Jealousy (13 page)

I rolled my eyes. “There’s nothing at a Nordstroms I need or want. Overpriced junk that’ll fall apart.” I folded up another pair of jeans and stuck them in the red cart. Even under fluorescents the
djamphir
boys looked like models gone slumming. It was hard to pick stuff out with them hanging around looking gorgeous and bored.

When Benjamin said
shopping
he meant Nordstroms at the very
least
. I guess he had some weird idea I wanted couture or something.

When I say
shopping,
especially for clothes, I mean military surplus first, and Target or Dillard’s to get soft goods. Like, say, panties and stuff. I’d already made the boys go away while I poked around in the lingerie section. I mean, come
on
. I’ve been buying my panties alone since I was nine.

I’m used to this. Dad would just give me plenty of cash and a list. I’ve been doing our shopping, other than ordnance, for as long as I can remember. Dad had enough to do just buying ammo and stuff; I took care of clothes, food, all the little things you need when traveling, or to make a house run. I used to love dawdling in the appliances section at Target no matter where in the country we were. I would make up little stories in my head about how we really needed a bread maker or a Foreman grill. Or an espresso machine. I would compare, contrast, and pretend we weren’t moving in a couple of months anyway so why bother with more weight to lug around?

I saw a display of T-shirts that looked okay and headed for them. Graves had taken over pushing the cart, and he was wearing an expression you usually only see when someone in court is sentenced to a long haul. Of course, we’d shopped for him first, and I figured that since he was a guy he wouldn’t have as much embarrassment over buying underwear. I’d just told him to go and get a couple packets of whatever he was wearing now. Benjamin looked like he’d swallowed a frog, and I’d given the
djamphir
one of my best glares, an imitation of Gran’s
shut-yer-mouth
look. He subsided and muttered something about Macy’s. Followed by
Neiman Marcus, please, even that would be better
, under his breath.

I figured if Benjamin wouldn’t pay for it with the Order-approved cards, I’d use the roll of emergency cash in my bag to cover it. It wasn’t quite an emergency, but Jesus. I wasn’t going to have Graves wearing all the same stuff while I was kitted out.

“So where does the money come from, anyway?” I stopped in front of the display and started going through the checklist. V-neck, short sleeves, not bad. I hate fabric crawling up on my neck. All-cotton, good, get them kind of bigger because they’ll shrink. A yawn caught me off-guard, I kept it behind a cupped hand. They had four black tees in medium. I grabbed them all and set them in the cart.

“There’s plenty.” Out of all of them, Leon looked the closest to human under the fluorescents. He was looking at a display of spring dresses, polka-dotted things that would be completely useless if you were running away from something. “Is this what girls wear now?”

“Not this girl,” I muttered. “Seriously, where does the money come from? Come on, I want to look at clearance.”

“Why?” Benjamin sounded honestly baffled. “A
svetocha
can have anything she wants, Dru; we have plenty of money. The Order invests and has several corporations.”

Now that was interesting. Where there was corporation and stock, there were paper trails. At least, you could find out some stuff with public records and other stuff by hack and by crook. I filed that away. “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you have to waste it. Target’s good enough. And what about a
svetocha
getting what she wants? I thought Anna was supposed to be a big secret.” I halted near the clearance racks and started digging. It was a good time to get hoodies because when spring comes they clear out just about everything to make way for the bikini-fest in early summer.

I shuddered at
that
thought.

“She’s a secret—from the
nosferatu.
She doesn’t mix much with the general population. Busy running the Order and . . . well, it’s best to stay out of her way. Out of the way of anyone on the Council, really. They don’t get there by being decorative.” Benjamin looked even more uncomfortable. “You’re actually the first
svetocha
I’ve personally been in a room with. But it’s in all the basic classes—all about
svetocha
, and how they’re . . . well, they get everything they want.”

“Huh.”
Even though there aren’t a lot.
I absorbed this. “So I could go shopping anywhere I wanted?” Getting some ammo might actually be a good idea.

“I, um. Yes. You really . . . anywhere, I guess.” Benjamin sounded like he was reconsidering telling me about this. Or faintly hopeful that I’d suddenly decide Nordstroms was a good idea.

“Cheer up, old man.” Leon actually chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “It could be worse. She could be in the dressing room for hours.”

With you guys watching everything? No thanks. I know my sizes, that’s enough.
I decided to test out this
anything
rule. “Okay, so I need a military surplus store, too. Do you guys know what the gun laws are like here?”

“Fingerprinting and licensing. But it boils down to,
Don’t get caught if you’re in the Order
.” Leon gave me one of his odd little looks. “We can go to the armory, if you like. You can practice.”

I shook my head. Found a charcoal hoodie with a zipper and good sleeves, checked it for loose threads. “Just wondering. Hey, Graves, you want to go get shampoo, toothpaste, that sort of thing? And if you need any over-the-counter stuff, you know. Get me some Midol, all right?”

Benjamin all but choked. Leon studied the ceiling with a great deal of interest, a smile twitching at the corners of his thin mouth. While Benjamin looked ready to sink into the floor, Leon looked highly amused.

I decided I liked him.

“I think you should pick your own Midol.” Graves even said it with a straight face, but there was a ghost of a grin quirking his lips. He’d found a way to shave, and he looked attractive but normal. Not ultra-gloss like the
djamphir
. “’Cause, you know, there’s different types.”

“Point.” My stomach rumbled. “We should probably go back soon. Is the cafeteria open during the day?”

“Well, yeah. We can get a midnight snack. Midday snack. Same thing.” Benjamin’s cheeks were scarlet. “Don’t you want to do more shopping?”

I surveyed the overloaded cart. Jeans for Graves and me, T-shirts and long-sleeved shirts for him, short-sleeved T-shirts for me, a couple of wool sweaters, sweats for both of us, two or three hoodies apiece, including the clearance-rack one I was holding. Boxers to sleep in. Packets of underwear, four sports bras. A belt for him, a belt for me. Along with everything I’d ordered online, this was really reasonable. The Schola was pretty stocked, but there were things like cotton balls and toner I wanted. And my own brand of shampoo. They had some expensive stuff in the shower. I felt like I was in a fancy-dancy hotel, using it.

Which wasn’t bad. I totally love the little samples of stuff they put in the bathrooms at major hotels. Dad sometimes had us in really cushy places with nice high-end samples I stashed in the truck. I rated them according to effectiveness and smell, and I went through a phase when I was about thirteen of saving a bunch of them before I figured out there are always more hotels.

Sometimes I still think about that clutch of little trial bottles in a dark Dumpster somewhere. Like a rock collection or something.

I checked the price and decided what the hell, plopped the hoodie into the cart. “I think that’s everything, after we make a run through the pharmacy section. Since Graves thinks I should pick my own Midol. Is there anything you guys need while we’re here?”

Leon actually laughed. “They have slushies up at the front.”

“Jesus Christ,” Benjamin muttered. “Nordstroms. Macy’s. We could go to Paris for the spring season. I was expecting transatlantic flights.”

I figured ignoring that was best for all concerned. “Is there an Old Navy around here? They’ve got shorts and stuff.” I caught the look Benjamin gave me. “What?”

“Nothing. We just thought a
svetocha
would be more, well, difficult.” Leon’s mouth twitched. “I
do
seriously want a slushie.”

I tried a tentative smile. I definitely liked him now. “I haven’t had one in ages. Maybe the guys outside—the double blonds—would want one, too?”

For some reason Leon found that utterly fricking hysterical. He snorted and chuckled all the way through Housewares to the Health and Beauty section, and even Benjamin unbent enough to grin.

We did stop in the Sports section for a sleeping bag, and I made Graves get a good one, too. Clothes are one thing, but you don’t skimp on gear. I also dawdled in the office-supplies section until Graves threw a couple pads of paper and some pencils in the cart, glaring at me like he dared me to take them out.

Benjamin tried to take us to some Italian place for lunch, but Leon asked about Mexican food. And that sounded really good, so we ended up in some hole-in-the-wall place where I hogged a lot of tortilla chips and Benjamin got two margaritas by just smiling at the waitress and asking politely. He looked like he needed them at that point.

First I was
back in Target picking out wedding dresses. Yards of white lace and froth, while invisible people stood around and commented. “No, too small . . . too big . . . will never fit you . . . too classic, too tight . . .”

Until I felt like screaming because all I wanted was a dress that worked. Then I was trying to try them on and there was no dressing room because if I went in there I might disappear, so at the end of a row between clearance racks I was struggling into one dress after another, and they all had holes. Big, wide, moth-eaten holes, my bra and skin peeking through, and someone said, “You’ll have to pay for that.”

The walls of the store receded, smears of red paint streaking them and turning into long screaming faces. I felt the prickling buzz in my fingers and toes, like when your limbs go so numb you can’t even walk.

I know that feeling. It comes with dreams that show me things. “True-seeins,” Gran called them.

“Real nightmares” might be a better term.

For a moment I thought hazily that it might be the most horrible dream, the one where my mother picks me up out of my bed and takes me downstairs, tells me I’m her good girl, and tucks me in the hidey-hole in the closet. I struggled toward waking, but the dream had other ideas. It was in the driver’s seat, not me. I couldn’t fight it.

Tap tap tap.
A pause.
Tap tap.