Elemental Omen (Paranormal Public Book 10) (2 page)

The seconds ticked past. Somewhere nearby a rat scurried past, the wind blew paper trash, a car started. The city continued to buzz with late-night life.

“How much does she owe?” I sighed. Sometimes the easiest way out was the best, so despite my friend’s protests, I paid the guys and they left, smiling and slapping each other on the back. They had gotten what they wanted and I hadn’t beaten them up. Tonight had been a good night for them.

“You’re an idiot,” she said once they were gone, but the fight was gone from her voice.

“You’re welcome,” I said. I’d stuffed my hands in my pockets again to keep from killing her attackers as they sauntered away. “You’d have more luck looking dignified if your lip wasn’t bleeding.”

“What kind of guys go around hitting a defenseless girl?” I asked. She was sitting on the cold and dirty stone, trying to catch her breath. I gave her my water bottle and she drank greedily, letting some of the water dribble down her chin and shirt.

“I’m not defenseless,” she argued. “It’s how this place works. It’s how it has always worked.”

“It hasn’t always worked that way,” I countered.

“Like you know anything,” she said, dabbing at her lip with a dirty sleeve.

“You are defenseless when there are four against you,” I said. “What were you doing in this part of town anyway?” I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.

“Looking for you,” she said, shaking her head. “There was some strange stuff tonight.” She turned her gaze away from me and toward the stone floor, her eyes glazing over.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face to bring her back to the present, “Oh yeah? Tell me.”

She shook her head. “I just had a strange feeling. Now I feel stupid, like I was just anticipating this fight, but at the time the whole underground felt strange and I was like, who do I know that’s on the lookout for strange happenings? Joice, that’s who.”

“Thanks for thinking of me,” I muttered. “Next time don’t come here alone.”

“Clearly not,” she said. “I’m sure if I bring along a girl who’s smaller and skinnier than I am, things will go swimmingly. Maybe next time you better come to my fight, so you can walk me home like a gentleman would.”

“Maybe,” I said evasively. It was a little game we played. I couldn’t stand to watch her get hit and we both knew it.

“Anyway,” she said, wincing as she tried to stand. I helped her and she returned the water bottle. I picked up the bag of groceries I’d been forced to drop.

“Do you ever feel guilty about nicking other people’s food when you could pay for it yourself?” Greta asked. I squinted at her in the darkness.

“How many bruises do you have now, anyway?” I asked, eyeing her skeptically. She had just been beaten up after she had already been in a fight. Her skin was more purple than anything else. It made my stomach churn.

“Friends don’t comment on other friends’ bruises,” Greta sniffed. She fought in the cages. It was one of those things she believed she had to do. Some nights she was fine and some nights she got stuck fighting someone bigger, faster, and stronger than she was.

“I’m not your friend,” I said automatically.

Greta made a noise of disbelief. “Right, I forgot, cool kid who’s the only one around here who’s never been mugged and doesn’t make friends . . . is also not my friend. Got it.”

I didn’t say anything, so Greta tried again, this time her voice a little less sure. “Sometimes it sure feels like we’re friends.”

“You get yourself beaten to a pulp and in return I take care of you and in return you mock me,” I said. I paused and then added, “Okay, maybe that does sound like some friendships I know.”

“In return I show you around the city and help keep the gangs off your back,” she said. “You’re welcome.” She sounded a bit unsure of that last part, though. It was now clearer than ever that the gangs left
me
alone, and no one else.

I didn’t remind her that the gangs left me alone even without her help, but the “get the local to like you and speak up for you” method was the one I had found to be the least violent, through trial and error. I also didn’t attract any attention that way.

“You going home?” Greta asked.

“Yup,” I said.

“Want company?” I knew Greta wanted food. She used all her money to feed her three younger siblings and a mother who had long ago stopped being able to keep it together. Greta wasn’t stupid. Another thing she noticed was that I always had enough food. I don’t know why I had let her get closer to me than anyone else in years. Stupidity, probably. But loneliness mostly, if I were telling the truth.

I sighed and Greta knew she had won.

Getting to where I lived was complicated. Part of my way of protecting myself was picking locations that were not easily accessible by anyone, paranormal or otherwise. I really couldn’t call it an apartment, but that was intentional too. If I lived in a normal apartment building I would have all kinds of problems, and spies would be after me, and it wouldn’t take long for other paranormals to find me. Anyhow, I preferred places with more character.

“It’s a great night for a climb,” Greta said, inhaling the stench. There was no fresh air here, something I had to get used to again and again.

“Hey Joice,” she said. I had told her that was my name when I first met her. “Don’t you wish you could see the stars tonight?”

“Yeah,” I said, “the stars would be nice, but then again, so would peace and quiet, and I accepted that I wasn’t going to get that the second you showed up.”

Greta made as if to punch me playfully on the arm but pulled back without actually hitting me.

I had taken over an empty room at the top of a very tall industrial building. I liked the fact that there were no people there anymore, and I liked that the only way to access the room I now called home was a rickety fire ladder that hung on the outside wall. Not only was it hard to spot, it looked like it would fall apart under the weight of anything heavier than an alley cat. The first time I had shown Greta how to get to my home she had balked, but when I accused her of being afraid she nearly raced up the thing. Now, I laughed a little and pulled the ladder down for her. I’d had to figure out a way to do this without getting caught using magic, because Greta didn’t know I could use magic. At first all the places I had lived had been protected by magical barriers, until I realized how spastically unpractical that was.

“So, today Marni and Ethel were fighting again,” said Greta. She mostly talked about her sisters.

“What about?”

“Teddy bears. Marni has two brown ones and Ethel took one, because she just has one brown one,” said Greta with a sigh. “Really, the things kids care about.”

“Maybe they should channel their energy into sweeping floors.”

“They’re good kids,” said Greta stoutly, instantly annoyed with me. “They do their part. They do a lot more than most kids their age have to.”

“I know,” I said. “I just hate to see you so tired.”

“There’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure,” she said, “but I’m never tired when I’m with them. I perk right up.”

We finished climbing the first ladder and I pulled the second one down. Once we were on the rooftops we moved faster. Greta was athletic and strong and she’d be damned if she ever complained. She could keep up.

The furthest building at the end of the alley was the cool part, and when we reached it I walked over to the stone wall. We were now on a roof that was clearly not designed to have humans on it, but I wasn’t worried.

We kept walking until we reached the right rooftop.

“Do you hear that?” Greta asked, glancing behind us. The tops of the buildings were bathed in light from the moon, and aside from a few dancing shadows we were alone in the stillness and the dark. I looked where Greta’s eyes had gone, but I saw nothing. I shook my head while her eyes stayed where they were.

“Come on,” I said, “we’re almost there.”

Reluctantly, Greta got moving again. I let her walk past me so she was in front, then darted a single look back. I couldn’t see anything to worry me, but with Greta’s words a feeling of unease had crept into my consciousness. I had already stayed in this city longer than I liked to stay in one place, but it had been so long since there’d been an incident, why not?

We had reached the right wall and I examined the brick, pretending for Greta’s sake. An actor I was not.

“This is my favorite,” Greta whispered, echoing my thoughts. I reached out a hand. She thought I was touching a lever I’d hidden, that only I could find. I let her think that.

I touched the stone and allowed a little magic to seep into it. Sighing at the feeling of my power rushing through me, a little angry that this was all I allowed it to do, I let us into my building.

Then we still had to make our way to the tower at the top of the building.

A draft blew into our faces as we climbed the rickety stairs. This was another difference between the place I had chosen here and the places where I’d stayed before. All the other places I had lived in had been on the ground level, because that had let me feel like I’d be able to get away faster. But not this one. Here I had chosen a home up high. Why? Because it was along the river, and I knew I could escape if need be, even from a great height above the water.

“Come into my humble abode,” I said, pushing open the door.

Greta giggled, but her voice was serious when she said, “Your eyes dart around like you’re expecting an army to be here waiting for you.”

We were in a large circular room at the top of an unused watchtower. The room hadn’t had any furniture when I’d moved in, and it had been a chore getting any up to it. After I’d managed some furnishings, I had found it a very comfortable refuge. I had taken a sofa from the curb to sleep on and found two chairs and a table in a back alley. I had struggled to get the chairs up the flights of stairs with bemusement at the notion that I would ever have any company. It had felt silly at the time, but here Greta was.

“Let me take that off your hands,” she said, sweeping the bag of stolen food away from me.

My “kitchen” was merely the part of the room directly opposite the door. It overlooked the churning river, and I smiled every time I saw the water. I had an old fridge, salvaged from a junk yard. I kept milk in there mostly, and sometimes cheese. At the moment Greta pulled out sandwich meat, crackers, and baby carrots.

She raised her eyebrows at me. “What, do you only eat foods that are orange? That’s weird.” She dug into the carrots and I shook my head as I walked slowly around the room. I liked to check the place out whenever I returned, to make sure nothing was different. Nothing ever was.

While Greta busied herself eating my food, I walked to the windows that overlooked the river. The water was black, and choppier than usual. The wind had gotten steadily stronger. “There’s going to be a storm,” I commented. My stomach tightened. Storms like the one I felt coming only meant one thing, and it had nothing to do with bad weather.

“It wasn’t in the forecast,” said Greta. I kept my eyes outward, not looking at her, and she started to hum some random tune. She was always humming and singing when I was with her, and she was obsessed with the weather forecast. “How will I know whether to bring an umbrella otherwise?” she’d say when I teased her.

I ignored the question but reiterated my basic point. “Whether it was in the forecast or not,” I said, “there’s a storm on its way.”

“Sure thing,” she said, plopping down on the ratty blue sofa. The wooden legs were scuffed and one tottered near the breaking point, making the whole couch precarious.

I went to my fridge, pulled an ice pack out of the freezer, and took it to Greta without saying a word. She glared at me, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she slapped it to her rapidly purpling eye with an eye roll.

That was another little part of our deal. The first time she’d come to my place beaten and bloody and tried to refuse help, I had informed her in no uncertain terms that she’d use the ice pack, the bandages, and whatever else she needed to feel better and she’d be quiet about it. Ever since then, she had.

I watched her for a second, then returned my gaze to the window, feeling more uneasy by the second. I never did this normally, but tonight I said, “Greta, I think you should stay here for now, at least if you think your family will be alright without you.” The rain was going to start in about three minutes, not that I could tell her that.

When she didn’t answer, I looked over my shoulder. She was fast asleep, her pile of red hair turned sideways as she snored softly. I shook my head and went to grab a handful of crackers. Since Greta was sleeping on my bed, I would have to take the floor. I pulled out my extra blanket and spread it over the rug, right below the skylight, which was my favorite feature of this place and the main reason I had chosen it. I liked to watch the clouds skittering overhead, and at the moment I was determined to enjoy the sight of the rain slanting down onto the glass.

I placed an arm beneath my head and watched the rain for a long time, trying to seal the memory, because tomorrow I was going to have to move on from this place. I was starting to care about Greta, and that was dangerous - for her. She didn’t deserve to get mixed up in my life, even if she had forcefully tried to do so. I had already stayed longer than I should have.

Except for the rain pattering on the window in the ceiling, everything was quiet. Eventually my eyes slid to a close.

Waking the next morning to a hand shaking my shoulder, I opened my eye a slit and looked at Greta. Her brown eyes were wide, looking especially odd given that one of them was framed with a very bright purple.

“Nice shiner,” I said groggily.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said. “How could the forecast have missed this?”

I sat up slowly. I didn’t like waking up. I liked to sleep through most of the day; no one would ever call me a morning person.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “Wow.”

The rain was coming down in blops so thick and fast that I couldn’t see anything else. The tap, tap, tap against the window provided a steady backdrop to our conversation.

“I need to get home” she said, “but I can’t go anywhere in this.”

“I’m sure your family’s fine,” I said, even though I didn’t believe it.

Greta hadn’t let me come to her house, ever. She said her mother didn’t like men, which I could believe. But I had followed her there once and kept my distance, so she wouldn’t see me. They lived in the basement of a filthy laundromat, and they were forced to pay an exorbitant rent for it. It had made me so angry I’d had to leave.

“You can stay a while longer,” I said, scrambling to my feet. I told myself uselessly that I shouldn’t have ignored the feeling of unease that had permeated the air the night before. This rain was all wrong, and it meant that trouble was coming. Soon.

“Thanks,” she said, eyeing me. “But what’s wrong with you? You’re as white as a vampire. It’s like you never get any sun at all.”

“I’m not as white as a vampire, actually,” was my retort. She had no idea. I ran my fingers through my dirty blond hair and hurried over to look out the window.

“What’s the point of doing that?” she asked. “It’s not as if you can see anything, is it?”

When I didn’t answer immediately, she made an exasperated noise. I closed my eyes and tried to forget she was there. It had been a long time since I’d done this, mostly due to my worry about being discovered, but it was necessary now. I rubbed my fingers over my ring, removing some of the carefully placed grime. I sank deep into my magic and felt the power churning. If I once let it loose, out of the control I had so carefully constructed, I could rip apart this entire building. Magic didn’t like to go used.

There were sparks of heat in the rain, almost like lightning, except that it wasn’t in any way a natural kind of lightning. I swallowed hard and turned to Greta.

“Hey,” I said, trying to stay casual, “while we wait why don’t you tell me about the funny business you sensed last night.”

Greta rolled her eyes. She was now sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back braced against the sofa, occupying herself by braiding her hair.

“I told you it was nothing,” she said.

“Tell me anyway,” I insisted.

While she talked, I moved to the “bedroom” part of my room, which was really just a partition in front of my dresser. I didn’t know why I felt the need for such privacy; it wasn’t normally something I cared much about. I stripped off the t-shirt I’d been wearing since the day before and put on a clean one, then ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times, as if that was going to make any difference. It just seemed important to hang onto some little shred of normalcy.

“I had the third fight,” she said, “which meant that I was out on the floor for the first fight and went to the locker room to get ready during the second. The first fight was between Dat and Jilk; Dat won, but it was the crowd that gave me the creeps. They were silent. Like, there were a lot of silent people there dressed in like, black robes, and they weren’t dirty black robes, either, they were clean. But black, with hoods.” Despite the fact that she lived above a laundromat, the idea of clean clothes was stunning and astounding to her.

I didn’t interrupt. When I tried to look back out at the water, it just made me feel sick. But I also avoided looking at Greta, because I didn’t want to scare her.

“At first I thought they were all there to cheer on Jilk, which, you know, would explain the silence, but then I realized that wasn’t the case. I know Jilk’s crew. She runs with the West Gang, and they were there. At first they were glaring at the hoods. I think maybe they had tried to hustle them for money, because they hustle everyone for money, but then they just looked afraid. And gangs don’t look afraid.

“The only other time I saw a gang look afraid was when they were dealing with you.”

She turned her muddy brown eyes toward me, and I knew that if she had been braver, she would have asked me a question at that moment. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. Instead she just shrugged.

Greta and I had first met the night I had fought with the gang. I made sure to find my home base as soon as I came to the city, before I risked any battles, because there was no sense in fighting with more gangs than I had to. Once I was settled in to my place, I set about meeting the local gang in control of the territory I now lived in. I hated that part. When I lived in the hills or forests, I didn’t have to do it. Well, just with the bears, but they were much more understanding than I would have expected them to be, and as long as I stayed away from the cubs, we co-existed equitably enough. In the woods, the only friends I had to make were the animals, and they had the mentality of “We’re in charge, but we don’t want your money, just maybe a twizzler if you leave it around, so let’s just all get along.”

Greta had stared at me in wonder that first night. I had a feeling she’d never seen anyone stand up to the gangs before.

“Anyway,” she was saying, “Jilk was destroyed, and her gang wasn’t even sorry. In fact, they were begging her to finish. They didn’t like the fight and they got as far away from the hoods as possible. Old Ollie said that the hoods were asking questions. He came into my locker room to tell me. The whole place was buzzing.”

“Did they talk to you?” I asked sharply.

Greta shook her head. “No,” she said. “I was busy getting ready, and when it was time for my fight they were gone. The gangs were pissed. The hoods had scared away the customers, so there wasn’t much money for me to make.”

“That’s why you couldn’t pay those guys?” I asked.

“Exactly,” she said, slumping forward. “I was going to use the money I made tonight to pay them off, then win again tomorrow and buy food for the family.”

I knew she was lying. She would have paid them off tonight and then had to borrow more for tomorrow, but neither of us pointed that out. She looked tired, and I hadn’t slept well, or long enough.

“The rain looks like it’s on fire,” Greta said.

Her voice was suddenly closer, and I turned to see that she was standing behind me and staring out the window. The tap, tap, tap, had become a slap, slap, slap.

“Which is funny,” she said, when I didn’t say anything, “because rain can’t be on fire.”

“What did the hoods look like?” I asked.

Greta lifted her head to eye me, as if to question why I still cared about the creepy hoods when she had moved on to other topics. “They didn’t look like you.”

“I know that,” I said. They couldn’t have.

“They were tall and strong-looking,” she said, swallowing hard. “If I didn’t know better, I would say they were vampires.”

“You have a big imagination,” I muttered. Most of the vampires I knew were not especially muscular. At least, not to look at.

“Thanks,” said Greta. “I know rationally the idea of vampires is stupid, but that’s the first thing I thought when I saw them. There was just something in my mind, a sort of gut reaction, and I was like, that’s a vampire!”

“Did you see fangs?” I asked more sharply than I meant to. If I kept up that line of questioning my friend might start to think she wasn’t actually crazy, and under no circumstances did I want her to think that.

“No-o,” said Greta, twisting her hands in her lap. “I didn’t.”

Maybe there was still hope. Maybe what she had seen was just some guys being stupid, or maybe she was drugged on something and had made it all up. I wouldn’t put it past her. These were slums and hard times, and Greta was, as the circumstances in which I had found her tonight proved, mixed up with some pretty bad people.

“Look,” I said, “you should go home.” I was instantly in motion, even as I said it. My decision was made. Greta couldn’t stay here with me. It was too dangerous.

“But it’s raining out there,” she whined.

“Yeah,” I said. “Trust me, that’s not so bad.”

“I do trust you,” she said, smiling at me. “You trust me too, right?”

I stopped in the middle of packing her a sandwich to take to her sisters. Her face was pale, and I felt my heart sink and then almost come to a stop.

“Greta, when you told me you didn’t talk to the hoods, were you lying?”

My friend scuffed her foot on the floor. “I wouldn’t call it lying, exactly.”

“Did you tell them anything?”

She bit her lower lip and started to tremble. It took everything in the world for me not to grab her and shake her silly.

“They were just so big and tall and they were waiting for me in my dressing room. They talked about my family. They talked about the laundromat.”

I closed my eyes and tried to remain calm. This was why I couldn’t have friends.

“I didn’t tell them your name,” she said.

“It’s not my real name anyway, Greta,” I said, sounding harsher than I meant to. She flinched, but she didn’t look away. Her brown eyes were huge and frightened.

“They said they’d hurt my family,” she whispered. “I had to tell them something.”

“Did you tell them where I live?”