anything for it. He tried to slip me even more but I declined. Miss Cheryl collected her fifty percent. I left Gregory’s money on the bureau where he’d deposited it. I wanted nothing to do with his dirty cash.

  I open the door and place seventy-five, my entire night’s take, into Bob’s outstretched palm.

  “That’s all? A good-looking whore like you should have no trouble earning top dollar. I’m going to have to get on Cheryl, she’s a terrible pimp.”

  That’s it. “I’m not a whore. I am working an honest job for honest wages. This is the most anyone can legally earn per night at Ichor.”

  Bob eyes me, tilting his head to the side and then shaking it. “My mistake. I’ll be back at the end of the week for the rest of the money. You owe me another 925.” He turns to go but stops at the end of the stoop. “If you’re ever interested in making a hell of a lot more than seventy-five a night there, just ask Cheryl to show you how.”

  What an ass. I slam the door and lean my back against it. How the hell am I going to come up with an extra thousand dollars a month? It will take me most of the month to come up with the extra rent money, and forget about indulgences like food. I’ll have to get two jobs.

  Jules answers on the first ring.

  “What up, skank?”

  “Can I come over?”

  “Shit. Of course. You know you don’t have to call first. What up? You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nod decisively even though she can’t see it and walk down my street toward her house.

  Jules lives in the cutest little studio bungalow right on Discovery Highway, facing the ocean. If it were any bigger or if I could talk myself into leaving my parents’ house, I’d have shacked up with her there years ago. She mostly pays for the view, but it’s subsidized since she, like me, is a minority—a human. In this town, it’s practically a dirty word.

  The walk is lovely and not too far. The wind off the ocean rustles my hair, which I forgot to tie down. When the founders created our town, it was initially all Signum, with witches in charge. An all-Signum haven between San Diego and Mexico, Distant Edge was a place they could call their own. At the time, it was the first Signum community in the world, though there are several now. Before that, this place was nothing but scrubby desert and beach. Not long after, mostly at the vampires’ urging, humans were invited to live in the Edge too. I guess the vamps got tired of takeout.

  I take my time, crisscrossing my way to Jules’s. Like most humans in the Edge, I live on the far end of town, also known as the poor end. As I leave my parents’ little subdivision, the houses grow larger and less cookie-cutter. Our house is not on the water. Turning onto Discovery Highway, I marvel at the manicured front lawns, abundant flowers and tasteful lawn ornaments.

  My phone rings, no doubt Jules wondering why I’m not there yet.

  “On my way, bitch ho,” I answer.

  “Amaya,” laughs my mother.

  “Mom! Sorry, I thought—”

  “—it was Jules, I know, honey. That was easy to decipher.”

  “How are you? How’s dad? The job?”

  “We love it here.” She giggles. “It’s like we’re teenagers again. But sweetheart, we miss you.” She clears her throat. “I miss you. You’re my everything, sweet one.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I fake a laugh. “Stop it. Enjoy yourself.” Nausea coils up from the pit of my stomach and I swallow it back down. I adore my mother, who, other than Jules, is the most important person in my life. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s weird for my mom to be my friend, but she was so young when she had me that she’s more like a confidante than a mother. And having my confidante half a world away is killing me.

  “Is everything all right there? Do you need anything?”

  No way am I going to tell her about last night. She’ll drop everything and hop on a plane. For the first time, she and Dad are living the life they were supposed to before my unplanned arrival squashed their dreams. “Everything is completely fine. What I need is for you and Dad to stop worrying about me and focus on yourselves. Can you do that? For me?” With those last two words tacked on, I know she’ll acquiesce. My mother is too loving, too self-sacrificing. It’s in her nature to put me before herself.

  She sniffs. “Of course, sweetheart.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you. Your happiness right now is what’s driving my own so put down the phone and get on with it. Okay?”

  “I love you too, darling. So much.”

  “I know,” my lips curve.

  “Take care, little angel. I’ll call you again soon.”

  We blow kisses to each other and hang up. I look around to make sure no one saw that, then cross to the ocean side of the road. Walking down the highway toward Jules’s house, I break into song. I love to sing, but I’m so self-conscious, I only do it when no one else is around. The palm trees sway in the wind, dropping their browning fronds. Surfers dot the horizon. Birds chirp happily, and I stop to bend and pick one of the wild flowers defying the season on the side of the road.

  Minutes later, Jules opens the door before I knock and yanks me inside. “What the hell took you so long?”

  “I walked.”

  “Dude, really? I would have picked you up. I thought you were grabbing the bus.”

  “Why? It’s a gorgeous day.

  “Because the bus is faster and exercise sucks.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  Moving past her, I plop down on her futon. “I love your new shabby chic cabinet.” I
eye the piece doubling as a coffee table with lust. Jules has done a great job with her studio. When she first moved in, I tried to talk her out of the futon, but she loves to entertain. And she was right—with everything in the tiny space doing double duty, the place is twice as inviting and half as cluttered.

  “Thanks, bitch. Craigslist. Twenty-five bucks.”

  “Sometimes I think you were born with a psychic radar for deals.”

  “Yup.” She taps her head with a forefinger and plops down next to me on the couch. “If you want anything to drink, get it yourself. You know the rules here.”

  “I do.” My smile broadens and I lean my head back.

  “So? Why are you here? Besides the fact that you miss me whenever I’m not near.”

  I snort. “I need serious Jules right now, ’K?”

  “Sure, sure, whatevs. Hit me.”

  “I told you about Bob?”

  “Raising your parents’ rent? Old news.” I punch her lightly in the arm. She smiles and throws it around my shoulders. “Aren’t you making enough at Ichor?”

  “I’ll have to work for three straight weeks just to make the extra grand he’s pinching me for.”

  “So fucking uncool. Is there anything I can say that will make you call Stan and Isla?” She pulls her legs underneath her.

  “I’m not calling my parents. We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re the squasher of dreams, I get it. But they don’t see it that way.”

  “I don’t care, I’m doing this on my own.” I bite my lip.

  “Just like you do everything else on your own.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” My lips tighten and I take a deep breath to regulate my tone.

  “Nothing. Whatever, go on.”

  “I need a second job. Can you think of anywhere I can work without a reference?”

  She pulls her arm back and chews on a cuticle, a sign that she’s truly concentrating. After several minutes, I get up and go into her kitchen. “Want anything?” I call.

  “Jack over ice.”

  I open the cabinet she usually keeps her alcohol in.

  “Just kidding, whore. Grab me a fizzy.”

  Closing the cabinet, I swivel around to her fridge and open the door. Not only does Jules have the tiniest kitchen I’ve ever been in, it’s also the cleanest. There are no magnets on her fridge, no photos, nothing. Its gleaming-white surface mocks me. Our fridge at home is covered with photos, fortunes and movie tickets. I really should do something about it before my parents return from Taiwan in a few months.

  I return from the kitchen with two cans of Jules’s favorite orange-flavored fizzy water to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor. She’s lit the fire in her gas fireplace, even though it’s early fall in perpetually warm SoCal. That was the second reason she chose this place, after the view. I can get behind that.

  “You, on couch.”

  She points and I do as she says after handing her a can, which she pops open with a thumb.

  “I’m still really pissed off about what Michael did to you at the Harbor House. Are you sure you don’t want to go to Sheldon and plead your case?”

  I open my own can and take a swig. My old manager basically screwed me by falsely accusing me of embezzlement so he could hire his girlfriend in my stead. “It’s his word against mine. You know that. He’s been the manager there for years and as far as we know, he’s never done this to anyone else, so why would they believe me?”

  “Do you think it was a CYA move? You know, blame the black girl?”

  I shrug. “Or maybe he is racist and it’s as simple as that. It doesn’t matter now. Moving on. Any ideas?”

  “One, but you probably won’t like it.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s better than upstairs at Ichor, which you need to talk to me about. Did you know it was a whorehouse too when you set me up with a job there?”

  Jules looks away. “Doesn’t mean we have to go that route. We’re not forced to prostitute ourselves.”

  That’d be a yes. “Your next brilliant idea? Spill.”

  “Vasily.”

  I stand up and put my can on her new, squat dresser-slash-coffee-table. “What about Vasily?”

  She stands up too, gently tugging me back onto the futon couch with her. “He’s looking to hire someone.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I may have overheard him talking to Cheryl.”

  “You were spying?”

  She shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it spying. I would call it proactively anticipating my boss’s and customer’s needs. Anyway, he told her he’s looking for some help at his house but I didn’t stick around for details.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Other than he’s hot, you mean?” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

  I snort. “Yeah, J, other than that.”

  She holds up her hand, fist clenched, palm facing me. Her first finger shoots into the air, her thumb crossing the other three. “He’s rich.”

  “So?”

  Her middle finger shoots up. “He has a bunch of hot friends.”

  “You seem to know a lot about him, yet you’ve never once mentioned him or his hot friends?”

  “I’ve seen them around town, but they seem pretty unapproachable. One of the girls at Ichor interviewed for a job with them a few weeks ago but he didn’t hire her. It’s why he was talking to Cheryl again about it.” Her ring finger pops up. “Apparently, he’s quite particular.”

  “What did the girl say? What was the job for?”

  “I’m not sure, but . . .” Her pinky finger joins the other three “She said his house was massive and he already has live-in help. He never came on to the girl, so safety wasn’t an issue.” Her thumb pops out to the side. “He was professional and respectful.” Jules cups her fingers like a mannequin and gives me a stiff princess wave before dropping it to her lap. “She’s bummed she didn’t get the job, whatever it was. It pays a lot more than working at the vectum.”

  “So Vasily comes to Ichor a lot then?”

  “About once every week or two.”

  “I don’t get it, Jules. Why would someone that hot need to pay for a blood draw? I always thought vectums were where ugly vamps that couldn’t get donors went.”

  “Did you get a look at any of the other customers last night, or were you too busy ogling Vasily?” She bumps my shoulder.

  I ignore the snark. “What do you mean?”

  “There aren’t any uggos at Ichor.” She tips the can back and drains it, then crushes the can and puts it on the table next to her. “When they started, that was the original intention. But vampires use vectums for all sorts of reasons now.”

  “Like what?”

  She raises a brow.

  “Other than to buy sex.”

  She hmms, thinking. “Drama-free drinking, for one. Donors come with messy emotions. Out-of-towners passing through. Vampires looking for someone different than their usual fare to spice things up. Someone new to town who doesn’t have four donors lined up yet. Or maybe a regular donor isn’t available when they need them, or they’re in between, like one moved away and hasn’t been replaced yet. That happens a lot.”

  “And you know all this how?”

  “I’ve been working at Ichor for a while. I like to ask questions. They like to answer them.”

  It’s true, Jules is always one to snoop a scoop and this time especially, I’m delighted to be on the receiving end of the dirt.

  Mind Reader

  “I’m glad you called me,” says Vasily as he sits beside me on the park bench.

  I swing a hand at the landscaped area around us. “I don’t know why so many people flock to the beach when this is here.”

  His eyes shimmer with an almost golden hue, like sunlight itself, but he says nothing.

  Looking away from his handsome face, I sigh. The park had been overgrown and wild until last year, when Sadie Holt, a witch with a ge
nius for landscapes, worked her magic on it. The beach is wild and flashy, beautiful, but still steps from busy Discovery Highway. Here, the lush plantings and dense foliage cut out the hum of the city. Even so, I prefer overgrown to manicured, unkempt to tamed.

  “I miss the wild,” Vasily says, echoing my thoughts. But he isn’t looking at the park, he’s looking at me. “What’s on your mind?”

  Licking my lips, I place my hands in my lap and look out at the flowers and shrubs. “I need another job. I hear you might be hiring?”

  “Did something happen last night?” His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach for mine but thought better of it.

  I toss my head. “No, it’s not that. I mean I need an additional job and no one will hire me without a reference.”

  “Didn’t you used to work at the Harbor House Cafe?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I asked around.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to know more about you.”

  I don’t know how to take that. On the one hand, I like his honesty. And I am here to ask for a job, so I guess asking around about me is to be expected. On the other hand, it seems . . . invasive. And who knows what he heard, given the stories Michael’s been telling. Or, ick, Bob.

  After the silence stretches out for a moment, he reaches for my hand again. “May I?”

  I nod.

  “Amaya, you are a very special woman.” I redden and he gives it a little squeeze.

  “I’m not special.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, but no matter. We’ll speak of your gifts another time.”

  My what?

  “I will never lie to you.” He holds my gaze. “I may withhold at times, but I will never lie.”

  “Okay.” I have no idea why he’s saying this to me.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I shouldn’t, but . . . “Yes.” I lower my head but still maintain eye contact. “I do.”