by Anthology
Half a minute later, I realized I was being a complete idiot and turned back around. He was gone.
“Where’d he go?” I asked, brushing Trish’s sleeve as she hurried toward the bar to pick up a tray of pints.
She blinked owlishly, and I watched her face as she slowly processed my words. Trish was a decent waitress, but her bulb was definitely dim. “Who?”
“Table nine.” I pointed unnecessarily. “Deacon Camphire.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at me. “There’s no one there.”
“I know that,” I began. “But—”
“If you know it, why are you asking me? I mean, come on, Alice. It’s not like I don’t have anything better to do than stand around talking to you.”
And you know what? I felt the same way about her.
She hurried off to feed the masses, and I shuffled over to table nine to avoid my duties. Still no Deacon, but the chair was warm, and as I sat there with my hands pressed to the tabletop, I imagined he was right beside me.
I saw Egan watching me from behind the bar, eyes full of curiosity and concern. I didn’t raise a hand, though, to reassure him. How could I, when I wasn’t reassured myself?
In the kitchen, I lost myself to the bustle of activity and the thick scent of grease. I could feel it seeping into my pores. Odors defined a place, I thought, and now they defined me, too. The scent of the pub. The stench of a kill.
“Order up,” Caleb called, and I took the three baskets of fish from the burly cook, then moved back into the seating area, handily depositing the baskets in front of a group of twenty-somethings with law texts open in front of them. They barely noticed me, their discussion about Blackacre and adverse possession enticing only to the extent that I felt a bit adversely possessed myself.
I headed back to the bar, planning on bumming a drink from Egan, but he wasn’t there. Instead, Trish was pulling pints with the expertise of a pro. I leaned over and grabbed the soda dispenser and an empty glass, then tried to fill it with Sprite. Nothing. Just a fizzle of carbonated water, and even that came out mostly air.
“Dammit. Where’s Egan?” I asked, positively parched.
She hooked a finger toward the kitchen. “Stockroom, I think. All I know is he ditched, and now I’m stuck.”
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Heh. It’s your party, too.” She shoved a tray of pints toward me. “Table seventeen.”
“But I gotta—”
“You gotta help me. That’s all you gotta do right now.”
Okay, it was a fair point, but I was determined. Not being stupid, though, I took the tray and delivered the beers. What I didn’t do was go back to the bar, and when Trish saw me heading toward the kitchen, her irritated cry was enough to turn heads in the pub. I snapped off a wave and promised to be right back. Probably not the way to win friends, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
I got to the stockroom on autopilot, heading down the stairs and past the walk-in and then the alcove with the taps where I’d met Egan earlier.
The pub’s basement consisted of a series of twisting and turning wood-and stone-lined hallways, so much like a minotaur’s maze that I wished I’d brought bread crumbs. The door to the stockroom was on the left, and as I walked, my right hand trailed along the walls made of river rock and concrete. As I passed the walk-in, though, I stopped short, realizing I was no longer touching stone but cold metal.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I saw a narrow, bronze door etched with odd symbols that seemed familiar, but when I tried to latch onto the source of that memory, it slipped away like trying to grab a handful of water.
Experimentally, I pressed my hand against the metal, which seemed to thrum beneath my palm. I leaned closer, searching for a knob, compelled to go inside, to see what was behind the wizard’s curtain. I found nothing, though, and I slammed my fist against the door in futile frustration.
Frustration morphed to obsession, and I think I would have stayed there forever, trying to will myself through that barrier, had I not heard Egan’s voice echo down the hallway.
With no small bit of reluctance, I moved away from the door, pushing through the mist until the pull of the voice was stronger than the call of that door.
“I need to know, dammit,” he said, his words drifting back from the stockroom. “You can’t fuckin’ leave me in the dark like this.”
I paused, partially curious but also not wanting to interrupt. I expected to hear a second voice, but when I heard only Egan again I recalled the phone mounted on the wall by the door.
“Yeah? Well, then you tell me what’s up. You tell me what happened to turn this whole effing thing back on my ass.” I heard the shuffle of his feet, then saw his shadow fill the doorway.
I shrank back, the stone wall pulling me close as I held my breath, willing him to back away. I didn’t know whom he was on the telephone with or what he was mad about, but I did know that I didn’t want to interrupt.
As if my will had power, the shadow receded, Egan’s voice fading as he moved away from the door. “No way. No fuckin’ way. I got a right to know. I’ve put my blood and soul into this pub, offered it up for you to come in and do your thing for how long? And this is the thanks I get? You got to be shitting me.”
I took a step backward; whatever was going on, Egan was pissed. And because this seemed like a private moment, I wanted the hell out of there. I stopped short, though, when I heard the deferential slant of his voice in the words that came next. A fearful deflating, as if someone had taken a pin and stuck it hard in his puffed-up chest.
“No, no. Course I would never—Right. Right, yeah, I know.” A pause, then, “I don’t think that. No way. I was just blowing steam. She just got me worried. That’s all.” An even longer pause and then another moment of supreme ass-kissage. “Absolutely. Yes, of course. Anything you need. No problem at all.”
After that I didn’t hang around to hear the ending. He’d be in a rage when he came out of that room—who wouldn’t be after being royally called on the carpet—and I wanted no part of it.
What I did want was answers.
To whom had he offered the pub up, and how had they screwed him over? And the “she” who had him worried. Was that me? Or, rather, was it Alice? Had she learned something about the people on the other end of the line? The folks who were scary enough to put fear into a bull of a man like Egan?
Had she been involved with whoever was threatening Egan? Or, if not threatening him, at least pissing him off. And definitely pulling his chain.
Like an Escher drawing, my thoughts kept circling back on themselves, the rapidity of each new idea acting as the engine that carried my feet forward and back through the maze to the kitchen and finally back into the seating area of the pub.
Trish yowled at me the moment I walked in, but I didn’t answer. I was too lost in my own questions and in the utter sense of helplessness that came from knowing that the answers I sought would be a long time coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I’d parked the bike in the alley behind the pub without giving a lot of thought to what would happen if someone asked me about it. Or, rather, I’d given it some thought, but because I’d still discovered no evidence that Alice owned a car, my need to remain understated and in line with Alice’s overall personality had given way to my need not to have to walk to work.
I was heading for the bike when someone touched me on the shoulder, and I whipped around, knife in hand, only to discover it was Gracie.
She yelped, and I did, too, then leaped back and shoved my knife behind my back.
Too late—she’d already seen it. “Whoa,” she said. “My mom keeps telling me to carry a stun gun, especially with all those girls that disappeared over the summer,” she added, referring to a series of disappearances a few months prior, mostly of young college dropouts. Girls with few resources and no family nearby. The case had made the news, and I don’t think any of the girls were e
ver found. Maybe now, being super Über-chick, I was fighting back at evil for them.
Gracie eyed the knife. “That’s even freakier than that switchblade you used to carry.” I blinked, surprised that Alice had gone anywhere armed. “And I still say that it’s a stupid weapon. I mean, I took a self-defense class once, and we had to stick a knife in the dummy. And I couldn’t do it I mean, really couldn’t do it. That skin was tough! And on top of that the dummy just looked so real . . . ” She trailed off with a shrug. “Stun gun. Moms always know best.”
“It’s silly,” I said, tucking the knife back into my coat. “There were some guys on the street last night and I thought about it as I was leaving this morning, and just grabbed the knife.”
“So you figured that since you’re enough of an idiot to walk home in the dark, you ought to be idiot enough to carry a knife, too? Don’t you know those guys’ll just take it from you? If they’re looking to attack you, one blade isn’t going to do anything, ‘cept maybe help them.”
“Is that your mom talking?”
She shook her head. “My uncle Tito. He’s a cop. You know what he’d say to you?”
“What?”
“Pepper spray.”
“Gosh,” I said. “I never even thought of that.”
She gave me a queer look, but I just smiled. I’d already realized that Alice had the most innocent smile on the planet, and I was putting it to great use. Then I grabbed the handlebars and swung myself up and onto the bike. “So what are you doing here?” I asked.
But she didn’t answer. Just stood there gaping.
“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” she finally asked.
My entire body turned to ice. Holy shit. I stared, my mouth hanging open like a fish, then finally managed a mousy, “What?”
“The bike, dude,” she said. “I totally take back what I said about walking home. But come on. Did aliens reroute your personality? I thought you hated those things.”
“Oh! Right! I do. Or, I did. I got over it.”
“So were you just pulling Noah’s chain?”
I flipped back through the information I’d processed over the last two days, finding Noah filed in the ex-boyfriend category. Apparently he’d had a bike. And apparently I hadn’t been happy about that. “I guess I was a little touchy with him,” I said, trying to sound like I was admitting a huge character flaw. “And he was too reckless. I’m safe,” I said, my lack of a helmet underscoring that big fat lie.
Gracie, however, didn’t notice. “He was, wasn’t he? And that Harley he had was so loud!”
My ex-boyfriend had a Harley? Alice might just turn out to have been cooler than I thought. At the same time we were now treading in dangerous waters, considering my utter lack of information about Alice’s boyfriend. Time to head home. But when I made noises about leaving, Gracie rushed to protest.
“I was thinking we could do something,” she confessed.
“Do what?”
“Celebrate.” She grinned. “Come on. Leave the bike and ride with me. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
I had no idea what it was, and my gut was telling me to go home before I made a major faux pas and gave myself away. My gut, however, was easily ignored. Because the truth was, I liked Gracie. And even though I’d told myself that getting involved with Alice’s friends was setting myself up for trouble, I wanted to go. After all, I saw Gracie every day at the pub. Like it or not, she was in my new life to stay. I might as well enjoy it.
“Okay,” I said. I slid off the bike, then followed her to the end of the alley where her ancient, decrepit Chevy Nova took up two spots in front of a meter.
I climbed in, catching a quick glimpse of someone dark lurking in the shadows by the pub. I watched long enough to see that someone climb into a car, and then Gracie turned off the street and my view was lost.
I pulled down the visor to watch our rear traffic for a tail. At a quarter past eleven, there were only a few cars on the road, and thankfully none stayed with us for more than a block or two. We made good time as she got onto the expressway, and I breathed a little easier, assuming either I’d been paranoid or my shadow had assumed I wouldn’t be hunting any demons with Gracie at my side.
“So what are we celebrating?” I asked brightly, trying to get into the spirit of the thing.
“They didn’t offer on the spot,” she said, “but I really think I got the job. Thank you so much for hooking me up with them.”
“Hey, no problem,” I said, then shifted the subject, because I didn’t want to be caught in the awkward position of having to admit that I didn’t know who them was.
We ended up talking mostly about the customers and Egan, with Gracie doing most of the talking, and me feigning a headache that Gracie swore would be remedied by food. “I bet you didn’t even eat dinner,” she said, sounding so much like someone’s mom, I couldn’t help but smile. But all in all, the conversation was easy and friendly and I don’t think I even came close to blowing my cover.
By the time she pulled off the expressway, I realized I had no idea where we were. I was about to ask when she made a U-turn, then slid to a stop in front of the valet stand for a restaurant that announced brightly in green neon that it was Thirsty. Fortuitous, I thought, because I was rather thirsty myself.
The raucous atmosphere felt familiar, and I followed Gracie to a booth in the far corner, not noticing until we were halfway there that we weren’t following a hostess. “I told Aaron I’d meet him, okay?”
“Aaron?”
She stopped and turned to look at me. “I told you about him. The guy I met at the gym.”
“Right. Sure.”
“And I mentioned it to Brian, too.”
I recognized the name from Alice’s answering machine, and kept my feet planted. “Whoa. Hold on. What is this?”
She managed a guileless shrug. “You two would be great together, Alice. I know it.”
A setup. This was a double-date setup, and I’d walked straight into it. “I don’t know,” I said, taking a step backward. It was one thing to be Alice at the bar, or even casually around Gracie. But to be Alice with a guy who was crushing on her? That really wasn’t the best of plans.
Gracie’s eyes turned all puppy-dog on me. “Please? I’ll be totally awkward with Aaron if you’re not around, and it’s really not a date with Brian. He knows you just broke it off with Noah. And you guys are friends already. Come on, Alice. Don’t bail on me.”
I looked over her shoulder and saw the two guys at the corner booth. They looked nice enough, like the kind of guys you’d meet at school or a Red Sox game or something. The kind of guys who didn’t know the street value of Ecstasy and had no idea how to pick a lock. The kind of guys I had absolutely no experience with.
They were talking animatedly about something—sports probably—and hadn’t noticed us. While we stood there, though, one glanced over. I saw the recognition in his eyes followed by a smile and a wave. Because we were caught out, I smiled back and dropped my shoulders in surrender. Apparently we were going to go join the guys.
I told myself it wouldn’t be too bad. After all, if I started feeling like I was totally missing the Alice rhythm, I could always bail.
Gracie led the way and we did the hug-and-greet routine. She slid in next to the boy-next-door type with short red hair. Aaron, I presumed. Brian, dark-haired with enough smattering of beard stubble to look edgily sexy, scooted over to make room for me. I sat down and managed what I hoped was a casual smile.
I was saved from jumping straight into conversation by the arrival of our waiter, who looked to be no more than fourteen. I ordered a beer and a basket of fries, then sat back to soak in the atmosphere while the others got in their orders.
All around us, couples and groups laughed and drank, the mood of the place convivial. People came here to be with friends. To hang with people they liked. To just spend time.
Had I ever had friends like that? Sure, I had people I’d g
one out with. We’d hung out. Drank. Maybe took a hit of something on the not-so-legal side of the line. Definitely maybe went back to someone’s flop to make the most of the high by getting naked. But I couldn’t say they’d been friends. Not really. I’d never once told any of them about Lucas Johnson. Not about what he’d done to Rose. Not about the system setting him free. And not about my plan for revenge.
But I’d pulled away. I’d closed off, quit returning phone calls. Gotten utterly lost inside myself. And the more I slid into my own little revenge-filled world, the more my so-called friends drifted away. Not one had asked me what was wrong; not one had come by the house to see how I was doing.
I looked sideways at Gracie and tried to picture her exhibiting that level of disinterest. I couldn’t, because Gracie was real, not someone casual who did shots in the back room and occasionally hit you up for money. Solid. A friend. And for the first time I was struck by the real difference between me and Alice: Alice might be dead now, but once upon a time she was a hell of a lot more alive than I’d ever been. She was also, I thought, a whole lot more mysterious. A pink and pampered girl who made friends, attracted cute men, and apparently dabbled in the dark arts. And kept some serious secrets.
I frowned, and if Gracie or the guys noticed my pensive demeanor, none of them showed it. Instead, they were glued to Gracie as she bubbled about how she was certain she would get the job. “And I owe it all to Alice.” She flashed me a smile. “You’re the best.”
“If you are,” Brian said, “you’ll set me up with a job, too. My boss is driving me crazy.”
“Sorry,” I said, deadpan. “I can only help those with actual talent.”
He pressed his hands over his heart. “Zing! And she fells me with the first shot out of the quiver.”