“I don't know Mom; do you think your firstborn can stop taking off at the last minute? You know, he only told me this morning about that appointment?”
Tania wanders up behind me and watches our exchange with a small smile on her face, her muddied Converse bouncing off the kitchen tile.
“Oh AJ, you leave him alone. Just you wait until you get married and have a baby on the way. I promise, you'll act like a chicken without its head too!”
We stroll around to the front of the house and they wait for me while I finish locking the front door, and eye Elara suspiciously. She's sitting in my living room window, and I'm worried about the mess my blinds will be in when I return.
Mom swats my arm disapprovingly and ambles back over to her beat up, green car. As she turns on the engine it becomes apparent that her left blinker is somewhat busted out and taped over in an effort to ignore it.
“Tania, it was great to meet you, dear. Don't you worry about how moody Atlas can be, and you keep in touch. I want to visit with you some more before you leave.”
I drop my shoulders and complain loudly, “Mom your light, when did you do that?”
She waves me off and begins to pull out of the drive, “Oh for once in your life, relax son. I'll get it fixed soon enough.”
“Thanks Mrs. Riordan,” Tania chirps from beside me, a nest of rose quartz stars huddled in her hair. “You take care and let me know if you need any more of those oils!”
As she leans forward to wave down the street, her frame stretches up until she's standing on the tips of the toes, nearly floating off in her enthusiasm. A renewed glint shines out of her grey eyes, and her lips, already painted a dark red, widen into an impish grin.
“Now let's go, you have to go to work, and I have a dry cleaner to rob.”
Chapter 11: Tania
ATLAS STARES DOWN AT me with an air of defeat and amusement, and I almost want to laugh at him.
From what I've caught so far, he's generally a confident man... unless he's around his family. The power struggle between he and Elliot seems benign enough, but with his mother? He goes from completely competent to embarrassed and confused.
I can't say I blame him, after all my mother has a poor effect on me too. But Mrs. Riordan seems so sweet, I just don't understand what he's so afraid of.
“Well, come on. We have work to do, yes?” I wave him towards his car, anxious to go. There's so much that needs to get done, and although my nerves are translating fear into excitement, I know that the quicker we move, the better.
I've always loved a good adventure but the stakes here are high, even for me.
An angry Death Coven with a mark on my name?
-Check
My own Coven suspicious of my very existence?
-Check
Strange shapeshifter that spooked a level six mage, and my only ally?
-Check
Operating on dangerous ground that seems to hate my very presence?
-Check
And last but not least... Sasha's soul hanging in the shadows between life and death?
-Check
No pressure or anything. Just something that I'm now completely stuck in since I opened up the possibility by scrying. All because I trusted my sister to stay put where I left her.
Blowing a kiss to Elara, I settle myself into the passenger's seat and glance over at Atlas. At least I've got a decent ally on my side.
The ink that wraps around his arms stands out in brilliant colors against his tanned skin, reminding me of the powerful spells he constantly has at his availability. I almost wish he wasn't a mage. At least then I could get comfortable depending on him and feel okay with dragging him into my mess.
But it's better like this. All I need him to do is help me decipher the map so I can track down Sasha and maybe just damn myself to hell, who knows what the tradeoff will be? Hopefully, we can avoid that last part. That'd be best, because the last thing I need is a pissed off familiar blaming me for all eternity. I'm positive that even if the rest of my world were in shambles I can still count on Elara's snark.
“Sorry about my mom bursting in like that. I know we're trying to keep a low profile, but I guess there's just no keeping out my family. She means well though, and I think she likes you.”
His voice is low and contemplative, and his eyebrows lower on his face in an attempt to block some of the morning sun that's shedding golden flecks into his eyes.
I lean against my door so I can watch him while I speak, absentmindedly knotting silver strands of thread onto my purse. “I like her too. She's been stuck in a fog, lately hasn't she?”
His shoulders stiffen, and I can see that I'm right.
“I'm sorry,” I continue. “For whatever happened. And I hope you don't mind, but I gave her some oils that might help. I don't like seeing people hurt.”
Atlas shoots a glance and me and appears to be surprised. Maybe I've said too much. I should just not talk; I always blunder when my mouth is open too long.
“No, that's fine. Thank you actually. Whatever you did earlier, it did help, I've been worried.”
For a moment we continue on in silence, and I turn my head to stare at the window, desperately searching for a trace of wildflowers.
Atlas’ voice fills the small space unexpectedly, and I jump at the sound.
“My dad died a couple of months ago.”
“What?”
I twist my head around quickly, disarmed by the pain in his voice. His knuckles are stark white against the steering wheel and he continues to stare at the road as he clears his throat to speak again.
“My dad died. That's what happened. A heart attack. It happens, I guess. But that's why she's like that. I figured she'd snap out of it eventually, but now I'm thinking she may need some help to do that. So, I guess I'm saying... Thanks. Again.”
My mouth gapes open and for a moment, I'm rendered speechless. How do you respond to something like that?
Then I remember his mother's face; her tired eyes waking up when I excused myself for being a witch, and the spark of determination when she decided to accept me. Atlas has that same spark, and watching him from my seat, I can see that same weariness in his posture. The same hurt.
“There's no need to thank me. Ever,” I emphasize. What else is there to say?
He doesn't respond, but his eyes slide over towards me from his peripheral. I can't tell whether he likes me... or just wants me gone and feels obligated to protect me while he works on his own projects.
My stomach flips at that thought, and I wonder if I am doing the same with him.
We wind our way through narrow roads as trees sag over the pavement, threatening to flatten us for the slightest offense. Their branches are strangely sparse, and among them black feathers ruffle against the sunlight.
Two groups of birds cluster together, and I can't remember how to count them. Is it three crows for a wedding? Four for a birth? Or seven for a secret?
As the car carries us further along, I can almost feel their beady eyes on my head, the silent judgement almost more than I can bear.
“I need to stop by the trailer park again before we head into town.”
My eyelashes unfurl from one another, a coat of mascara struggling against their entanglement. I wasn't expecting Atlas to talk again soon, and certainly not to suggest going back.
“What do you mean? Isn't it better to go to town first?” And why on Earth would you want to go back to a place we were nearly attacked by a banshee/shifter... thing?
“No, I just want to check something out, and no offense...” he hesitates, biting his lower lip as he considers his words. “I would just feel better being closer to you. We can split up, sure, but being miles apart seems kind of stupid.”
“Yeah, splitting up doesn't always go over so well for me either.” I agree softly, remembering the terrified look on Sasha's face as I left her and Elara at the back of that non-profit building. For all their locks and gates, the second story windows
were curiously unguarded. It was a charity, so I didn't think they'd mind me breaking in to give her a chance to recover. Too bad I may never find out.
“Okay, so besides going to the dry cleaners, we stay together. I'll give you the address so you can meet me back at the shop.” Atlas pulls me back to the present easily, and we ride on in silence.
“What are you doing?” I yell from the side of the car, squinting against the furious sun.
Atlas is moving around the littered tree line, his hands outstretched in front of his chest, and the movement reminds me of an old Frankenstein movie. Shaking my head at the ridiculous sight, I toss a peppermint into my mouth, and push my hair off of my forehead.
He puts down his arms suddenly and drops to the ground, the tall grass almost hiding his lean figure. Whoa. I do not want to go through there. Sasha is the snake charmer; me, not so much. With the grass that thick around him, I don't want to imagine the reptiles that haunt it.
“I was looking for something,” he shouts back, pushing himself back up and wading through the yellowed foliage.
“For what? Do you even know how ridiculous you look crawling around out there?" And what could possibly be that interesting in that mess, that it's worth digging through?
Despite my words, he's grinning broadly and crosses the space leisurely, as though we weren't standing amongst greying trailers and piles of cigarette butts.
“I dropped something yesterday and had to pick it up. Don't worry about it. Besides, I wasn't crawling around, I was crouching.” He responds as he steps closer to me. “Ready to go?”
He knocks on the gleaming hood of the car and kicks at gravel on his way to the driver's seat. “Come on, I've got a longer shift than I was expecting today, and I don't want to be late.”
I slide my glasses onto the bridge of my nose, speculating at his aura. It's a busy red, somewhat frenzied with nervous energy, but there's no deceitfulness in it.
“Okay,” I shrug and slide in. I don't share everything with him, he doesn't need to share with me, as long as it doesn't interfere with our goals.
Parting ways at a bus stop, I allow myself to fade into the background. Two men slouch against the curb, and I watch their cigarette smoke curl around their heads as though to keep them intertwined. Countless soda bottles and food wrappers litter the ground, and as the sun wavers on the sidewalk, ripples lift into the air, distracting the rest of the crowd with its tremendous heat.
The red bus that carries me through the narrow streets is old, but cleaner than most public transport I've used, so I settle into my seat easily. There's a certain comfort in riding buses and trains, and it's easy to pretend I'm just another commuter. Someone who belongs. A few short stops, and some small questions later, I get a good suggestion on where I need to hop off.
Thankfully, the dry cleaners are barely opening for the day, and stepping up to the door, I sniff the air carefully. Fresh linens and moth balls are the most prominent scents but hidden among them are the subtle waves of basil and wine. I'm most definitely at the right one.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I allow my fingers to graze the quartz hair clip that holds it back, and I reassess my energy reading. No matter what, I'll have a faint aura of magic, but I'm confident that nobody except Elara, and maybe Atlas will be able to find me.
Bouncing forward in my worn-out Chucks, I lean against the heavy glass door and slide in, relishing the chime of the bell that greets me.
To my surprise, a familiar blonde figure is at the counter, her round stomach causing her to lean forward to offer the cashier the clothing in her hand.
“They're hand me downs for the baby, but I can't get the stains out no matter what,” she rests her reddened fingers across the top of her bump and sighs. “Do you think I should just go ahead and buy new ones, or do you think you can help me?”
The overweight man behind the counter scrutinizes one of the objects closely, and I send slight waves out through the air to test who else might be in the building. From what I can tell, there's nobody else, and that's lucky for me. A surveillance camera is nestled into the corner above his counter, I need to shut that down ASAP. Unfortunately, to do so on my own, I'd need to get close to the camera, which is the opposite of helpful. Remote spell work it is then.
“Excuse me? I have a dress that needs cleaning, but do you have a restroom I can use, really quick?” Pulling out a short dress I'd wadded tightly into my purse, I offer it to him and do my best to look restless.
“Sure, sure. Doorway to the right,” he responds, waving his hand distractedly towards the hallway next to the counter. Without another word, he takes the dress and sets it to the side, still preoccupied with the other customer.
Excusing myself quietly, I slip down the hallway and into the cramped bathroom. Another camera flanks the hall, and I'm betting there's at least one more in the back room.
I lock the door and take stock of my surroundings. The ceramic sink has no counter space, and I would rather avoid doing any spell work on a closed toilet lid if I can help it. Time to improvise.
There's a worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo in my bag, and it's just wide enough to balance at the corner of the sink to create a tabletop.
“Yes!” I whisper to myself, nodding at the miniscule triumph. Rummaging my hand deeper into the canvas, I pull out my travel case of crystal water. The padded case resembles a camera pouch and used to house essential oils, but I've found the foam lining perfect for insulating accessories for spell work.
Rows of tiny glass vials fill the case, each one filled with purified water and a unique piece of either crystal or stone, intended to charge the liquid. In this situation, I need my tourmaline. Banishing spells and shutting down security cameras are somewhat in the same category, well, they're close enough anyway. I find it on the bottom right, marked with a pale blue label, and deceptively dark from the jet-black shard at the bottom of the water.
Setting the vial down on top of my book, I reach once again into my bag to retrieve an eye dropper, and three freshly cut poppies, wrapped delicately in hemp paper. These bright red blooms are known to cause sleep, but a slightly lesser known use is that with the proper spark, they can also cause electronics to shut down. Adding a drop of tourmaline water to the top of each bud, I remove them from their paper and slip them behind a spare wastebasket, where I'm sure they'll go unnoticed.
A quick snap of my fingers, and I can feel the slight static in the air cease as the cameras short circuit.
Moving quickly as I can, I dart out of the bathroom and across to the work area. A flimsy wooden door is flanked with an “employees only” sign, but that’s not a deterrent as long as the video system is down. Shouldering my way in, I pin my hair even tighter in its clips, and glance around for any obvious signs of my map. Like finding Atlas, I don't have to look for long; two heavy canvas totes are leaning near the far exit, both emblazoned with a design I recognize from last night. They must be from the restaurant.
Glancing behind me, I edge over to them, and swiftly begin undoing the top. Then, willing my magic to channel into my fingertips, I focus on those hints of basil and urge the soiled tablecloth to raise up through the wadded linens without wasting time searching through each one. Just as I'm pulling out the piece I need and shoving extra tablecloths back into the hamper, the sound of footsteps echo outside the door. He's coming in.
With my heart nearly betraying me and a wild thumping I'm sure is audible, I dart out the exit, sliding the slightest bit of tablecloth into the door to keep the lock from shutting me out. My skin is still chilled from the AC, and as the sun washes over me I find myself caught between the urge to run with my prize, and knowing I'll set off suspicion if I do.
The alley I'm standing in is less than hospitable, with a falling chain link fence bordering my back, and a half-starved dog eyeing me from the other side. Reaching far above me, the walls are garnished in layers of cheap paint and graffiti, while signs of a homeless camp are hidden behind
the dumpster. So much for a picturesque tourist town. I wonder what people would think of the place if they knew about the grime and hopelessness back here or the magic that brews beneath their feet.
The seconds slip by slowly, and I carefully press my ear to the crack in the door, the metal latch hot against my face. I can hear muted laughter and retreating footsteps from inside, convincing me that the room is most likely empty once more. Praying for good timing, I wrap the tablecloth around my arm, and pull on the door handle.
Slipping back in quickly, I shut the door behind me and tiptoe back across the floor. The proprietor is still in the hall, but his laughter follows him to the front lobby, and my hands shake as I struggle to slow my heartbeat.
As soon as I'm sure he's vacated the hall, I lean back into the bathroom and latch the door behind me, dropping nervously to my knees. Shaking out the soiled cloth, I scan it for stains, and pray for some clarity on last night's events.
Somehow, Atlas was right. My map can't be hidden. Although the entire thing is splotched through with a deep burgundy, gold lines shoot through both sides of the fabric, glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.
Repacking my bag, I retrieve my flowers and straighten up, taking one last glance at the map. Then, with a relieved sigh, I ball the whole thing up as tight as I can into my bag, wash my hands, and step out to the front.
The woman at the counter is tugging at her earring, obviously focused on some far-off thought or anxiety. Her worry pulls at my heart, and although I know it would be best to walk away... I want to help her.
It's remarkable how much she glows. I'd never understood the phrase before, but the blonde woman in front of me is most definitely glowing, and her gentle, oval face and wide eyes sparkle with ethereal beauty.
Waiting for an end to their conversation, I pretend to be waiting on my dress. I probably could have picked a different outfit to be cleaned. The best thing about my purse is that it can accommodate about a duffel bags worth of objects but pulling out an entire wardrobe would definitely throw off a mortal.
Shattered (Tempest Coven Novels) Page 6