Cold Burn of Magic
Page 15
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There was that baffling please again. Twice in two minutes. Mo must be really shaken up, which only made me that much more suspicious about what was really going on and who those kids were. But before I could ask him again, he reached over, plucked my hand off the door frame, and gave me another nudge, one that sent me staggering outside.
“Hey!”
I whirled around, but Mo was quicker. He shut the door behind me, then locked it.
“Tomorrow!” he called out through the glass that separated us. “I’ll text you tomorrow!”
Then he flipped the sign on the door over to CLOSED and drew down the shades, blocking my view of him and Devon and Felix still inside. A few seconds later, the flashing neon sign outside the store went dark as well.
I raised my hand to pound on the glass, when faint murmurs caught my ear, and I saw some furtive movements out of the corner of my eye. I glanced to my left and realized that some of the tourists were staring at me, their hands held up over their mouths as they whispered. At first, I wondered why they’d be so interested in me, but then I looked down. I’d forgotten about the blood that had spattered all over my T-shirt and cargo pants.
I grimaced and cradled my backpack in my arms in front of me, trying to hide as much of the blood as I could, along with the money in my hand. The whispers grew louder, and I saw one of the tourists—the same woman I’d sat next to on the trolley—pull her camera out of her purse.
Maybe Mo was right about my leaving.
So I turned away from the tourists, put my head down, and walked away from the Razzle Dazzle as fast as I could.
CHAPTER FIVE
I made it out of the square and slipped onto one of the side streets. I kept my backpack in front of me and my head down the whole walk home. I didn’t dare take a trolley. Not now.
But luckily, a blood-covered girl wasn’t an unusual sight in Cloudburst Falls, at least not in the dilapidated parts of town I was hurrying through, and I made it home without attracting any more attention.
From people, at least.
But I spotted more than one pair of slitted eyes tracking my movements from the alleys, shadows, and Dumpsters. Quick, cigarette glows of light that grew bigger and brighter as the monsters slithered closer to the sidewalks I was scurrying along. But since it was still daylight, they didn’t venture out of their hiding spots to attack me.
By the time I made it back to the library, it was after six, and the building had already closed for the night. I plucked the black chopsticks out of my ponytail, went through my usual lock-picking routine, and slipped inside. But instead of going down to the basement, I headed into the women’s bathroom. I flipped on the lights, put my backpack down on a bench inside the door, and went over to one of the mirrors.
Blood covered most of my body.
The front of my T-shirt was soaked with it, the fabric more rusty brown than blue now, and more blood had spattered onto my cargo pants, with thick, fat drops congealed on my sneakers. Not to mention the red smears on my right cheek and the stains that had dried on my hands, arms, and even under my fingernails. My gut twisted, and I had to force myself to ignore the hot nausea rising in my throat.
Blood didn’t usually bother me. I’d killed people before. Folks who’d attacked me during my jobs for Mo. Others who’d come after me just because they’d wanted to, thinking that a lone girl would be an easy target. Monsters who’d slithered out of dark alleys, determined to make a meal out of me. Oh no, blood didn’t bother me, but I couldn’t help shuddering at my reflection all the same.
Because this time, the blood belonged to a dead girl—one who was too much like me for my peace of mind.
A strange emotion seized me, and I stripped off my T-shirt, wrapped it in some paper towels from the dispenser by the sink, and shoved it into the bottom of the trash can. Then I cranked up the faucet as high and hot as it would go, grabbed another wad of paper towels, and started scrubbing at all the blood, even though my hands were shaking so badly that all I really did was fling water everywhere.
It took me longer than it should have to get my emotions under control, but ten minutes later, my hands were steady, my gut was calm, and the nausea was a fading memory. I wiped all the crimson stains off my skin and got the worst of them out of my pants and off my sneakers. I flipped off the faucet and stood there shivering in my bra and wet pants, but I’d used up all the paper towels, and I didn’t feel like going into the men’s bathroom to get more.
I leaned forward and peered at my reflection again. Shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, a puffy blue bruise that had bloomed on my cheek from where the guy had hit me in the pawnshop. I looked much more like myself now. Maybe my blue eyes were a little darker and more haunted than they’d been before, but that was nothing new, either.
You didn’t do the things I did—lie, steal, cheat, and kill—without having a few bad things happen to you along the way. You didn’t pick-pocket tourists who were only in town to have a good time without feeling a smidge of guilt. You didn’t kill simple, hungry creatures who were only doing what came naturally to them by trying to eat you without getting a few dings on your conscience. And you especially didn’t witness the aftermath of your mom’s murder and realize there was nothing you could do to save her without getting more than a few rips and tears in your heart.
My thoughts turned to Devon, and I wondered what scars he’d have from today, from watching his bodyguard die protecting him. No doubt they’d be far worse than mine. I wondered if Devon’s emotions would harden and if that hot spark that burned so deep inside him would be extinguished after this, smothered by all the guilt he felt. Hard to tell.
“Hey!”
I whirled around, but Mo was quicker. He shut the door behind me, then locked it.
“Tomorrow!” he called out through the glass that separated us. “I’ll text you tomorrow!”
Then he flipped the sign on the door over to CLOSED and drew down the shades, blocking my view of him and Devon and Felix still inside. A few seconds later, the flashing neon sign outside the store went dark as well.
I raised my hand to pound on the glass, when faint murmurs caught my ear, and I saw some furtive movements out of the corner of my eye. I glanced to my left and realized that some of the tourists were staring at me, their hands held up over their mouths as they whispered. At first, I wondered why they’d be so interested in me, but then I looked down. I’d forgotten about the blood that had spattered all over my T-shirt and cargo pants.
I grimaced and cradled my backpack in my arms in front of me, trying to hide as much of the blood as I could, along with the money in my hand. The whispers grew louder, and I saw one of the tourists—the same woman I’d sat next to on the trolley—pull her camera out of her purse.
Maybe Mo was right about my leaving.
So I turned away from the tourists, put my head down, and walked away from the Razzle Dazzle as fast as I could.
CHAPTER FIVE
I made it out of the square and slipped onto one of the side streets. I kept my backpack in front of me and my head down the whole walk home. I didn’t dare take a trolley. Not now.
But luckily, a blood-covered girl wasn’t an unusual sight in Cloudburst Falls, at least not in the dilapidated parts of town I was hurrying through, and I made it home without attracting any more attention.
From people, at least.
But I spotted more than one pair of slitted eyes tracking my movements from the alleys, shadows, and Dumpsters. Quick, cigarette glows of light that grew bigger and brighter as the monsters slithered closer to the sidewalks I was scurrying along. But since it was still daylight, they didn’t venture out of their hiding spots to attack me.
By the time I made it back to the library, it was after six, and the building had already closed for the night. I plucked the black chopsticks out of my ponytail, went through my usual lock-picking routine, and slipped inside. But instead of going down to the basement, I headed into the women’s bathroom. I flipped on the lights, put my backpack down on a bench inside the door, and went over to one of the mirrors.
Blood covered most of my body.
The front of my T-shirt was soaked with it, the fabric more rusty brown than blue now, and more blood had spattered onto my cargo pants, with thick, fat drops congealed on my sneakers. Not to mention the red smears on my right cheek and the stains that had dried on my hands, arms, and even under my fingernails. My gut twisted, and I had to force myself to ignore the hot nausea rising in my throat.
Blood didn’t usually bother me. I’d killed people before. Folks who’d attacked me during my jobs for Mo. Others who’d come after me just because they’d wanted to, thinking that a lone girl would be an easy target. Monsters who’d slithered out of dark alleys, determined to make a meal out of me. Oh no, blood didn’t bother me, but I couldn’t help shuddering at my reflection all the same.
Because this time, the blood belonged to a dead girl—one who was too much like me for my peace of mind.
A strange emotion seized me, and I stripped off my T-shirt, wrapped it in some paper towels from the dispenser by the sink, and shoved it into the bottom of the trash can. Then I cranked up the faucet as high and hot as it would go, grabbed another wad of paper towels, and started scrubbing at all the blood, even though my hands were shaking so badly that all I really did was fling water everywhere.
It took me longer than it should have to get my emotions under control, but ten minutes later, my hands were steady, my gut was calm, and the nausea was a fading memory. I wiped all the crimson stains off my skin and got the worst of them out of my pants and off my sneakers. I flipped off the faucet and stood there shivering in my bra and wet pants, but I’d used up all the paper towels, and I didn’t feel like going into the men’s bathroom to get more.
I leaned forward and peered at my reflection again. Shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, a puffy blue bruise that had bloomed on my cheek from where the guy had hit me in the pawnshop. I looked much more like myself now. Maybe my blue eyes were a little darker and more haunted than they’d been before, but that was nothing new, either.
You didn’t do the things I did—lie, steal, cheat, and kill—without having a few bad things happen to you along the way. You didn’t pick-pocket tourists who were only in town to have a good time without feeling a smidge of guilt. You didn’t kill simple, hungry creatures who were only doing what came naturally to them by trying to eat you without getting a few dings on your conscience. And you especially didn’t witness the aftermath of your mom’s murder and realize there was nothing you could do to save her without getting more than a few rips and tears in your heart.
My thoughts turned to Devon, and I wondered what scars he’d have from today, from watching his bodyguard die protecting him. No doubt they’d be far worse than mine. I wondered if Devon’s emotions would harden and if that hot spark that burned so deep inside him would be extinguished after this, smothered by all the guilt he felt. Hard to tell.
