Spook Squad (28 page)

Since I hadn’t been pointing to any one card in particular—and since I was much more concerned about seeing if Miss Mattie was around—I told her it was, hoping to speed the process along and give Lydia her ten bucks.

“The Page of Pentacles.” She flashed the card at me. It was the traditional Rider-Waite deck, showing a young guy in tunic, hose and a big red hat. He held up a pentagram-etched disc the size of a dinner plate. “You’re good with money. Mature about money. Pages can be flighty, but not this one, he’s serious.”

She noticed I’m serious? That was like noticing winter was cold. Plus the money thing—given that I didn’t balk about paying her for a quick reading, it was a logical enough assumption that I wasn’t hurting for cash. Still, I supposed she had to tell me something for my ten bucks, so I nodded and played along.

“Page of Pentacles takes care of himself. He’s industrious and frugal.”

I kept nodding, thinking her “reading” could apply to anyone.

“A hard worker. Sometimes moody. A magnetic personality.”

Really? People never say that about me—the magnetic part, I mean. Once they know I’m a medium, most everyone avoids me like the plague. I must have frowned, and no doubt Lydia was experienced at reading expressions and body language. She leaned forward and peered at me. “No, this isn’t you. Your eyes are too light…and you’re too grim for a page, even the Page of Pentacles. Knight of Swords? No, you’re too pale. Knight of Cups, that’s your card. So who’s this? Someone younger. Dark hair, dark eyes. Dark and serious. Could possibly be female. Do you know anyone like that?”

Cripes, that was so vague it could be anybody. Maybe Laura Kim, maybe Lisa…but seeing as how I was only subjecting myself to the reading as a vehicle for delivering a pity ten-spot and I had no intention of talking about my actual life, I just shrugged.

“If you don’t…you will. Someone dark will come into your life very soon, maybe today. Not dark as in evil. Just dark-skinned.”

I dug out my wallet and said, “I’ll keep my eye out.” Thankfully, the appearance of the money drew the reading to a rapid close. As Lydia snatched the ten bucks out of my hand, my phone rang. She took off in search of cigarettes before the phone even cleared my pocket.

It was Crash. “I hope you don’t expect me to take a bus in this weather.”

“Actually, I’m—”

At the top of the stairs, his front door opened…but it wasn’t Crash who emerged, I could see that much even from where I stood one story down. The guy wasn’t quite as tall, and he had a shaved head. Plus…he was African American. Page of Pentacles. You had to give Lydia her props. She might not be psychic, but she was observant enough to pay attention to who was going in and out of her building.

“I’m right downstairs,” I said into the phone, and backed out of the vestibule. I had no desire to mingle with one of Crash’s tricks. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. More like awkwardness.

 
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be right down.” I pocketed my phone and followed Crash’s overnight guest with my eyes as he strode out the door and past the boarded-up window. He was so striking I couldn’t stop myself from gawking. His skin was dark and his lips had a pouty curve to them. I wished I could see his eyes, but he was wearing mirrored wraparound shades. Although I had no evidence to support the idea, I suspected he had great eyes, too. He’d brushed past without taking any notice of me. He was at that age…the one at which guys
my
age are pretty much invisible. Twenty-five, tops.
 

And now, with the daylight hitting him, I could see his head wasn’t shorn quite as close as Bly’s. He had about a quarter-inch of hair, and it was dyed a purply plum black. His pencil jeans were overdyed too, pink on black, and tight enough I was surprised he could even bend his knees to walk. His cropped biker jacket came down to his waist, barely, showing off the jeans. I tried to not notice how good his ass looked as he walked away. I failed wretchedly.

At the top of the stairs, the door to Sticks and Stones jingled open again, and Crash pounded down the stairs. Since I didn’t want to look like a pathetic letch, I did my best to pretend I hadn’t been ogling his one-night stand. He didn’t ask, thankfully, just herded me toward my car with his shoulder. “Let’s go—Jacob wants me to be extra thorough. Says he’s worried you’re all bringing home FPMP energy. I’m not sure if that’s even possible…but why take chances?” We’d need to be back in Wicker Park in time for him to open shop at eleven, too, so visiting with Miss Mattie was out. I hopped back in my car. Crash fell into the passenger seat and launched into a spiel about the way his candle wholesaler was gouging him on shipping, I was glad enough to simply listen, and nod, and avoid thinking about the Page of Pentacles.

I was positive I was in the clear when Crash’s side of the conversation took an abrupt turn from candles and headed straight into something personal. “I don’t know how you can stomach the whole relationship thing.”

What? “Uh….”

“Because it’s not like anyone ever does what you expect them to do.”

“That’s true.”

He shoved a piece of gum into his mouth and cracked it loudly. I worried for his tongue stud. Or maybe his molars. “Like this guy Red, who waltzes back into town expecting to pick right up where we left off.” Red—like my favorite drug? Figures a hot black guy who rocked purple hair and pink jeans could also carry off the name Red. I felt about a century old. “Like I’ve just been sitting here for past couple of years, waiting around for him to come to his senses. What the fuck, man. What the fuck.”

I was so unsure of what I was expected to say to that, I didn’t so much as grunt for fear of putting the wrong inflection on the sound. Encountering a friend’s one-night stand makes for moderate awkwardness. Ex-boyfriend issues surpassed that level entirely. I stared straight ahead and wished the route to the cannery could magically be half a mile shorter so I could get out of the car and avoid lodging my foot in my mouth.

“You don’t just leave when things get tough,” he said. “And then come strutting back. And go around acting like everything’s fine and dandy.”

“…no.”

“I made good money, you know, back when I was a stylist. And then I fell for him—the boss’ pet—and everything went to shit.” He huffed and shook his head, and stared out the window. “He could’ve been a man about it.” He said it so quietly, I wished the radio’s volume had been a smidge higher so I hadn’t heard him. It felt too personal, too raw for the likes of me. “He could’ve made a choice—the owner, or me. So what does he do? Says ‘fuck the whole thing’ and takes off. Completely fucking ditches it. Everything. And runs.”

“If you’re not in a good space to do the ritual, we should probably reschedule.”

“It’s fine—it’s a perfect time for me to fortify the defenses, while I’m all riled up.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I knew better than to question any pronouncement of his on psychic matters, even on a good day. Contradicting him now would leave me singed and gutted for sure.

“Anger’s a powerful emotion,” he said. “Might as well channel it.”

As long as he didn’t aim it at me. I was just an innocent bystander in this whole thing. We turned onto my street—nearly there—and I thought I was about to get away clean when he said, “I mean, I’m boyfriend material. I’m the type of guy you’d consider settling down with. Right?”

Holy crap. Was that a rhetorical “you”?

Before I came right out and asked him to clarify, he added, “I’m not bad to look at. I can hold up my end of a conversation. I’m actually fairly easygoing on most subjects—and open to negotiation on most others. As for the deal breakers…well, I’d never diddle around with someone to begin with if they weren’t a decent human at heart.”

“Of course not,” I said, hoping it was what he was wanting to hear.

His hand landed on my knee. I did my best not to visibly flinch. “It’s the gray areas that get you. Bad things done by good people, because they’re confused. Or because they want everyone else to ‘like’ them.” He removed his hand to make the air quotes, and I relaxed, marginally. “Or because, when it’s all said and done, they’re cowards.”

You’ve gotta love how the guy who just claimed he was easygoing was actually the most opinionated person I’ve ever met. I did not point that out. I pulled up to the cannery, thinking I was in the home stretch, and he said, “Supposedly he realizes he made a huge mistake. Supposedly all this time he’s been agonizing over what he did.”

I gave an “I dunno” shrug that hopefully looked sympathetic rather than condescending.

“But if I was his soulmate—as he claims—then how could he bail to begin with?”

“If you think he’s jerking you around…maybe you should check with Lisa.”

Although I suspected he was just venting and not looking for any actual guidance, he considered my suggestion for a long moment. Long enough for me to wonder if we were done talking and it was okay for me to get out of the car, or if I’d come off as being an asshole for breaking off the conversation right there. Figuring I didn’t want to compound the problem by bailing on him too, I stayed put. Finally, he said, “It is tempting. Maybe I’d skip to the unvarnished truth for a different kind of relationship. A casual friend, a business associate. But in matters of the heart…it seems like I’d be missing out on the good stuff if I don’t let things take their natural course. Could be that the whole point of tangling with someone is to see how it all unfolds.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, given that Lisa was floating around on Cloud Nine with a guy nobody in their right mind would trust, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. I’d hoped to get him settled in his house-blessing mode and go hide at the diner with a cup of coffee and a magazine when I saw he was walking not toward the cannery, but toward me. Hopefully he didn’t want a hug. I don’t make a habit of hugging people unless I’m gonna put out. Thankfully, instead of grabbing me, he bumped his hip against mine and left the full-body contact un-hugged. “You’re a good listener. Thanks.”

Luckily, it seemed a reply wasn’t required. While I did consider thanking him for thanking me, in the end I decided to keep my mouth shut. There’s no sense tempting fate.

Chapter 24

Ironically, the stink of burnt sage was pervasive in the cannery on “cleansing” day…and a few days after, too. We kept our suits in garment bags and ran the bathroom vent so we didn’t smell like we’d just walked through a burning field for the rest of the week. But still, a crispy aroma clung to us.
 

A fan was propped in the front door, blowing out, and Jacob had a pot of garlicky sauce simmering on the stove. I sat at the dining room table. I’d pieced together three sets of bulging quads and placed a nipple in its proper spot when Lisa came home. I almost asked if she’d been avoiding me, but only an idiot would start a conversation like that. I decided to channel my “good listener” mode and let her talk first. She sat down at the puzzle, sorted some darker grays from some lighter grays, then said, “Are you reporting back to the Fifth Precinct tomorrow, or…?”

“Didn’t we agree you weren’t going to talk about me with Dreyfuss?” I snapped.

“We did. And I told him I didn’t know.” We both glared at the puzzle. “I can’t be like Carolyn and always say, ‘I’m not talking about that.’ It doesn’t feel right to me, and besides, it makes it seem like I’ve got something to hide.”

True.

“I just wondered if you were going back to the FPMP.” When I shuddered at the sound of the acronym, she gave me an analytical look and said, “You know the way you feel about Con? Guess what—I feel the same about Sergeant Warwick.” I must’ve looked pretty stunned, because she gave a bitter laugh. “He stuck me in a holding cell for fourteen hours for working on your case while I was suspended.”

I thought of the toilet fountain and swayed in my seat.

“Jennifer Chance is still there,” Lisa said. “And she’s a threat. No, that’s a huge understatement. If you don’t get rid of her, she is going to do something bad.”

Convenient how Lisa claimed not to be precognitive until she needed to make a point. “I saw Chance once, for maybe five minutes, and then she ditched me. I went through that place from top to bottom and I can’t find her.” I have one skill—and I was feeling defensive about it failing. “Explain to me how she’s a threat if the only one who can see her is me. Because Richie—hopefully I don’t destroy my karma by saying this because he can’t help it—is a complete moron, worse than useless. If he happens to feel her cold spot, all he needs to do is put on another sweater. If no one can see her but me, she’s no security threat.”

“Yes, you’re the only one who can see her.”

Ah. If I played my cards right and didn’t ask a question that shut Lisa down, I could take an unexpected crack at the sí-no.

“So I’ve been thinking about Laura Kim….”

“Victor, I just told Jacob I wasn’t gonna—”

“One little thing—is she a medium?”

Lisa looked surprised. And then even more surprised, when she said, “Yes.” The answer sank in, and then she added, “She hasn’t been hiding it—she doesn’t even know.”

“There’s a guy in the lab staring at plants. Telekinetic?”

“Yes.”

“And what about Jack Bly?”

“I don’t know him.”

“I’ll bet that doesn’t matter. He’s a psych, an empath. Is he strong?”

“Yes.”

“Strong enough to do more than sense an emotion? Strong enough to project one?”

Lisa looked concerned. “Yes.”

I’d figured as much judging by how flayed and ghoulish he’d looked in the glow of the GhosTV…but it didn’t hurt to have my suspicions confirmed. I was relieved there was no empath in the room to pick up on what a struggle it was for me to keep my questions flowing without implicating her precious Dreyfuss in any way. I wanted to ask if Dreyfuss had charged Bly with manipulating me so I would feel comfortable enough to keep coming back to the FPMP, but instead I took Dreyfuss out of the question and said, “Has Bly been tinkering with my head?”

“No.”

“What about Jacob—he can’t mess with Jacob, can he?”

“No, Jacob is stronger. Even if this Bly person wanted to, he couldn’t.”