Forbidden Fruit (Corine Solomon #3.5)

Forbidden Fruit (Corine Solomon #3.5) Page 5

“Well-played, Ms. Cheney. I assure you, you won’t spot me next time. Not until it’s too late.”

“What does that even mean?” It sounded like a threat.

But he’s already striding away, crossing the busy street with a speed and agility entirely foreign to his build. Belatedly I realize, that bastard knew my name. At that point, my flight instinct kicks in. I grab my stuff and sprint all the way home.

Maria’s at work, so she doesn’t witness my collapse against the front door. All my natural intuition tells me that guy wasn’t normal. I feel like such a dipshit since I’ve been full of big ideas about taking care of myself, but this is weightier than dinner or the phone bill. So I type a succinct message to Jesse about my creeper and then send him the photo.

I’m surprised when he calls me five minutes later. I figured he’d be tied up in interviews today, but he might have the day off. I haven’t memorized his work schedule or anything.

“You all right, sugar?” His voice is buttery sweet, warm with concern, and my toes actually curl.

“Yeah, he just freaked me out.”

“Tell me what happened, exactly what he said.”

So I repeat the encounter, word for word. He sounds troubled when he replies. “Sounds like you’ve drawn somebody’s eye.”

“Not a normal perv, right?”

“I’d say no. Be careful, okay?”

“Do you think this has to do with the spell?”

He hesitates. I so wish I could see his face right now. “Hard to say. Maybe.”

“Chuch and Eva know something, by the way. But they’re not talking. Did you find anything out?”

“Sort of. There’s no relevant chatter on Area 51, but…today, my boss asked me if I was still dating that sweet redheaded girl.”

He’s seeing someone? What the hell. Somehow I keep my voice from trembling. “Well, are you?”

“That’s the strange thing, Shan. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never gone out with anyone like that.”

“Just how big is this spell?” I wonder.

“No idea. But we need to get to the bottom of it.” His voice deepens, softens. “You’ll stay safe for me, right?”

“Anything for you,” I answer breezily, and I guarantee he has no idea how much I mean it.

Five

Sunday is laundry day. I use two bucks to wash my work uniforms, which is almost all I wear during the week, so I’m set when Monday rolls around.

The next morning, I take the bus to work, as usual, and I’m jumpy, watching for the spooky dude, but I don’t spot him. There’s just the usual bunch of commuters who can’t afford a car or insurance or both. They nod at me as I board; I lift my chin in response.

I sit next to an older woman who clutches her bag as if I’m likely to mug her. People often respond that way to the piercings and my general style. It’s not personal, though. I’ve watched folks with similar looks receive the same treatment.

It’s a decent day, bright enough and unlikely to rain. Most of us hop off at the mall and I traipse inside, ignoring the kid from the hamburger stand who’s puffing away near the ashtrays; he looks like he isn’t even old enough to buy smokes. I give him a wide berth. Despite my cold shoulder, he falls into step beside me.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I ask.

That makes him scowl. “I graduated last year.”

“And you’ve come so far. Your mother must be so proud.”

“I don’t know why I bother trying to be nice to you.”

So maybe he’s attempting humor when he makes the paper pirate hat? Or possibly it’s a nerd courtship ritual. “It’s a mystery to us all.”

He follows me to the food court. During this interminable walk, I learn his name is Felix and he wants to be an optometrist but his grades weren’t good enough to get into the university of his choice, so he’s taking a year off to figure out his next step. I’m puzzled why he thinks I care enough to merit this vomitous outpouring of personal information.

“Now you,” he prompts as we cross through the tables. “That’s how conversation works.”

“My name’s Shannon. I was born in the Deep South in a cursed little town, one full of witches, demons, and shit. Then some horrible things happened, and I probably killed my mother, but because I have partial amnesia, I can’t be sure. Now I’m working at Pretzel Pirate, which might literally be an annex in hell. Who says there’s no such thing as karma?”

To my surprise, he cracks up. “Okay, I get it, I’m pushy. Talk to you later, Shannon…if that is your real name.”

Huh. Telling the truth is fun, boys and girls.

Bemused, I head toward my penance for the bad deeds I don’t clearly remember. Opening at Pretzel Pirate has become second nature; I could do it in my sleep. I set the dough in the machines, put pretzels in the oven, and turn on various gadgets. Work passes with routine issues, like people bitching that their pretzel is too soft, not crispy enough, or I didn’t top it with enough jalapeño cheese.

The hamburger stand closes an hour before Pretzel Pirate, so I get to chat with Felix before he gets too hungry to wait any longer. This is good because if he’s still here when I close, he’ll ask me to dinner. I can read the signs, but there’s no way in hell that would ever happen. We may be the same age, but he looks like a toddler to me. He’s barely pubescent, let alone interesting in a sexual fashion.

As I’m locking up, I get a text from Jesse. Come out the west doors. I’m taking you home. If I didn’t have the dude from yesterday fresh in my mind, I’d bitch at him. It’s only nine fifteen, and I’ve been taking the bus for weeks. Yet tonight, the mall seems silent and faintly ominous as I pass through the food court; I don’t see any security guards and the stores have all shut down. Metal gates cover the shops, and the fountains aren’t flowing. Maybe I’ve seen too many zombie movies. Despite my best intentions, I quicken my steps.

It’s probably my imagination, but the faster I move, the surer I feel that someone’s watching me. I mean, there’s a night watchman on the security cameras. Maybe that’s what I’m sensing. Goose bumps rise on my arms. I feel…hunted. Darkness flashes to my right, but when I turn, there’s nothing, just a residual chill.

Bullshit to this. I take off toward the western exit, easier in my Pretzel Pirate shoes than it would be in combat boots. To my astonishment, Jesse comes tearing at me, his strides ringing on the tile floor. He stops when he sees nobody’s chasing me. That’s when I realize he’s drawn his weapon.

“What happened?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” he snaps.

“But…” I don’t even know what to ask. He was running like he thought my life was actively in danger. Now, I figure I probably overreacted. I’ve got a vivid imagination.

“You were scared to death,” he says softly.

My eyes widen. “You could tell?”

He ignores the implicit question. “Did you see the guy again?”

“No, I just…” It sounds dumb. “I felt like I wasn’t alone, as if somebody was watching me.”

“It’s possible. Show me where.”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

So I lead him back to the spot where the impression was strongest, just past the dark water in the silent fountain. Jesse pulls a pewter keychain out of his pocket, but there are no keys attached. He cradles it between his palms and walks a slow circuit around the area. Finally he stops, his gaze level and somber.

“You didn’t imagine it. Scrying magick’s been used here recently. The water is a natural conductor for those kinds of spells.”

“Maybe it was the weirdo from yesterday. He did say I won’t see him again until it’s too late.” I sound calmer than I feel.

This makes no sense. Why would the Gifted hunt me? If they need me to contact a dead relative, I’ll do it for twenty bucks, a six-pack, and a pizza.

Jesse pulls out his phone. “You see the odd shadings on his skin?”

It’s the photo I sent him. “Yeah, I figured it was my crappy camera.”

Absently, he shakes his head, reaching for me. Speechless, I let him lace our fingers together. It’s a protective gesture, not a romantic one, but I’m fucking holding hands with Jesse Saldana, so I’d be crazy to complain. His fingers are lean and long, callused in the right places, and his palm is hard against mine.

“Let’s walk and talk. I showed this to someone on my lunch hour today.”

“Oh?”

“She said the discolorations are consistent with long-term demonic possession.”

“What?” I know demons are real…and they usually don’t have enough power to traverse the gate between our worlds physically. It requires less juice to send mental energy, which results in a person being driven like a meat wagon. That’s not news, but I’m startled to hear my stalker is most likely extra-dimensional.

Mustering some presence of mind, I add, “So can your thingie tell if witch or demon magick was used to spy on me?”

“Unfortunately, no. But I’ll feel better once we get out of here.”

“They might still be watching? Why?”

“I wish I knew, Shan. Let’s go.” He tugs gently on my hand, and we hurry back toward the exit.

The air’s still cold inside the mall, a chill deeper and more disturbing than what comes from good air conditioning. There’s a faint smell too, sickly sweet, like death drizzled in honey. I don’t look back as Jesse shoves the door open. He’s left his Forester parked at the yellow curb, and the engine is running. In fact, the driver-side door’s open, too.

“You were pretty worried about me, huh?” I imagine him getting a wash of my emotional state and coming at a dead run.

Oh, Jesse. So many ways I’d love you, if you’d let me.

“For good reason, as it turns out.” He opens my door and waits until I’m settled to shut it behind me.

I could get used to being treated like a princess, as long as he brings the dirty cowboy to bed. Of course, I’m still working on that development, but it’s a good sign that the idea of me in danger scared the shit out of him. He starts the SUV and pulls out of the mall parking lot. For a few seconds, I watch as he eyes his rearview mirror, but nobody seems to be following. They don’t have to; they can use standing water to watch me. Note to self—showers only until we resolve this shit.

Jesse drives to my place, but he doesn’t drop me off. Instead he escorts me to the door. “I’ll wait here. Pack a few things.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not leaving you here alone when we have no idea what’s going on.”

“I have a roommate and I know how to dial 911.”

“So you’re willing to endanger Maria?”

“That’s a low blow, but I’m not going home with you, Jesse. Not unless you’re taking me there for better reasons.”