Piper.
“Before this issue comes out?” he asked, pointing to the pages in front of him. He was writing it already? “Two weeks Wednesday. I might be able to delay it until Thursday, but that’s all.”
Two weeks before the entire Zodiac found out I’d killed Liam with his own weapon…when I wasn’t supposed to be chasing the Shadows at all. And once the Shadows found out-which might be any minute if these little brats kept yelling their heads off-it would totally jack up the cosmic balance. Warren would not be pleased.
“So who’d you kill, Archer? Was it Zell? Or Dawn? Or Sloane, the Shadow Goat?”
“Oh yeah. That Capricorn bitch totally needs to die.” The boys high-fived one another.
I agreed, but shot them a hard look anyway. “Guess you just have to wait and read the book.”
A chorus of protests met this announcement, but I ignored them and headed to the back of the shop. There was an alcove next to the manuals that was the perfect spot to lie in wait for Joaquin.
Sebastian had returned to his usual chair, and was using a newspaper to shield his face from my view. I flicked it as I passed, which made him jump and fling a few F-bombs my way, but I just smirked and kept on walking.
The shop was elongated, each wall filled with floor-to-ceiling comics, with an entire section devoted solely to manga. The collectibles, action figures, and model kits were grouped together, and there was an extensive DVD collection filling the back wall. I stopped in front of a wooden cabinet with glass doors and studied the two carousels of comic books locked inside. The only other books that were locked up this tight were the collectibles, and Zane kept those near the register, right under his nose. Carl pulled up behind me with the key he’d fetched from behind the counter.
“You want the newest manuals?” he asked, unlocking the case. “I don’t think you’ve seen
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll take those, and…” I hesitated, sneaking a peek at my watch. I was still five minutes early. Joaquin would be here, or he wouldn’t, but I could kill two birds with one stone…if I was quick about it.
“And?” he prompted.
“And I’m looking for some back issues too.”
He chuckled darkly. “The classics are going to cost ya.”
“Not that far back. I just want to find out about the last Cancerian star sign.”
“Shadow or Light?” I had the feeling Carl got off on asking me that question. I hated being reminded of my Shadow side-as if I could ever forget-but as the only agent who was both, I was also the only one who could touch both series of manuals. Try to pick up a manual that didn’t belong to your troop, and you’d get a shock that made sticking a finger in a light socket…well, child’s play.
Anyway, the inability to read our enemies’ actions kept the playing ground relatively even, Warren’s beloved “cosmic balance.” The manuals also had a kind of fail-safe mode, a way of depicting an agent’s life and actions while excluding details that might compromise that balance.
For example, in my case they revealed what the interior of my home looked like, but not where it was, or that it was located in a high-rise. They also referred to me as either Joanna, or The Archer, but they didn’t use my full name, and never, ever my hidden one. This protected the mortals, the children who read these books, as much as it protected us. None could be tricked by an agent into revealing the secrets of the opposing Zodiac signs because they simply lacked all the pieces of the puzzle. Besides, by the time the manuals were released, the events each contained were already ancient history.
But now I could read the Shadow manuals, report my findings to the other agents of Light, and we could anticipate their actions from the information gleaned there. Cosmic balance or not, Warren had no problem listening as I recounted
“Shadow,” I replied in a low voice. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but I didn’t exactly relish the world knowing my business, and I was all too aware of Sebastian lurking just behind me.
“Ohhh, they’re sucking you in, aren’t they?” Carl said loudly. “You’re inching over to the dark side.”
I gritted my teeth and silently counted to three. “I just want to know a bit about this agent’s history. How she lived, how she died.” I couldn’t find out about Regan directly; her first and second life cycles-from birth to puberty, then from puberty to age twenty-five-weren’t depicted in the manuals. The third life cycle was the only one recorded, so her history, strengths, and identity would remain veiled until she metamorphosized. Studying the actions of Regan’s mother, however, might give me an idea of what I’d someday be up against…and possibly her true motivations in seeking me out.
A voice popped up at my other side. “I can show you where they are.”
The young girl again. I smiled, amused by the way her eyes kept darting to my smooth fingertips, and flattered by her obvious infatuation. She had glossy black hair cut in a sharp bob, with a long fringe overrunning her brows. Long lashes fluttered above deep-colored orbs, and she wore a schoolgirl’s uniform, complete with knee-high socks and polished Mary Janes. I hadn’t seen anyone this cute since Shirley Temple last graced the screen, and I wondered why she was hanging out with these losers.
“I’m sorry,” I said, bending so I was eye level with her. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m-”
“The Archer,” she said quickly. “I know.”
“Jasmine’s a big Zodiac fan,” Carl said, patting her on her head. They had to be about the same age, but he was at least a half-foot taller.
“Just the Light series,” Jasmine clarified. “When I grow up I want to be an agent of Light too.”
Sebastian gagged behind us. I ignored him and smiled at Jasmine. She was like a little pixie, and I couldn’t easily envision her conking Shadow agents over the head with billy clubs like I had the night before. “Well. Eat your veggies.”
She nodded vigorously and took my hand. I straightened and headed in the direction Carl was pointing. “In the storeroom, all the way to the back, right-hand side, fifth shelf from the bottom. Let me know if you need any help.”
I’d need help all right, I thought, letting Jasmine lead the way. Help explaining, justifying, and ever being allowed out of the sanctuary once Warren found out what I’d done. If I wanted to find Joaquin before then, I had to get busy. Two weeks felt like a mere ten minutes away. Then again, if I was lucky, I thought, looking at my watch, five more minutes was all I’d need.
Jasmine and I had to pass single-file along a dark hallway before getting to the storeroom, which was strange in itself. The building didn’t appear that long from the outside, though I hadn’t been around the back. Not only that, the air was growing colder as we progressed, until the warmest thing around me was Jasmine’s hand clutching my own. Rubbing one arm with the other hand, I kept my eyes focused on a light directly ahead, shivering as I thought of hot toddies and furry slippers. Odd for late May in Vegas.
Finally we crossed the threshold from darkness into light. I blinked a few times so my eyes could acclimate, then blinked again to be sure what I was seeing. And feeling. The cold was gone, replaced by a warmth as welcoming as a wool blanket falling over my shoulders.
For a moment I thought I’d entered another portal rather than a storeroom, but that wasn’t possible. Jasmine was with me; and though she was an oddly cute kid with a startling awareness of supernatural phenomena- prepubescent teens had an acceptance of the extraordinary that adults had long lost-she was no agent. Yet here we were, in a room more befitting the manor house of an English lord than the storage room of some caustic counter jockey. Sure, there were comics stored along every inch of the wall, but the shelves were made of thick mahogany planks, and matching crown molding arched toward a cavernous ceiling soaring over a room the size of a small theater.
While there was space enough for multiple aisle dividers in the center of the room, it was already clustered with leather easy chairs, each with an overstuffed ottoman, and mismatched side tables piled high with comics, texts, and what looked like a teetering cup of forgotten coffee. At the room’s core was a square stone fireplace lit and jumping with orange flames, its flue suspended yards above, but still able to capture the smoke as it rose lazily from the ash. Hence the warmth. I turned a circle around myself, taking it all in.
Observing my reaction, Jasmine pointed to a tight circular staircase in the back corner of the room, which wound up into a rectangular platform, leading to what I assumed was an attic. “Zane’s living quarters are upstairs, but he spends most of his time writing and researching down here. He says the fire keeps his third eye open, and the dance of the smoke lends inspiration.”
“Geez,” I said, whistling as I ran my hand over a stack of titles dating back to the eighties. “He must have
