Broken Shadows

by A. J. Larrieu

  My cell phone, thank God, had been in my back pocket instead of my purse. I called Malik. It went straight to voicemail, and I called again. Still nothing. He was probably listening to his headphones while he cleaned up the bar. Maybe he was already asleep. I banged my head against the glass door, wishing I was still telekinetic so I could just pick the lock and get out of the cold. Useless.

  No help for it. I called Jackson.

  * * *

  “It was like he was waiting for me. Right outside my door.”

  “Did you recognize his voice at all?”

  I shook my head. Jackson had come right away when I’d called. I was sitting in his car, parked on the street about a block away from where I’d been mugged. We hadn’t called the police. Too risky for them, Jackson said, but my certainty that the mugger had hit me telekinetically was fading.

  “I probably imagined it,” I said, for about the eleventh time. “It happened really fast.”

  Jackson frowned at me. “That doesn’t mean you imagined it.”

  I wasn’t so sure anymore. It had been a hard week. This was probably some weird product of too much stress and not enough sleep. And the way his hands had blistered, as if they’d been burned...I didn’t have an explanation for that one. I hadn’t even told Jackson about it. I slumped against the cool window of Jackson’s car.

  “Look,” Jackson said, “why don’t you crash at my place tonight. Just for the night.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.” I thought of my lumpy futon, and for once, it sounded like heaven. Actually, I would’ve settled for the rug on the floor next to it.

  “You didn’t.” He paused. “Mina, look, this sounds like it was more than just some random mugging. He was waiting in front of your apartment, and he was a converter. After what happened last night...”

  “You mean that guy you threw against the wall?”

  “Yes. Greg. He’s not exactly an upstanding citizen.”

  “Well, that’s a shock.” I rubbed my face. “Are you saying this was some kind of retaliation?”

  “I don’t know. But it could be. That plastic bag we found—he’s into something, and we haven’t figured out what yet. He could be dangerous.”

  I chewed on my lip.

  “What I’m saying is, it won’t kill you to sleep in my guest room for the night.”

  I looked at the deserted street and thought of the way the gun had looked in the man’s hand. As if it was all there was of him.

  “All right,” I said. “Just one night.”

  Jackson looked relieved. “Great.”

  He picked the lock so I could get in and grab a change of clothes. I had to wait until he checked the place before he’d let me go inside, and then he made me wait again while he checked the stairwell and the street. He didn’t seem to relax until we were back in his car.

  It took fifteen minutes to get to Jackson’s high-rise downtown. He parked in the garage next to his building, and we took the elevator to the twenty-seventh floor. It looked exactly like every other floor in the building: thick beige carpet with a subtle textured pattern, dark red doors, potted plants every few feet. The only difference between the levels was the artwork on the walls, all of which looked like it came out of doctors’ waiting rooms. Jackson’s floor featured flower arrangements. It was better than the twenty-sixth floor, which I’d once gone to by mistake. It had watercolors of little blonde girls wearing white dresses, posed in various outdoor settings.

  Jackson’s unit was in a corner, which I guessed made it more expensive. More windows. He opened the door for me, and I went into his huge ultra-modern living room with its glass-fronted zero-clearance fireplace and boxy black leather couch. A piano sat in the corner, an espresso-stained wooden upright. I’d never seen him play it. Maybe it was just one of those things that went with his life, like the sleek designer furniture and the gourmet copper cookware. Jackson took off his tie and draped it over a dark-red wingback armchair.

  “You feel okay?” He rested his hands on the back of the couch. He was clearly thinking something. I just didn’t know what.

  “I’m fine.” I readjusted the strap of my duffel bag. The sight of the gun had unsettled me, and I still wasn’t feeling exactly steady. My pulse was pounding. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He smiled. “Really.” He loosened a button at his collar, exposing a little more of his tanned neck, and I wondered where he’d gotten the tan. I’d always assumed his muscles were the kind you got at a gym, but maybe I’d been wrong. I swallowed hard. I was starting to remember the reasons why this was a terrible idea.

  “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” God, I hoped it was true.

  “You know you can stay as long as you need to.” He watched me, hands kneading the back of the chair. Nervous that I’d take him up on it?

  “Uh, thanks. Maybe I could just borrow your phone charger? I have to cancel all of my cards.”

  He went and got it, and I took it with me into the spare bedroom before he could ask again if I was okay.

  None of my credit cards had been used yet, miraculously, and the nice service rep promised to send me new ones within the week. I had to give her Jackson’s address even though I hoped I wouldn’t still be here when they came.

  Jackson’s spare room was the same way I’d left it almost a year ago. He’d been using it as an office before I’d gotten dumped on him—a desk and a couple of filing cabinets occupied one corner, a bookshelf full of architectural magazines and reference books sat in another. In the closet, he’d stacked boxes of his past ten years of tax returns, piling them on top of each other to make room for me to hang my clothes. The accountant in me approved.

  I changed into pajamas and crawled into his excessively comfortable guest bed. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t even pretend that I was tired. Who was I kidding? Even if I could afford the deposit on a new apartment, I only had ten days. I checked the clock on the bedside table. Nine days.

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t go home. But even the thought of being around all the shadowminds I’d grown up with was more than I could bear.

  I used to be a converter, like Jackson. The gift ran in my family. By the time I was five, Shane and I were having conversations in our heads. We were twins, and the connection between us had been as easy as breathing. By the time I was ten I could lift potted plants and light candles from across the room. It was as much a part of who I was as my name and the mole on my hip. Then I’d been attacked.

  The man who hurt me had been another converter, a friend. He had an ability none of us knew about—he could draw energy from other people to boost his powers. Pulling, it was called. Unfortunately, that sort of thing didn’t often go well for the subject, and I’d caught him dumping a body. He’d lashed out at me with enough force to kill a normal. I guess I’d been lucky. He’d only destroyed my powers and left me for dead, shoving my body into the mud under an abandoned fishing shack.

  The first thing I remembered, coming out of it, was seeing my Uncle Lionel standing over me. He asked if I could hear him, and his voice sounded strange. It felt remote, as though he were talking over a phone line, and it had taken me a few minutes to realize something was wrong. Between the words he spoke out loud, there was silence. Either he’d achieved the kind of mental quiet meditation masters spent years perfecting, or I couldn’t hear his thoughts.

  I’d spent a long time thinking my powers would come back. My brother spent even longer. Every moment I was around him, I could tell he was scanning my mind, looking for any sign that I felt him there. He was careful never to bring it up, but when you’ve been mindspeaking with someone for decades, it was hard to keep secrets. After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore. I left, and while I was gone, Lionel had been killed. The man who’d been like a father to me, gone. There was nothing left for
me there, not now. Just reminders of a life that wasn’t mine anymore.

  California was about as far away as I could get. It felt like as good a place as any to start my life over. If only I had any idea what starting over was supposed to look like.

  I finally fell asleep with memories of my family still crowded in my head. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I had the dream again.

  It always started with silence. When you could hear people’s thoughts, the world was never silent. I suppose that was why so many of us liked to go camping or hunting—it was the only way to easily get away from stray thoughts. Total quiet was something you had to work for, so in the dream, when the silence hit, I panicked. After the silence came the pressure of the mud on my chest. It oozed its way into my ears and nose and mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to scream, but it just went deeper while slick, many-legged things crawled over my skin. I tried to thrash, but the weight of the mud had me paralyzed. Someone laughed as the rotting wood of the shack crumbled around me, pressing me deeper into the earth. The insects worked their way into my ears, my mouth...

  “Mina!”

  I came out of it in a rush. The soft, cream-colored comforter was on the floor, and the sheets were twisted around my legs. Jackson was holding my wrists, and I’d clearly been trying to hit him. Actually, judging from the marks on his chest, I’d succeeded.

  There was a moment where I believed it wasn’t real. The empty place where Jackson’s thoughts should’ve been reminded me. My arms went slack.

  “You’re okay, now.” Jackson released my wrists and put his hands on my shoulders and kneaded. “It was just a dream.”

  He’d clearly been dragged out of a dead sleep. He was still in his plaid pajama pants, shirtless, his hair sticking up. I shook my head and tried to push him away, embarrassed, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m sorry. It was just a nightmare. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Was it a flashback?”

  “No—I’m fine.” I extricated myself from his grip, curled my knees up to my chest and piled the blanket on top of them as if I were cold. The panic of the dream was still with me, even stronger than it had been in my sleep. Jackson leaned forward and laid the back of his hand on my cheek. Light from the living room illuminated the plane of his cheekbone and the rasp of stubble on his jaw.

  “You’re burning up.” He leaned back, resting on his heels on the bed. I’d been right about the muscles I’d felt under his dress shirt. Even in the low light, I could see the definition in his abs, the way the muscles disappeared into his drawstring pajama pants. His biceps were bigger than any architect had a right to. I realized I was staring and closed my eyes.

  “I’m fine,” I said. The reason I was overheated had nothing to do with a fever.

  “Right.” Jackson sounded uncertain. God, I hoped he hadn’t been in my thoughts. Who was I kidding? Of course he’d been in my thoughts. Fuck. He was probably reading them right now. Fuck fuck fuck.

  “I’ll just...go, then.”

  I opened my eyes. “I just want to get back to sleep. I’m really sorry.” For lots of things.

  “Well...I’m right here if you need me.”

  I nodded without looking at him, and he finally left, shutting the door silently behind him. I let out the breath I’d been holding. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d known just how not fine I was.

  Chapter Four

  I woke up embarrassed.

  It was morning. The shower was running, and the red-lighted alarm clock on the bedside table said it was 7:00 a.m. I groaned and debated the possibility of pretending I was still asleep until he left for work. Unfortunately, I had to pee. I waited as long as I could, but the situation was getting critical. I pulled on a robe and went out.

  The bathroom door was closed, but I didn’t hear the shower running. I took a step closer, hopeful.

  The door opened and Jackson came out, a dark blue towel wrapped around his trim waist. I yelped and skittered back, flattening myself against the wall. He gave me a sheepish look.

  “Sorry. Forgot my robe.”

  “It’s okay.” I didn’t know where to put my eyes. I settled on the crown molding above his head, thinking this was one more reason I needed to leave. Knowing he was a bad idea didn’t make him any less pleasant to look at. “You aren’t used to having someone else in your space.” At least I thought he wasn’t. For all I knew, when he didn’t have houseguests, he brought home a new woman every night.

  “I don’t mind,” he said, and I glanced at his face. His mouth quirked and I flushed crimson, wondering if he’d heard me.

  “Still. I—whoa.” My eyes strayed to his chest. It was marred with a row of angry red marks. “Are you okay? What are those?”

  Jackson stretched his neck and frowned, looking down at himself. “I dunno. Hadn’t even noticed.”

  I took another step toward him. He didn’t move. Memory fired in my brain—the mugger. The blisters on his hand. Jackson holding my wrists as I came out of the dream.

  “What?” he said.

  I raised my hand and fit my fingers over the marks. His skin was warm and damp from the shower, and my fingers were cold, but he didn’t flinch. My palm matched the pattern on the marks almost perfectly. I looked up and met his eyes.

  “I hurt you.” They didn’t look like bruises. They looked like burns. But that wasn’t possible.

  “Nah. Shower must’ve been too hot.”

  “If it was hot enough to do that, it would’ve cooked you.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing.” His muscles rippled under my palm, and I dropped my hand. The back of my fingers grazed his abs, and I blushed and stepped back.

  “I’m, uh, gonna go put some clothes on.”

  “Right, yeah, of course.” I retreated into the spare room. He turned to go into his room, and I saw that on his back was a series of numbers. They weren’t tattoos—they looked more like brands. I’d never noticed them before. Then again, this was only the second time I’d seen him half-naked.

  I went into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. The spot where the mugger had backhanded me had developed into a purple smudge overnight. I pressed the place gingerly. It was tender but not too bad. When I came out, Jackson was in the hallway in full corporate armor, reading something on his phone.

  “Going to work on a Saturday?” I said.

  “No rest for the wicked. There’s cereal if you want it.”

  “Right. Thanks. I’ll chip in for the grocery bill.”

  He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, really.”

  He chose not to respond to this. “You have the extra key?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll be back around six. Call if you need me.” He jiggled his phone.

  “Sure.”

  “See you tonight.”

  “I may be gone,” I felt compelled to say. You never knew. A miracle could happen.

  Jackson nodded and looked down at his briefcase. The strap wavered up and fell back down again. He frowned a little and bent to pick it up. “Weird.” He shook his head. “Powers are fuzzy.” He rubbed his temples. “Anyway, stay as long as you want.”

  He left through the front door, and I leaned my head against the wall in the hallway and banged it three times.

  Okay, so he was attractive. I mean, what woman wouldn’t be attracted to the man? He had those bright green eyes and those cut biceps. And he was nice. And he had this fancy bachelor pad with the thick white rug in front of the fireplace. But I was not interested. He was not interested. And a relationship with a shadowmind was the last thing I needed. I banged my head on the wall once more. Time to go and see about getting a new key to my soon-to-be-ex-apartment.

  * * *

&nbs
p; “You were mugged?” Doc’s voice was thick with sleep even though it was after noon. I’d called her from the DMV. Even though I’d gotten there the second it opened, the wait to get my license replaced was hours long.

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “Oh, Mina.” I could almost see her pacing. “I thought you were staying with Avery. I told the new buyers they could go ahead and take possession if they’d credit us the rent.”

  “Oh God.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I knew the Center still owed money Doc was planning to pay out of her own pocket, but I hadn’t known this.

  “It’s not a problem, is it? I thought I told you—they’re starting demolition soon. I really thought you’d already moved in with Avery and Stu.”

  Christ. Now I couldn’t tell her I needed to stay without revealing Avery’s secret. “Everything’s fine. I just need to get a couple of things out.” I looked around Jackson’s spare bedroom and made myself admit I’d probably be staying in it whether I liked it or not.

  An hour later, Doc met me at the Center with the key. “No point in getting the locks changed,” she said.

  “I guess not.” I was going to have to put my things in storage. I mentally subtracted the cost of renting a storage locker from my security deposit calculation. I was going to have to find someone to help me move it all. Looking at my secondhand futon and beat-up dinette set, it hardly seemed worth the trouble. I packed my hair products and lotion, the rest of my clothes and makeup, and closed the door on the little place with a dusty slam.

  Doc gave me a lift to the Muni station. She spent half the drive talking about a new project she had in mind, something about educational internet radio. “I hope you find something, Mina. I know it’s tough out there right now.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “You’ll let me know if you need anything, though, right? I mean, letters of reference or anything.”