Page 13 of Throwing Shade
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At first,I thought that I’d missed her because I’d gotten held up in construction on the way to our brunch place on the beach, but our regular hostess assured me that my friend hadn’t arrived.
I nursed my coffee, holding off on ordering until Jude got there, but after forty-five minutes of her not returning any texts or calls, my appetite was gone. Yes, Jude often got lost in her work, but our brunches were sacrosanct. She’d never been late to one.
After checking in with a mutual friend of ours who hadn’t spoken to Jude in a couple of weeks and had no idea where she was, I paid up and drove over to her workshop, every single rut in the road sending a fresh wave of hell through my neck and shoulder.
The iconic four-story warehouse at 1000 Parker Street was crowded with studios of varying sizes. Smaller ones housed painters, jewelers, and photographers, while the larger rooms were rented by furniture makers and re-upholsterers.
Every November it was the main hub of the East Side Culture Crawl, a massive event where all the artists threw open their galleries in hopes of making holiday sales. Food trucks would set up outside and the place took on a carnival air, people packed elbow to elbow, but today it was quiet.
As I headed to the entrance, my phone rang, but it was just a recorded message from Sadie’s school about the final PAC meeting of the year, so I dismissed the call. I’d been an active member of the Parent Advisory Council when my daughter was in elementary school, much like I’d volunteered for endless bake sales and to chaperone field trips. High school was a whole other ball game. Let some other poor schmuck step up, I’d served my time. I’d even performed a mock ceremony in which I’d passed the torch of making her own lunches over to Sadie at the start of grade eight. Eli declared it was hilarious, Sadie, not so much.
Weaving through the maze of empty halls on the first floor, though, my amusement at the memory quickly faded under my worry for Jude.
Rows of narrow windows lit the high-ceilinged corridor in the arts collective, bathing the space in a flat light that diffused all shadows. I couldn’t raise Delilah, but I did pull my cloaking over me, the world once more viewed through a black mesh.
All right. My animated shadow required a hard edge, but the cloaking worked under various lighting conditions. I added this knowledge to my stockpile, my librarian side delighted with each fact that I re-confirmed, even if this was all temporary.
An artist stepped out of a studio, pushed up her welder’s mask, and wandered toward the water fountain, scrolling on her phone.
I resisted the urge to get out of her way and held my ground until she knocked into me, and looked up startled. I dropped the invisibility after she’d blinked once in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, that was me. I really didn’t see you.” She held up her phone. “Damn addictions.”
We exchanged a couple more very Canadian apologies and continued on our separate ways. The cloaking didn’t prevent anyone from bumping into me, though she’d rationalized it as her being zoned out.
All Sapiens had a natural perception filter that glossed over magical things, even people literally appearing out of nowhere.
I jogged up the stairs and poked my head into Judith’s neighbor’s door. Harley was a painter specializing in Van Gogh-esque acrylics, his studio floor stained in an explosion of color.
He stood next to a large canvas on an easel, mixing white paint into a bright yellow blob with a metal palette knife, a slash of blue tangled in his beard, and death metal audible through his headphones.
I waved my hands and he pulled out an earbud, a paintbrush between his teeth.
“Hi, Harley. Have you seen Judith this morning?” I said.
He shook his head.
“Do you know what time she left last night?”
He removed the paintbrush, accidentally flicking a drop onto his cheek. “She wasn’t here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Another potter on the fourth floor came down looking for her.”
I frowned. Jude had lied to me? Why? She’d been my best friend since university and my shoulder to cry on through my divorce, while I’d supported her through her mother’s dementia.
You misjudged Alex, a dark voice in the back of my head whispered. I shook it off. No, this wasn’t the same thing, but lie or not, where was she?
My car keys were already in my hand, but randomly driving around in a panic wouldn’t help. Thanking Harley, I ran through the most logical possibilities. What if she was in her studio but something had happened to her?
Jude had keys to my place, and I had ones for her townhouse but not for her workspace. I tried the knob, which was locked, but the lights on either side of her door gave me a magical idea.
I rubbed my earlobe. Using my magic for this couldn’t hurt, could it? Especially if it helped find Jude. I decided it was safe enough. However, breaking in to Jude’s studio would be a gross invasion of privacy. What if there was a perfectly innocent explanation for her disappearance, and I pissed her off by nosing around in her business?
