I stomped across the lawn to a cottonwood tree. Hesitantly, I placed my hand against the bark and pulled away. The tree looked fine. I place my hand on it again, and its lux lucis rushed into me through my palm. I rested my forehead against the bark but didn’t close my eyes. If the tree started to look at all strained or dim, I was ready to jump away from it.
The tree’s life force didn’t even flicker. I felt the moment my energy level was full and I straightened.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the trunk of the tree. My anger had evaporated. In its place was resignation. I was like a druggie. I’d gotten my fix, and now the method didn’t seem so evil. Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.
My feeling of peace was a familiar one, and I almost smacked myself in the forehead when I realized that this most definitely was not the first time I’d recharged. I’d been doing it unconsciously for years. There was a reason I loved to stand among the large oak trees in the clearing in front of my apartment, touching their bark, and it hadn’t been just because they were beautiful to look at with soul-sight or normal sight. All this time I’d thought I simply found trees relaxing. Now I knew it was because they fed my energy.
Shaking my head, I trudged back to my car.
It took nine trips to get all the plants upstairs to my apartment. On my first trip, Mr. Bond greeted me at the front door, twined between my legs, and meowed. When I set the plants down, he trotted over and stuck his head in their pots and sniffed the leaves. If it wasn’t for the decreasing knot of liquid between his shoulder blades, I wouldn’t have believed that only this morning he’d been close to death.
After my last trip, I flopped onto the floor and waited for some strength to return to my noodle-like arms. All the plants I’d purchased covered the front room floor and turned the room into a jungle. Mr. Bond had a good time weaving between the pots and rubbing against the sturdier plants. Then he came over and perched on my stomach. I convinced him to lay down and distribute his weight on larger surfaces than the tiny pads of his paws. He happily stretched out on my torso, his sharp front claws on either side of my neck, his chin rubbing on mine. I petted him and told him how much I loved him, then pushed him off me when I began to feel asthmatic.
My phone rang. I checked the clock. It was ten twelve. No one called me this late. I rushed to the phone, and when I saw it was my parents’ number, I snatched it up, my stomach tightening with dread. The only reason they’d be calling this late was to share bad news.
“Is everything all right? What’s happened?” I asked.
“Nothing, dear. I was calling to see how your job went.”
“This late? Are you sure there’s not something wrong?”
“What time is it, Oscar?” Mom shouted to my dad, only partially covering the phone. I paced the room once, stepping around all the plants, then flopped in my chair. Of course nothing was wrong. Unless you could count the fact that they’d retired. All concept of normal, working people’s hours and schedules had evaporated from their minds the moment they started receiving retirement checks.
“I’m sorry, Madison. The time got away from us,” Mom apologized a moment later. “We were playing Trivial Pursuit—I won the first one, so your dad insisted we play two out of three. I’m still the Trivial Pursuit Champion of the Universe.”
“Oh. That sounds like fun.” It didn’t. And I was too tired to make my comment sound genuine. It had been an incredibly long day after too little sleep and I was exhausted. This false alarm proved to be the final straw. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that some people weren’t so lucky as to have both their parents. And those unlucky souls were already in bed, asleep.
“You sound tired. How’s Mr. Bond?”
“He’s good. Back to himself. I guess this morning was a fluke.” I grimaced at the lie. How do you explain to your parents that you sucked the life out of your cat while you slept because you’d spent the night destroying evil and depleting your own reserves of life force? The answer is, you don’t. “I am pretty tired, too. It’s been a long, long day.”
“How do you like your new job?”
I heard the click of a second phone being picked up. No doubt Mom had given Dad the sign language for “Madison needs us,” and he’d rushed to grab the other phone.
“It’s more interesting than I thought it would be,” I said, trying to weigh how much I could tell them. “My coworkers are really nice. I have my own cubicle.”
“Did you get to do any real work today?” Dad asked.
I smiled to myself. “Yeah. Some. I spent most of the day out of the office, though.”
“Why?” Mom asked at the same time Dad said, “Is that normal?”
“Um, sure.” Shoot. What had made me go with honest? Half-truths were definitely the way to go. “They’re, uh, very interested in the community. There’s a video game conference in town and they sent me and a coworker to check it out. We looked for opportunities for our business to, uh, do business.” Not bad.
“That sounds like fun,” Mom said.
“Fun” was not the word I would have used to describe it, but for the sake of ending the conversation sooner, I agreed. “Yeah. But it was a long day. I just got home a few minutes ago.”
“Just now! Why so late?”
“Do you get paid overtime?” Dad asked.
“No overtime. I’m salaried. But I get bonuses if I do well.”
“Don’t let them get to where they expect you to work insane hours every day,” Dad warned. “If they realize they can take advantage of you, they will.”
“I’ll be sure and do that. I’ve got to be at work pretty early tomorrow, though, so I think I’m going to head off to bed.”
“Okay, dear. Just remember that there’re plenty of jobs out there. You don’t have to stay at one that makes you unhappy.” This from Mom, of course. Dad was more concerned with how many jobs I’d had in the last three years. Oh, he wanted me to be happy and find something I felt passionate about, but he also had certain expectations for my career—expectations that I didn’t necessarily share. Mom was more concerned about my day-to-day happiness.
I said good night after promising that I’d come over to their house soon, and shook my head at the phone. They’d been retired only five months. What were they going to be like after ten?
Mr. Bond helped me distribute the plants around the house, mainly by chasing after trailing leaves and racing between my legs at inconvenient times. I put four plants in the front room, five in the dining room, one in the kitchen, and the rest in the bedroom. I saved the hardier treelike plants for the bedroom just to be safe. Between my desk, dresser, night stand, and the limited floor space at the end of my bed, I managed to fit eight plants in the room. I blinked to Primordium and checked the wards around my doors and windows. They were weak, and I reinforced them. Then I refilled the little bit of energy I’d used by carefully touching several of the plants. There were no dramatic crumbling dead leaves this time. In fact, I couldn’t even tell that I’d taken some of their life force. I was getting the handle of this.
Fifteen minutes later, feet washed and alarm set, I was horizontal in bed. Mr. Bond settled next to me, with his upper body propped up against my legs. By the sixteenth minute, I was asleep.
I woke up ten minutes before my alarm. Usually, I would have fallen right back to sleep, because everyone knows that there’s extra restorative properties in those sacred minutes before the alarm goes off. However, the moment I realized Mr. Bond wasn’t on the bed, I was wide awake and panicked. A quick glance confirmed that the miniature forest in my room was still healthy. I threw back the covers and raced down the hall. The plants in the front room looked fine, too.
“Mr. Bond, where are you?” I called, scanning the floor for his limp body. What if Doris had been wrong? What if I had sucked the life from Mr. Bond first, before the plants? What if—
Mr. Bond chirped from somewhere in the dining room. I got down on my knees and
looked under the table and between the chair legs. Mr. Bond meowed a full statement and I slowly stood. He was seated innocently in the middle of the golden pothos ivy I’d placed in the center of the dining table. Its long vines were crushed under his feet, and his tail was slowly destroying leaves as he wagged it happily at me like a dog. He wasn’t ever allowed on the table. Nor was he allowed to get into the plants. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to yell at him, so I hefted him from the center of the table, cupped his purring bulk to me, and scolded him in a loving tone.
Twenty minutes later, I was getting out of the shower when the phone rang. I wrapped myself in a towel and checked the caller ID. Love and Caring showed up on the glowing screen. I snatched up the phone.
“Hello, this is Madison.”
“Hi, Madison. This is Dr. Alex Love from the Love and Caring Veterinary Clinic. I was calling to check on Mr. Bond.”
Suddenly I felt very underdressed. And warm. Dr. Love had a voice made for phone sex. And why could I suddenly think of nothing but all the corny puns and porno titles I’d come up with that involved him and his name?
“Is now a good time?” Dr. Love asked after I’d paused for too long.
“Oh, no. I mean yes. Sorry.” Sorry? Sorry for fantasizing about you? “Mr. Bond is doing so much better today. In fact, he’s feeling well enough to get into trouble.”
When he chuckled, I felt a little giddy. “That’s good to hear. I thought he would make a complete recovery. Do you have any questions now that you’ve had a chance to relax?”
I didn’t think I could work “Do you have a girlfriend?” into a question about Mr. Bond. “How long will it take for the liquid to fully absorb?” He’d already answered that question yesterday, but I wanted an excuse to listen to him talk longer.
“It should be all absorbed by tonight. Is he eating normally again?”
“Yes, he’s back to herding me to his food dish. He doesn’t miss many meals. But I’m sure you could see that, Dr. Love.”
He chuckled again and my stomach did a little flip-flop. “Yes, we might want to think about a diet plan for him. Or maybe an exercise plan. I’d be happy to talk with you about it when you have time.”
Tonight? Dinner? “Okay. I’ll bring him back in when things settle down a little for me. I just got a new job.” I wanted to bite my tongue. Dr. Love didn’t care about my new job.
“Oh, really? Where are you working now?”
“Illumination Studios. They create bumper stickers.”
“So I could be reading a bumper sticker you wrote soon?”
“Yep.” In theory, at least.
“That sounds really interesting.” There was a pause while I frantically tried to think of something to say. Dr. Love filled in the silence. “I called mainly to check on Mr. Bond, but I also wanted to check on you. You were very distraught yesterday, and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
My heart picked up to double time. Don’t read too much into it, Dice. “It was one of the worst scares of my life. Thank you so much for treating Mr. Bond so quickly.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m glad to have your cat as my patient. I look forward to seeing you again when you’re ready to start Mr. Bond on a weight-loss plan.”
“Me, too.”
We both said good-bye. I did a little dance around the front room.
“I got a call from Dr. Alex Lo-ove,” I sang. “He wants to see me a-gain. Dr. Love’s in love with me-e!” Which I knew wasn’t true, but it made me happy to think it was. When my giddiness settled, I knew I needed a second opinion. Had I imagined the subtle flirting? Was it normal for the head vet to call to check on a patient? Wasn’t that something typically left for the front desk people?
I called Bridget.
When she answered, I could hear traffic noises in the background. I checked the clock. It was nearly eight, which meant Bridget was almost to work and I needed to get hustling if I was going to make it to work on time, too.
“Digit, I’ve got Dr. Love news.” There was no need for me to clarify who Dr. Love was. Bridget was well aware of my crush on the handsome vet. I told her briefly what had happened to Mr. Bond, letting Bridget know he was fine. Then I relayed my conversation with Dr. Love.
“Did he sound genuinely interested in your job?” Bridget asked.
“Yeah. And he chuckled at two of my lame attempts at a joke!”
Bridget laughed at me. “So when are you going to take Mr. Bond in for a fitness evaluation?”
“I’m thinking tomorrow would be too soon.”
“Just a little. Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”
“No, but I’m determined to find out.”
“I don’t think many doctors with girlfriends make personal check-up calls to hot, young women and ask to see them again.”
“Do you think so?” I squealed and we both laughed.
“So how was your first day?”
I groaned at the memory of all the nerds. “It would take too long for me to tell you now. But I can tell you this: I’ve killed evil creatures!”
“Killed? That sounds awfully . . . violent.”
“You’d think so, but remember me telling you about all their teeth? That’s not an evolutionary trait of a good creature. They’re evil, with a capital E. Plus, the ones I killed existed only in Primordium, spawned by evil deeds and atrum.”
“Sounds like you’ve learned a lot.” The background traffic noise quieted, replaced shortly thereafter by the steady click of heels. “I knew there was a reason you can see people’s souls! I really want to hear all about it, but I’ve got to go into a meeting.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get to work. I’ll call you later when we have more time. Thanks for reassuring me about Dr. Love.”
“Anytime. Give poor Mr. Bond my regards.” She laughed as she hung up.
“Poor Mr. Bond will have to take one for the team,” I told the obese Siamese in question. He meowed at me from where he lay next to his empty food bowl.
11
Keep Calm and Carry On
I arrived at work at eight twenty-nine. Mr. Pitt was lurking at his office door and came hustling out when he saw me.
“Mr. Pitt, I would like the chance to prove that I can do my job,” I said before he had a chance to get a word in. I’d rehearsed this conversation on the drive over. “Having my hands tied yesterday was unproductive.” Awful would be a better word for it. I’d felt useless and frustrated. “You didn’t hire me to be your spy. You hired me to cleanse this region and destroy evil. To do that, I need your permission to fight back.”
Mr. Pitt looked past me at Rose, who had come up behind me while I made my case. “Listen to her. She’s not even here three days and already she knows why she was hired and how to do her job and my job better than I do.”
“That’s not what I meant, Mr. Pitt—”
“I know what you meant, but you’re in over your head on this one. Trust me. I really do know what I’m doing.”
I blushed at his tone and tried to hide my frustration. The last thing I wanted to do was spend another day pretending I couldn’t see imps. Now that I knew they existed, and that my ability to see—and use—lux lucis had a purpose, I didn’t want to pretend otherwise. There wasn’t anything worse than being idle in the face of evil when I had the capability of taking action.
I was wrong.
It turns out, there’s nothing worse than being idle in the face of evil when I had the capability of taking action while wearing a friggin’ costume.
“Tell me again why this makes sense,” I said to Will forty minutes later.
He looked me up and down in the mirror—the bathroom mirror for the women’s restroom for the bottom floor of the entire building, which he and Joy had blithely commandeered when Mr. Pitt had handed me off to them. Will’s appraisal was flattering without being suggestive, and I fought off his easy-going, Illuminea charm by crossing my arms and glaring back.<
br />
“You said yourself that you felt useless yesterday,” he reminded me.
“And being dressed like some pubescent boy’s fantasy will somehow be useful?”
“You’ll have employee access.”
“This”—I raised the lanyard with the attached forged employees’ badge—“gives me employee access. This”—I gestured down my body—“is sexist. If I were a guy, I’d be going as a different type of employee.”
“Yeah, like a bouncer, but you’re not going to be able to pull that off,” Will said.
“I think you look cute,” Joy said.
I would have laughed at her joke, but it wasn’t funny. “Where did you get this stuff?” I asked.
“Here and there,” Will said.
I was beginning to wonder if the Illuminea were really evil spies. First of all, they enjoyed torturing me too much. Second, what innocent, good people have a spare set of minuscule, camouflage-print, spandex shorts—complete with a British flag emblazoned across the butt—a matching spandex top (without the flag), and size ten, calf-high, lace-up, three-inch-heeled, black, shit-kicker boots just lying around. I might have written the whole outfit off as a bad clubbing costume if not for the Lara Croft–style gun holsters strapped to my thighs and the slits in the boots designed to hold knives.
“It’s early November. I’m going to freeze,” I told Will.
“It’s California. You’ll be fine.”
Wishing I’d shaved my legs that morning—or even the morning before—I tugged at the hem of the shorts, futilely attempting to gain more coverage. Abandoning the lost cause, I fussed with the holster straps on my thighs until they felt reasonably comfortable. Too tight, and my thigh fat bulged. Too loose, and they chafed and left red imprints when I moved. The Illuminea siblings had graciously allowed me to wear the camo sleeveless, high-collared shirt that covered me from collarbone to waist rather than a black crop-top, but only because I’d compromised and agreed to wear the padded bra that inflated my breasts to two times their natural size.
A Fistful of Evil: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer Book 1) Page 14