Page 9 of Now Until Forever
Please, no.
Eliana grabbed the box and stood in one move. She had to keep it under control, keep it all tight. Otherwise, she’d be back on the floor, suffering another panic attack.
The unknown was the worst of it. At least, the unknown she knew about. Thoseknown-unknowns.
In the locker room, she sat on a flat wooden bench between the rows of lockers. No point waiting until she got home.
Eliana used her thumbs to shimmy up the lid, the wood shoved down snug. She wiggled it all the way free and set the lid on the bench.
On a bed of dark-blue velvet lay a long knife—a dagger—with detailing on the handle like swirls or scales. The blade had markings as well, as if it swirled molten under the surface of the metal itself. It looked like something her mom might carry. On a special occasion, maybe.
“Guess they think I’ll need to stab someone?”
Her words echoed in the empty room, making her shiver. What this had to do with psychology, she had no idea.
Eliana put the lid back on, shoved the box in her backpack, and shrugged it on her shoulders. The key was to do something—keep moving—and let what was happening around her pull her from the spiral of her thoughts. She was the only one who could control what was going on in her head, and she refused to be governed by her own anxiety. At least as much as she could control it, that was absolutely what she was going to do.
Rather than use the quiet employee entrance, she opted to walk through the lobby. She needed to see and hear people. To remember that regular folks existed in the world. Everyone wasn’t either part of some great evil, or a hero here to take them down. She could just be…her. She didn’t have to be better or more. She could be who she was, and it was enough.
She skirted around a group of tourists huddled together, all of them wearing the smart glasses the Shrine used for the audio tour. Visual displays flashed in front of their eyes, an enhanced experience that came with a recording of her mom’s voice narrating the history ofDominatus.
Eliana smoothed down some hair from the wig beside her face, even though it was secure. It was enough that the employees here knew—and kept her secret. She didn’t need visitors realizing who she was. Not after the judgy way Carlos reacted to seeing her.
“…look at their system.”
Conversation drifted to her as a mixed group of young adults passed by. Most appeared to be in their early twenties. All of them looked at the displays in a way that caught her attention. Not with interest, or curiosity. It was more that they seemed to be staring intently, as if trying to figure it out.
Eliana walked past them, then turned and looked at a display. One glance, and they’d know she was security, even with her jacket on over her shirt.
“Split up,” one of the guys said. He had long dark hair and wore a black hoodie over jeans. “Get what we need.”
The group dispersed in a way that had to be planned, going in all directions. Probably just a group of college students working on a project. That was all.
It had been a long day, with the body and Carlos—she wasn’t sure which had been worse—and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
A sense of freedom filled her as she headed for the entrance doors and out into the bright afternoon.
There wasn’t a better day she could think of to browse a used bookstore, see a tourist attraction, and enjoy a few hours away from work.
And forget all about things she wanted nothing to do with.
Chapter Four
Eliana stepped off the Ltrain onto the platform, where only a few people were milling around. She naturally registered each one as she walked to the exit. Kind of an involuntary action, though she was aware of it.
She knew where the skills came from. She’d sneaked copies of her grandfather, Malcolm Banbury’s books and read them all. And the vacations she’d taken at Ramon and Zeyla’s… Some things were ingrained at this point. As if she’d gone through years of training.
But did that stop her from freaking out seeing her first dead body?
No, it certainly had not.
She turned to the stairs and clipped the shoulder of a man in a brown wool coat.
“Sorry.” She didn’t linger to glance at him and immediately checked her pockets to make sure she still had her cell.
Backpack over one shoulder, the wooden box still inside. She discovered a ticket to the John Wayne Gacy museum in her pocket and tossed it into the trash, along with everything she’d learned from visiting that place. Namely, that she wanted nothing to do with murder investigations.
She might’ve learned some things over the years—most about personal safety. She’d had others drilled into her thanks to Auntie Zeyla. But without putting them into practice, she hadn’t used it all enough to be some kind of investigator like her parents, and now she knew she didn’t want to.
