Page 7 of A Shade of Myself
2
That assholeon the beach had set me up. Now one man was dead, another was scarred for life, and I had yet more vague bullshit attached to me. Sharks? Whispers? What did the stranger think I would finish?
Mom, Dad, what did you start?
The blare of my phone ringing jolted me out of my thoughts. It was “Poor Unfortunate Souls” from The Little Mermaid, which had amused me to no end when I’d programmed it as Tatiana’s ringtone, but now felt uncomfortably prophetic.
I moved into Davide’s hallway to have the conversation in private.
My boss demanded a very detailed walk-through of events. She was furious that this job might be a ruse devised to confirm my magic. Not for my sake, mind you, but because she wouldn’t get paid.
“This was a perfectly nice case of two dybbuks canceling each other out,” she snapped.
The phone beeped at me. In my incredulity, I’d hit a button with my chin. “In what world is a dead and dismembered corpse a perfectly nice case?”
“You know what I mean. This is the second job of mine where the Lonestars are getting involved because of you. It better not become a habit.”
“For the record, I’m not exactly thrilled by this turn of events.” I paced the corridor. “Some psycho might have staged all this because he’s curious if I’m going to finish what my parents started. What does that even mean?”
“How should I know?”
“I want to find out. Lonestars have the resources to find him. I don’t.”
Tatiana cackled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Not one word about justice and closure for the poor dead victim? Maybe you won’t give me an ulcer after all.”
“Silly me for thinking justice was always a given.” I touched the scratch on my neck from Davide’s arm blade.
“Methinks she doth protest too much. Don’t worry, I’ll call the Lonestars.” In typical fashion, Tatiana disconnected without saying goodbye.
Davide and I moved to the front stoop to wait for the magic cops. He didn’t question me further or get mad at how he’d been used, which made me feel both awful and relieved. I’m not sure what I would have said to make it better.
I rested my head on my knees, my lids heavy, while Davide made us both steaming cups of coffee that neither of us had the heart to actually drink.
Ryann Esposito showed up when the first golden rays streaked the summer sky, accompanied by a morose man in a rumpled shirt bearing the same six-pointed gold star tattoo on his wrist as Ryann.
Vancouver’s head Lonestar normally looked like a time-traveling escapee from Woodstock, so the sight of her in dark jeans and a black sweater sent a chill through me. Her hair was still dyed a jewel color—teal now—and shaved on the sides, but it was pulled back in a no-nonsense stubby ponytail with nary a glittery barrette in sight.
I stuffed my trembling hands under my butt. “That’s a different look for you,” I said carefully.
“Where’s the body?” There was no small talk, no flakiness, just a curt impatience.
“Inside.” Davide half rose but she shook her head.
“Stay here. I’ll examine it and then come speak with you both.” She strode inside, followed by the second Lonestar.
Davide and I exchanged nervous looks and I pressed my lips together. Which was the real Ryann? If her hippie chick persona was just a mask she wore to conceal her inner stone-cold killer, could she please put that fake happy self back on?
I’d gnawed three fingernails ragged, run through six different monologues about how I hadn’t done anything wrong, and played two disastrous games of Tetris on my phone before Ryann returned.
She stood in the doorway, forcing us to twist around to talk to her. I felt like a child in front of the principal. The scary principal with debilitating magic who did not look in the mood for anything we had to say.
Ryann listened to both of our versions of events with an impassive expression and very little in the way of questions or comments.
My nerves grew into a full-blown stomachache, and I hunched over, one arm wrapped around my middle.
