Bloodfever
Page 7
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Black. As in pitch.
I leave all the lights on at night, not just inside my bedroom but inside the entire bookstore, and outside the building, too. The exterior of Barrons Books and Baubles is flanked front, sides, and back by brilliant floodlights, to keep the Shades in the adjacent Dark Zone at bay. The one time Barrons turned off those lights after dark, sixteen men were killed right outside the back door.
The interior is also meticulously lit, with recessed spotlights on the ceilings and dozens of table and floor lamps illuminating every nook and cranny. Since my run-in with the Lord Master, Ive been leaving all of them on, twenty-four/seven. So far Barrons hasnt said a word to me about the pending astronomical utility bill and if he does Im going to tell him to take it out of my accountthe one he should be setting up for me for being his own personal OOP detector. Using my sidhe-seer talents to locate ancient Fae relicsObjects of Power, or OOPs for shortis hardly my idea of a dream job. The dress code leans toward black with stiletto heels, a style Ive never gotten into; I prefer pastels and pearls. And the hours are lousy; Im usually up all night, playing psychic lint brush in dark and scary places, stealing things from scary people. He can take my food and phone bills out of that account, and I could use a clothing allowance, too, for the things of my own that keep getting ruined. Blood and green goo are no friends of detergent.
I craned my neck to see out the window. It was still raining heavily; the glass panes were dark, and as far as I could tell from the warm cocoon of my bed the exterior floodlights werent on, which hit me about as hard as getting dropped, bleeding, into a tank of hungry sharks.
I hate the dark.
I shot from bed like a rock from a slingshotone moment lying there, next crouched battle-ready in the middle of the room, a flashlight in each hand.
Dark outside the store, dark inside, beyond my bedroom door: What the frfuck? I exclaimed, then muttered, Sorry, Mom. Raised in the Bible Belt by a mother whod firmly advocated the pervasive southern adage that pretty girls dont have ugly mouths, Alina and I had created our own language for expletives at a young age. Ass was petunia, crap was fudge-buckets, the f-word was frog. Unfortunately, when you grow up saying those words instead of the actual cusswords, they prove every bit as hard a habit to break as cussing and tend to come out at inopportune moments, undermining your credibility in a big way. Frog off, or Ill kick your petunia just doesnt carry a lot of weight with the kind of people Ive been encountering lately, nor have my genteel southern manners impressed anyone but me. Ive been retraining myself, but its slow going.
Had one of my deepest fears manifested while Id slept, and the power had gone out? As soon as Ihad that thought, I realized that not only was the clock still blinking the time, 4:01 A.M., cheery and orange as ever, but, duh, my overhead was on, same as it was every night when I went to sleep.
Juggling two flashlights into one hand, I fumbled the phone from the receiver. I tried to think of someone to call but drew a complete blank. I didnt have any friends in Dublin, and although Barrons seems to keep a residence in the store, hes rarely around and I have no idea how to reach him. There was no way I was calling the police.
I was on my own. I replaced the receiver and listened hard. The silence in the store was deafening, fraught with terrible possibilitiesmonsters lurking with homicidal glee, right outside my bedroom door.
I wriggled into my jeans, swapped a flashlight for my spear, stuffed three more flashlights in the back of my waistband, and crept to the door.
I could feel that there was something Fae beyond it, but that was all I knew. Not what, how many, or even how close, just a deep malaise in my stomach accompanied by a foul itchiness in my brain that made me feel like a cat with its back up, claws out, fur spiked. Barrons assures me sidhe-seer senses improve with experience. Mine had better start improving fast or I wont live to see next week. I stared at the door. I must have stood there for five minutes trying to talk myself into opening it. The unknown is a vast paralyzing limbo. Id like to tell you that the monster under the bed is rarely as bad as your fear of it, but in my experience its almost always worse.
I slid the dead bolt, parted door from jamb in the narrowest of slivers, and knifed the sharp white beam of my flashlight through it.
A dozen Shades shrank back, retreating with oily swiftness to the edge of the light and not one inch further. Adrenaline kicked me in the teeth. I slammed the door shut and drove the dead bolt home.
There were Shades inside Barrons Books and Baubles!
How in the world had that happened? Id checked the lights before Id gone to bedtheyd all been on!
I pressed myself against the door, shaking, wondering if Id really woken up or if I was still dreaming. Ive had some bad dreams lately and this was certainly the stuff of nightmares. I might be a sidhe-seer and a mythic Null, I might have one of the Faes deadliest weapons in my possession, but even Im defenseless against the lowest caste of Unseelie. Ironic, I know.
Barrons! I shouted. For reasons my taciturn host refuses to divulge, the Shades leave him alone. That the deadly bottom-feeders of the dark Fae give Jericho Barrons a wide berth perturbs me immensely but Id promise to never ask him another question about it again, if only hed cut a swath through them right now and save me.
I shouted his name until my throat hurt, but no knight-errant rushed to my rescue.
I leave all the lights on at night, not just inside my bedroom but inside the entire bookstore, and outside the building, too. The exterior of Barrons Books and Baubles is flanked front, sides, and back by brilliant floodlights, to keep the Shades in the adjacent Dark Zone at bay. The one time Barrons turned off those lights after dark, sixteen men were killed right outside the back door.
The interior is also meticulously lit, with recessed spotlights on the ceilings and dozens of table and floor lamps illuminating every nook and cranny. Since my run-in with the Lord Master, Ive been leaving all of them on, twenty-four/seven. So far Barrons hasnt said a word to me about the pending astronomical utility bill and if he does Im going to tell him to take it out of my accountthe one he should be setting up for me for being his own personal OOP detector. Using my sidhe-seer talents to locate ancient Fae relicsObjects of Power, or OOPs for shortis hardly my idea of a dream job. The dress code leans toward black with stiletto heels, a style Ive never gotten into; I prefer pastels and pearls. And the hours are lousy; Im usually up all night, playing psychic lint brush in dark and scary places, stealing things from scary people. He can take my food and phone bills out of that account, and I could use a clothing allowance, too, for the things of my own that keep getting ruined. Blood and green goo are no friends of detergent.
I craned my neck to see out the window. It was still raining heavily; the glass panes were dark, and as far as I could tell from the warm cocoon of my bed the exterior floodlights werent on, which hit me about as hard as getting dropped, bleeding, into a tank of hungry sharks.
I hate the dark.
I shot from bed like a rock from a slingshotone moment lying there, next crouched battle-ready in the middle of the room, a flashlight in each hand.
Dark outside the store, dark inside, beyond my bedroom door: What the frfuck? I exclaimed, then muttered, Sorry, Mom. Raised in the Bible Belt by a mother whod firmly advocated the pervasive southern adage that pretty girls dont have ugly mouths, Alina and I had created our own language for expletives at a young age. Ass was petunia, crap was fudge-buckets, the f-word was frog. Unfortunately, when you grow up saying those words instead of the actual cusswords, they prove every bit as hard a habit to break as cussing and tend to come out at inopportune moments, undermining your credibility in a big way. Frog off, or Ill kick your petunia just doesnt carry a lot of weight with the kind of people Ive been encountering lately, nor have my genteel southern manners impressed anyone but me. Ive been retraining myself, but its slow going.
Had one of my deepest fears manifested while Id slept, and the power had gone out? As soon as Ihad that thought, I realized that not only was the clock still blinking the time, 4:01 A.M., cheery and orange as ever, but, duh, my overhead was on, same as it was every night when I went to sleep.
Juggling two flashlights into one hand, I fumbled the phone from the receiver. I tried to think of someone to call but drew a complete blank. I didnt have any friends in Dublin, and although Barrons seems to keep a residence in the store, hes rarely around and I have no idea how to reach him. There was no way I was calling the police.
I was on my own. I replaced the receiver and listened hard. The silence in the store was deafening, fraught with terrible possibilitiesmonsters lurking with homicidal glee, right outside my bedroom door.
I wriggled into my jeans, swapped a flashlight for my spear, stuffed three more flashlights in the back of my waistband, and crept to the door.
I could feel that there was something Fae beyond it, but that was all I knew. Not what, how many, or even how close, just a deep malaise in my stomach accompanied by a foul itchiness in my brain that made me feel like a cat with its back up, claws out, fur spiked. Barrons assures me sidhe-seer senses improve with experience. Mine had better start improving fast or I wont live to see next week. I stared at the door. I must have stood there for five minutes trying to talk myself into opening it. The unknown is a vast paralyzing limbo. Id like to tell you that the monster under the bed is rarely as bad as your fear of it, but in my experience its almost always worse.
I slid the dead bolt, parted door from jamb in the narrowest of slivers, and knifed the sharp white beam of my flashlight through it.
A dozen Shades shrank back, retreating with oily swiftness to the edge of the light and not one inch further. Adrenaline kicked me in the teeth. I slammed the door shut and drove the dead bolt home.
There were Shades inside Barrons Books and Baubles!
How in the world had that happened? Id checked the lights before Id gone to bedtheyd all been on!
I pressed myself against the door, shaking, wondering if Id really woken up or if I was still dreaming. Ive had some bad dreams lately and this was certainly the stuff of nightmares. I might be a sidhe-seer and a mythic Null, I might have one of the Faes deadliest weapons in my possession, but even Im defenseless against the lowest caste of Unseelie. Ironic, I know.
Barrons! I shouted. For reasons my taciturn host refuses to divulge, the Shades leave him alone. That the deadly bottom-feeders of the dark Fae give Jericho Barrons a wide berth perturbs me immensely but Id promise to never ask him another question about it again, if only hed cut a swath through them right now and save me.
I shouted his name until my throat hurt, but no knight-errant rushed to my rescue.
