The Scent Of Shadows Part 23

"Apparently your mother disagreed with that."

Ajax froze momentarily, then patted my cheek, hard. "She was wrong. Misguided. She never learned, or must have forgotten, that all there really is in this world are varying degrees of evil. That, and the point at which every human being breaks."

"She didn't believe that."

He grinned s.a.d.i.s.tically. "She did in the end."

"Well, I don't."

He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "I'll make you a believer too."

I recoiled, but there was nowhere to go.

"Let's both remove our disguises, shall we?"

He gouged his fingertips through the eyes of my mask so forcefully only the narrowness of the slats saved my eyesight. Just as quickly as he lifted the pig's snout away, however, it snapped back into place, the plastic edges stinging my skin. His weight was gone so suddenly it was as if he'd been lifted straight into the air. A wild war cry, accompanied by a flurry of wind, swept through the building.

Freed, and desperate to stay that way, I backpedaled until my head slammed against the photo counter. Ripping the mask from my face, I strained to see where Ajax had gone, as well as who, or what, was in here with us. The answer was immediate. I was lifted to my feet, none too gently, and found myself facing an angry set of brown eyes.

"Warren," I gasped. My eyes darted away from him, searching for Ajax, finding him in a crouch atop an aisle barrier facing two other men. The first was stocky but obviously strong, the other lithe as he leapt the entire seven feet in height to square off against Ajax. Both were armed, and both their chests were glowing, pulsing vibrantly. I pushed at Warren's hands, but he jerked me back into place, yanking my ball cap low.

"Don't let him see your face." Cuffing me by the neck like a mother cat with her kitten, he forced my head lower again. Then he half dragged me to the exit, shielding me with his own body. Even so, I felt the moment Ajax's eyes lit upon my back. I felt their probing, their impotent fury, and the oily slickness of his thoughts just behind that stare. Outnumbered, he turned away with an outraged cry.

"I'll find you out, Archer!" he called out. "I'll discover your true ident.i.ty and when I'm finished with you, you will believe!"

Warren's fingers tightened on my neck, squelching my instinct to turn, and he blew what I took to be a raspberry at Ajax while ushering me out the door. The last thing I heard was the report of feet pounding across linoleum, a back door slam, and two other pairs giving chase. We headed in the opposite direction, back toward the Strip, where the light bled into the street.

"My duffel!" I said, halting suddenly.

"Don't stop," he ordered, pushing harder. "Felix will get it."

"Can you at least let go of my neck? I'm getting a kink."

Warren released me so abruptly I stumbled. He glanced side to side, pivoting so he was walking backward, then turned again before taking off in a trot. "Hurry. The time of crossing is near, and we're not safe yet."

We ran, Warren openly vigilant, and me trying to breathe through the ache in my side which was finally, if slowly, receding. The silhouette of the Peppermill loomed closer, contoured from the other side by the setting sun, and I could see people dining through the long plate-gla.s.s windows, oblivious to our plight. It was unsettling how normal everything looked. The foot tourists hardly glanced up as we wove between cars in the restaurant's asphalt lot. Perhaps they thought it normal in Vegas for an unshaven b.u.m in a leather trench coat to be jogging with a girl whose sweater was half singed from her chest.

"This way." We darted around the building's far corner and into a narrow alley that reeked of urine. A cab waited there, lights off, and a couple stood at the window, arguing loudly with the car's sole occupant.

The man loomed over the driver, one hand propped on the hood, irritation coating his voice. "Look, are you on duty or not?"

"I want to go to the Luxor," the woman whined.

The headlights flipped on to illuminate us in their beam.

"He's waiting for us," Warren said sharply. The woman took one look and whimpered. I didn't know what I looked like, but Warren was striding toward them at a decidedly aggressive pace, limp exaggerated, his coat billowing around his ankles. The couple backed down the alley, not exactly the safest choice of exits, but at least it was away from us. The cab inched forward, and the doors on each side swung open.

"Get in," Warren ordered, skirting to the opposite side. I did, wordlessly, wincing as the leather seat caught the gash in the back of my thigh. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes, and sighed as the door shut and the car began to move.

"I smell Ajax," the driver said, singsonging the name. I peeked to find him regarding me through the rearview mirror. All I could make out of his face were his eyes, but they were wide and crinkled at the edges as he laughed at some private joke. I didn't see what was so funny, and neither did Warren.

"That's because Ajax somehow tracked her," he answered, shifting to face me. "Tell me, Olivia, because I feel like I'm missing something here, but what part of 'meet me at the Peppermill' means 'go fight Ajax at the corner drugstore'?"

I turned my head away. "He started it."

"Do you know what you've done? What you could have undone?"

I clenched my teeth and my jaw ached where Ajax's fingers had dug into bone. I knew the feeling would fade, that I would soon heal, but the knowledge alleviated nothing right now.

"What did you do to call him?"

I glanced at the driver who was still staring at me, a lucky rabbit's foot swinging beneath his mirrored image, his eyes still amused, then turned to Warren. "Nothing."

"You did something," he said, squaring on me in his seat. "He found you despite the masking agent we administered, and in less than two weeks. I want to know how."

Apparently I hadn't gotten to that comic yet. I shrugged.

Warren stared at me, his face stony and cold, eyes unblinking. "Did you invoke his name?"

I shook my head.

"Did you go after him yourself?"

"No." I clenched my teeth again. The pain was gone.

"d.a.m.n it, Olivia!" He punched his fist into the seat in front of him. "You're not going to keep getting this lucky! What did you do?"

I leaned toward him and s.p.a.ced my words evenly. "Don't. Yell. At me. Anymore."

"Warren's right," the driver said conversationally. "You are lucky."

"Not just lucky...stupid lucky!"

I looked at him, and I swear his outline was singed in red. This manipulative fruitcake thought he had reason to be furious with me? While my sister was dead, my life was over, and my bones were st.i.tching together inside of me, again?

"I said don't f.u.c.king yell at me!"

The words ricocheted like shots off the inside of the cab, shaking it on its wheels. The driver gripped the steering wheel, eyes on the road and no longer smiling, and the smell of singed hair hung in the air. I glared at Warren, and realized he'd backed up in his seat.

I knew then my Shadow side was showing. That hadn't been my voice. It was deeper, lower than my natural range, the vocal cords scorched by fury. I swallowed down the anger, the heat scalding my lungs, and turned away again. Tears boiled in my eyes. s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t! What was happening to me?

"Jesus," the driver said, exhaling deeply. It was the last thing anyone said for a long time.

"Did you kill someone?" Warren finally asked.

I looked at him in blatant disbelief, shocked to the bone. "Well, it was on my to-do list right after get pedicure, but, no, I hadn't quite gotten to it yet!"

Warren shook his head, looking a lot older than I'd ever seen him. "This isn't a joke."

"Wrong, Warren! This whole thing is a joke! A supernatural organization is protecting Las Vegas? Give me a break! Information pa.s.sed on through comic books...and m-my G.o.dd.a.m.ned chest lights up like a Christmas ornament when someone wants to kill me!" Now I just sounded panicked, frightened rather than frightening. "It's all a f.u.c.king joke, and guess what? Me-my life!-is the f.u.c.king punch line!"

I felt laughter bubbling up in my throat, bitter as bile, and I held it back because I knew it'd come out in a scream, and I was afraid it would never stop. Swallowing hard, feeling light-headed, I said, "Don't tell me what to think about what I've seen since you entered my life. Don't tell me what to laugh at, or what's funny and what's not. I'll f.u.c.king howl at the moon if I feel like it. And," I added, pointing my finger at his chest, "don't ever, ever tell me how to feel!"

And then I really did start laughing. I laughed and laughed until the manic sound soured and turned to tears. Then I cried and cried.

And then I cried some more.

16.

The rest of the cab ride was spent in stony and uncomfortable silence, and as we sped up Industrial, heading under Flamingo Road, I dully watched the sun setting behind the Palms and felt the darkness rising, eyeing me from the east. Gridlock had set in on I-15, parallel to us, and I could see people singing and talking from behind their windshields, suspended on that strip of highway, momentarily delayed on the way to the rest of their lives.

Meanwhile, as the world went on revolving around me, I tried to answer Warren's questions for myself. How had Ajax found me? Had I done something to call him to me? I tried to think back, but my memories were blighted by screams and pain, and Ajax's particular scent had slithered beneath my skin to suck at my pores. The questions continued to pile up before me, and like those drivers on the freeway, I felt stuck in eternal gridlock.

And why would Warren ask if I'd murdered another person? Could he really believe I could do it? Did I, in some chipped and faulty corner of my heart, believe it of myself? I thought about the construction workers again, and how power-drunk I'd felt as I used my senses and words to blow holes into their worlds. I had tried to justify it in my mind, telling myself they'd deserved and asked for it; but the truth was, even though I hadn't killed that man named Mark, or the other man who was sleeping with his wife, I had altered their lives in a horrible and irrevocable way. And wasn't that a death of sorts? Wasn't that a way to murder Mark's hope, in his own fallible heart, that he was wrong in suspecting his best friend and wife?

I put a hand to my mouth and stared blindly out the window, deciding I didn't want the answers to all my questions.

We pulled abruptly into a half-empty parking lot behind Tommy Rocker's Cantina, a favorite hangout for locals who wanted to be near the Strip but not necessarily the tourists. Two men emerged from the bar, looking innocuous, just colleagues enjoying an after-hours drink before facing the drive home, but I recognized them as the men who'd chased Ajax. The shorter was dark and severe-looking, but the taller appeared happy and light, bouncing on his toes as he approached the cab. The paranormal world's answer to Laurel and Hardy.

The doors opened for them. "Is it taken care of?" Warren asked as they slid in.

"Of course," the first man said. He slouched low, not even glancing at me. "The place was absolutely stinking with her scent."

"It's fine," the other man countered sharply, and they both fell silent.

The cab began moving again, but this time my view of the freeway was blurred by fresh tears. The "it" Warren referred to was really a "she." I wondered what the headlines would read in tomorrow's paper. Teen Dies In Botched Hold-Up. Or, Tragedy At Quik-Mart. One thing I was certain it wouldn't read was Novice Superhero Destroys Yet Another Life. Warren and his friends would see to that.

I sniffled involuntarily at the thought, and the tall man-the one I'd seen leap to face Ajax across the aisle dividers-turned to me with a small, sympathetic smile.

"Here," he said, holding out my duffel bag. I swallowed hard, took it, and clutched it to my chest. The first man had turned too, but there was no kindness in his face. He rolled his eyes at my tears and turned back around.

"And Ajax?"

"The usual," came the answer. "Smoke, mirrors, all that Shadow s.h.i.t."

The kind man was still watching me. I wanted to tell him to turn around, but right now he seemed to be the only friendly face in the cab. I tried to look nonthreatening. He held his hand out over the back of the seat. "I'm Felix."

"Here we go," the other one muttered.

Felix smiled. "So you're the new Archer. We haven't had an Archer in the Zodiac since your mother."

I lifted my hand. "I'm Jo-"

"This is Olivia," Warren interrupted, and I flushed, feeling his glare.

I dropped my hand back in my lap and turned away from them both. The other man in the front seat mumbled something I couldn't quite hear, but I had the distinct feeling it wasn't complimentary.

"Shut up," the driver said, and we all did.

There was a sense of urgency to the way the cab maneuvered through traffic, around-and in one case over-barriers, and something about the way the light shone through the windshield really did make the city seem divided in two.

"Are we going to make it?"

"We'll make it, but someone else is going to have to drive."

"You're staying on this side, Gregor?" Felix asked. The others also seemed surprised.

"Just until dawn. Someone has to watch the city. Besides, nothing interesting is going to happen with her," he said, jerking his head in my direction, "before morning."

"That'll be a nice change," I murmured to no one in particular, though Warren grunted.

"Be careful, Gregor. We don't know if they have intel on you or not."

"I think if they did they'd have gotten to me by now. I'm not exactly the strongest of the star signs." Gregor held up his right arm for my benefit. It ended just above the elbow. "I found a lucky penny today, though, and I have my trusty rabbit's foot. I'll be fine."

Warren turned to me. "Like I said on the phone, you can only make the crossing at the exact moment where light and dark are divided evenly in the air. Something to remember if it's midnight and you've been tracked. You'll have to survive for six more hours before seeking sanctuary."

"Gawd," the man up front crossed his arms and mumbled, "she doesn't even know that?"

I shot forward in my seat, feeling the anger rise in me again. So far I was a complete failure as a superhero, and had a pretty dubious self-image as a human being, but I still had a grasp on my pride, if a tenuous one. "Look, mister, I don't know who you are or what you've got against me, but I've never seen you or any of your Kryptonite-fearing buddies before Warren over here jumped in front of my car-"

"Was run down, technically."

Felix turned to Gregor. "I don't fear Kryptonite. Do you?"

"So let's get something stick straight between us. I didn't ask for this. I'd be more than happy to never know anything about crossings or metamorphoses or any of this other weirdo, paranormal bulls.h.i.t, but here I am. So get over it. Apparently I have to."

The man had turned in his seat and watched me through slitted eyes. There was something odd about the texture of his anger; odd, and familiar at the same time. I felt like I should recognize him, or one of the components that made him him, but I didn't.

At the end of the long silence that followed, Gregor eased the car over to the side of the road, shifted to neutral, and swiveled in his seat to face me. "Olivia, this is Chandra. She's one of our best blenders in the chemistry lab. She made your new signature scent for you."

She.

I felt the anger drain from my face and body, along with the color. I did a mental head slap, thinking the familiar thread in Chandra's genetic makeup was her s.e.x. Female. h.e.l.lo.

It was definitely one of those days.

"I'll drive." Chandra flung open the door.

"Well, that was the wrong thing to say," Warren muttered as she stalked around the cab.

"Chandra hates being mistaken for a man," Gregor explained as he opened the driver's side door, but his eyes were laughing again. And at least I knew I wasn't the first to have done so. Unfortunately I also knew women. They rarely forgave a slight like this, and Chandra didn't seem terribly forgiving in the first place.