Twisted Miracles (12 page)

Jackson looked like he was about to apologize, which would’ve only made things worse, so I slid off the table and rubbed my face. “I’m beat,” I said. “And don’t you have to go to work?”

He shrugged. “I can call in sick.”

I looked at the unmoved crate of gin. “I think I need a break.”

“One more try.”

I huffed out a sigh. “Fine.”

I closed my eyes and focused on the crate. I was tired. I was sick of feeling like a lit fuse. Shane’s words had burrowed deep into my head, and they’d been stuck on repeat all morning. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” Mina’s face swam in my mind, and my chest felt hollow. I had to master this.

That crate was nothing. It was a child’s toy, and I was not going to let it beat me. I funneled every bit of power I had at the wooden slats and thought,
up.

It burst into flames.

“Shit!” I ran toward it, batting at it with a pair of table linens. The fire engulfed one side completely in the time it took me to react. Bottles of gin went up with loud
pops
of exploding glass, and I danced back. “No, no, no...” So much wood in this place. So much fabric. The chairs nearest the crate were already catching, and smoke filled my lungs. I was frozen in panic.

The hiss of a fire extinguisher broke me out of it. Foamy white CO2 covered the flames and doused them, and Jackson laid on another layer, just in case. Sap hissed and crackled on one of the boards.

“Well, that was impressive.”

“I don’t know—I didn’t—I’m really sorry.” One of the smoldering chairs fell apart and collapsed onto the ruined floor.

“It’s okay. Gives the place character.” He let the extinguisher fall with a
clank.

“I think I need a break.”

Jackson looked at the mess of charred wood, alcohol and foam. “Yeah. I think you do.”

We walked out the alley door, and I blinked against the sunlight.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Jackson said, locking up behind us.

“I can take MUNI.”

“It’s no trouble.”

I shrugged as Jackson levitated the keys through an open window in the abandoned used car dealership next to the bar.

“You must know the owner pretty well if you know where he keeps his keys,” I said.

“What? Oh, all the council members know where Seb keeps the keys.”

“Council members?”

“You know, local shadowminds acting important? Actually, I was thinking you should come to the meeting tonight. Someone might recognize your rogue.”

“It can’t hurt,” I said as we walked down Valencia. The commuter traffic was just picking up, and I watched a flock of bicyclists take the turn onto Market.

“Same time tomorrow?” Jackson asked.

“Why not?” I said. “It couldn’t possibly get worse.”

He didn’t disagree with me. “Look, don’t get discouraged. Everyone starts out like this and everyone gets it eventually.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone sets things on fire when they mess up.” I’d meant to sound matter-of-fact, but the words came out bitter. We’d come to his car, and I stopped, looking down at the concrete.

“Hey, Cass...” Jackson put his hand on my arm. “You can’t be so afraid of it. You’ll never get control of your powers if you don’t let yourself use them.”

I managed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well maybe we should find another way to take care of this guy. Can’t we just keep him sedated in a basement or something?”

I’d meant it as a joke, but Jackson didn’t laugh. “You could. But that’s not the point.” His voice had gone soft. His hand was still on my arm. The beginnings of a mental request nudged at my consciousness, but he retreated and leaned back before I could figure out how to respond. “Guerrero and Sixteenth, right?” he said, businesslike again. He used the remote to unlock his car.

“Actually, uh, I had to get a hotel room,” I said as he opened the passenger door for me. I studied my hands while I told him what had happened to Mina’s powers. It felt like a confession, and I wanted to sink into the ground and disappear, go somewhere I could never hurt anyone again.

“You’ll get it under control,” Jackson said. “You will.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t believe him.

I directed him to the Paradise Hotel, which was the only thing I’d been able to find on short notice that wouldn’t clean out my bank account. Jackson took one look at the mildewed awning and the sign advertising weekly rates and said, “You can stay with me.”

“And risk doing the same thing to you? No way.”

“So send Mina over. You can’t stay in this place.”

“It’s not so bad.” But Jackson saw the image of the room—mustard-yellow kitchenette, peeling floral wallpaper and all—in my head and gave me a skeptical look. “All right,” I said, “I’ll ask her. Just...”

He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Be careful with her. She’s pretty broken up about it, and she’ll need to rest her shadowmind if she’s going to heal.” I was still hoping that was possible.

Jackson gave me a serious nod. “I will.”

“I’ll give her a call.” I pulled out my phone, but before I could dial Mina, I saw that I had five missed calls from Shane. While I was trying to debate whether I should call him back or not, it rang again. I spent a moment frowning at the generic blue silhouette of a person on the screen. I’d only put his number in a week ago.

“Are you going to answer that?” Jackson asked.

I sighed and picked up.

“Cass, what the hell—why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I was training. With Jackson.” It was easier to be angry with Shane than to handle all the ways I’d failed in the past twenty-four hours. “Are you calling to try and convince me I’m crazy again?”

“No—Mary Ellen just turned up dead.”

Chapter Eleven

“I thought you’d want to know.”

I closed my eyes and bowed my head to the dashboard. I should’ve known. She’d never called me after the party, and I’d forgotten all about our plans to meet up. “When?”

“They found her body an hour ago. Deb Hebert’s sister-in-law just called.”

“Jesus. What happened to her?”

“That’s the thing—there’s not a mark on her. Some homeless guy found her body in a Dumpster in the Quarter and called nine-one-one from a bar. The only thing on her was her wallet and her cell phone, and the phone’s toast. Like it got microwaved or something.”

“Do they know when she died?” This prompted a sharp look from Jackson, but I shook my head at him. It was a little late to get out of the car now.

“No, but it must have been sometime last night. She and I were in Baton Rouge all afternoon talking to the local converters. Her ex lives over there—we were hoping someone would recognize that guy.”

“Oh, God...what if he knows? What if someone tipped him off and he killed her?” I didn’t say,
What if he comes for you next?

“We don’t know it was him.”

I was quiet for a moment. “Come on, Shane.”

“Yeah.” He paused, and I heard the creak of a chair as he sat in it. “I think you should come back.”

“This is even more reason for me to stay and learn how to control this thing. If it’s someone like me, I might be the only one who can stop him.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

The chair creaked again and I knew he was up and pacing. “Were you even planning on coming home? Or did you already decide to just cut and run again?”

“Why should I go back? Why should I go back when you’re acting like this?” I was yelling now.

“You’re imagining this thing—”

“No, I’m not.” I was sure of it now. I had that, at least.

“Cass—”

“I know you don’t want to believe me.”

“It’s not that.”

“Goodbye, Shane.”

I hung up, jammed my phone into my purse and shoved my purse onto the floorboard. I was breathing as though I’d been running, and I couldn’t look at Jackson.

“So, uh...should I drive you back to your place?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I buckled my seatbelt.

“Is...everything all right?”

“I’ll ask Mina if she’s okay staying with you.”

He started the car. “That’s fine.”

“And maybe we could train again tonight after the council meeting.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” He looked at me again for a long moment before pulling out onto the street.

I stared out the window while he drove. We passed a five-story building covered entirely with a pink-and-green mural of what looked like a fertility goddess. I dug out my phone and turned it off.

“I’m sure he’s just worried about you. If you need—”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded. We pulled up to my building, and I got out and went upstairs to find Mina on the couch with the television on. She wasn’t really watching. She nodded when I asked her if she was willing to stay with Jackson, but I wasn’t sure she heard me. She might’ve had the same response if I’d asked her if she wanted to move to India. When I skimmed her mind for her emotions, all I got was a gray blank.

I packed her things for her and led her downstairs. When I introduced her to Jackson, she nodded and shook his hand as if she wasn’t bothering to remember his name. Jackson had to prompt her to put on her seatbelt.

They drove away, and I had to bite my knuckle to keep from sobbing.

* * *

I’d thought maybe the anger would help me focus. As if all that energy would have to go somewhere, and I’d finally get what Jackson had been trying to tell me. It didn’t work out that way.

I tried meditating. I tried praying the rosary. I tried reciting nursery rhymes over and over again until the words ran together and I wasn’t sure what they meant anymore. Nothing chased out the image of Mina’s face in Jackson’s passenger seat. Nothing I could recite was louder in my head than what Shane had said over the phone.
There’s nothing wrong with you...
Did you already decide to just cut and run?
Every time my brain went quiet for more than a moment, I remembered the way he’d stroked my hand by the fire, the feel of his mouth through the lace of my bra.

I tried lifting my thrift store couch and broke the slats underneath the cushions. It sagged in the middle like a limp flower stem and I kicked it, hearing wood and plastic crack and loving the sound for the instant before I hit my knees on the carpet.

By the time Jackson came by to pick me up at six o’clock, I’d showered and changed and made myself look normal. I buried the past six hours as deeply as I could, and when he opened my door I smiled and thanked him and asked all the right pleasant questions about his day. After a few minutes of faking it as he drove down Guerrero, it started to feel almost real.

“Is Mina doing all right?” It hurt to even ask the question—as though I were tensing in preparation for the blow of his response. He chewed on his bottom lip.

“She’s not eating.”

It hurt as much as I’d thought it would. “At all?”

“I got her to take some coffee this afternoon, but that’s it.”

I closed my eyes. “She may just need some time.”

“I’m keeping an eye on her. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, right.” I shot him a look.

We stopped at a red light, and he turned to face me. “Give her time to grieve. She’ll be all right.” He covered my hand with his. “Trust me.”

“Yeah.” I shifted in my seat. “Thanks.”

He hadn’t said where we were going for the meeting, so I was surprised when he parked in front of Featherweight’s. I gave him a curious look, and he grinned back at me.

“Private banquet room?”

“You could say that.”

I shook my head and followed him through the front door. The bartender from before was working, and he gave Jackson a wave as we walked in. He cast a questioning look at me, and Jackson nodded.

“He knows?” I asked in an undertone.

“Oh, yes,” Jackson said, still with that smile.

I headed automatically for the bar, but Jackson took my elbow and guided me to the back, toward the bathrooms. There was a door marked Employee Only—the
s
had fallen off—and Jackson walked through it. I remembered seeing it the last time I’d been here, when someone had held it open for me. Inside, it was pitch-black and cramped; I could hear Jackson’s breath close by.

“Uh,” I said, fumbling for a light switch. A moment later, Jackson conjured up a light ball, and I saw that we were in a broom closet.

“This is kind of small for a council meeting.”

“Very funny.” He shifted a crate full of mops aside to reveal a second door. There was no knob, just a deadbolt lock. After a moment, Jackson had telekinetically picked it, and the door swung open to reveal a flight of concrete steps leading down.

“Come on,” he said, and led the way.

I hesitated for a moment before following him. The steps ended in a low-ceilinged tunnel with another door at the far end. The passage was lit by a few bare light bulbs in metal cages, and the air was damp and cold. Every so often, twisted clusters of army-green pipes protruded from the concrete like alien weeds. I kept in mental contact with him as we walked, absurdly afraid something would jump out at me from one of the shadowy alcoves cut into the tunnel walls.

“It used to be a fallout shelter,” Jackson said, his voice echoing in the empty space.

“I’d hate to have to wait out the Apocalypse down here.”

“Wait’ll you see the bar.” He opened the door at the end of the hall. It swung wide, and I let out a whistle.

“Damn.”

“Not bad, right?”

The curved concrete walls were all that hinted at the original purpose of the room. The floor was covered with polished hardwood, and instead of electric lights, thick cream-colored candles flickered in sconces every few feet. In the center of the ceiling, a cast-iron chandelier held hundreds more, and the floor below it was stained with years of scraped-up wax drippings. The low gold light would have made the place look like something out of a Victorian romance novel if it hadn’t been for the concrete ceiling. It was covered in graffiti, most of it names and dates, but some drawings, too. In one corner, a converter was leaning back in his chair and looking up as he telekinetically ran a thick red marker over the concrete, sketching the figure of a woman with huge eyes and long hair. The woman sitting next to him smiled and punched him on the arm, and he grinned without looking at her.