he did. “Get out.”
And even though I’d been prepared for that-even though I knew I was lucky that was all the leader of the Zodiac troop did, and demanded of me-I was still numb as I made my way to the launchpad. I’d already successfully retrieved the disks from my locker, and stashed my bags where I’d left my satchel a week earlier. What I wasn’t prepared for was for Warren to follow me up the chute and wordlessly strip me of the mask that would allow me to re-enter the sanctuary.
Then he returned inside, leaving me to make the crossing on my own.
I shook as I waited, like some refugee victim who knew she was alive, but wasn’t sure how…or even if she wanted to be. And when I felt dusk silently settle over the boneyard, I went ahead and created another breach in the wall, stepped through it one final time, and returned to the mortal reality. Warren, I knew, would be along shortly to shore up the fissure I’d made, but that would be out of habit. There’d be no breach of the boneyard’s wall from the Shadows now. Why should there be? They were already in.
While I was on the outside. Alone.
21
The memory of Marlo’s lifeless body kept me going those next few days. That and the disgust and horror on Hunter’s face as he realized what I’d made him into. That last look had been a telling one. He’d never forgive me-I hadn’t really expected him to-and he’d never look at me with longing or lust again either. And that was okay. If I could just regain enough trust to be allowed back in the sanctuary, the closeness we’d once held after sharing the aureole would be replaced with professional reserve, which was all I really wanted.
Wasn’t it?
I was wondering about that as I parked in front of Cher’s house, where I’d been staying since my ejection from the sanctuary. Olivia’s home was unsafe now that the gloves were off between Regan and me, and even though she was supposed to be tucked away in some safehouse in preparation for her metamorphosis, I wouldn’t put it past her to have revealed my hidden identity to Joaquin-or even the Tulpa.
“Heya, honey. What’s up?” Cher said when I entered her guest room, her eyes never leaving the comic she was leafing through while lying on my bed. Not a comic-a Shadow manual. Shit. Had she gone through my stuff? Or had I left that one out on the nightstand after combing through it the night before? It had to be the latter, though I knew Olivia wouldn’t have made a stink either way. Those two, I had to remember, kept no secrets from each other.
“Not a lot,” I said, keeping my tone light as I toed off my tennies. “Just back from the gym.”
She was propped up on her elbows, and as I tossed a few local magazines down onto the bed-weeklies that offered underground commentary on the city, politicians, and entertainers-she gave me a horrified once-over. “Darlin’, did you…sweat?”
I hadn’t actually. If I were to work out to the point of breaking a sweat I’d break whatever machine I was training on. There wasn’t a free weight made that I couldn’t lift a thousand times, and sparring with mortals was a total waste of time. I had been at the gym, though. The repetition of running or biking in place helped me think. My conscious mind zoned out while my subconscious pondered whatever problem I was trying to figure out. Besides, it was the last place the Shadows would think to look for me, and these days I was taking refuge where I could find it.
“Um…” I’d applied water to my chest after the workout to make it look a little more realistic. I should have known Olivia didn’t sweat. “See, there was this girl next to me on the treadmill, and a cute guy on the other side of her, so I thought if I just went faster than her I could get his attention, but every time I upped my speed, so did she.”
“That whore!” Cher threw the manual aside as she sat up.
“Yeah, so I ended up sprinting for like, five whole minutes, and when I looked up, the guy was gone.”
Cher shook her head. “Next time why don’t you just ask him how to work the machine? That always works for me.”
Oh yeah. The this-inanimate-object-is-smarter-than-me approach. That was so me. “I’ll do that,” I said, and shot her a weak smile.
“What are these?” she asked, holding up one of the weeklies.
“Just local newspapers. They’re free at the gym, and they have lots of good articles.”
She looked at me suspiciously as she smoothed her hair back from her face. “You sure are readin’ a lot these days.”
Comics and angry criticism was considered reading a lot? “I’m not really reading them,” I said, and her expression immediately shifted to relief. “I just look at the social events in these, and I like the pictures in the others.”
“Oh, but I’m not talking about
The lights and movement that animated the manual when I touched it were dormant in her mortal hands. Apparently it had some sort of sensory on and off switch, and it looked like any other comic as she thumbed it open. “What issue is that?” I asked, leaning forward.
“It’s called
I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, I can’t stand her. She’s a real bitch.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, flipping through the pages. “But she dresses cool.”
I drew back, studying the panel she flashed at me, unreasonably annoyed that my/Olivia’s best friend would find one of the foremost supervillains in the city attractive. “No, she doesn’t. She’s totally hooker-fied.”
“You think?” she asked, turning the page back to study it. “I don’t know. I’d wear that.”
“Sure, to a costume party,” I said, flopping down in an oversized side chair.
Cher angled her eyes up at me, plucked brows winging high. “See, honey, that’s why I don’t exercise. It puts me in a shitty mood too.”
“I’m not-” I stopped, sighed, realizing this could go on forever. And would, I thought, if I were still me. The good thing about being Olivia was being able to change mental direction without signaling first. Especially with Cher. “So where would someone go if they were looking to have sex with a lot of people?”
“It’s
Point taken.
Then again, that kind of thinking would mean I had nowhere to begin looking for Joaquin, which wasn’t exactly true. Since I knew the virus was now being spread sexually, I had a fulcrum around which to expand my search. Las Vegas was hardly lacking in establishments meant to whet the sexual appetite.
The question was, which of the nightclubs, sex shops, lounges, or strip joints would be most alluring to Joaquin? Because he’d want to be out there, watching devastation unfold among the populace of healthy, sexual humans who had nothing more on their minds than a sweaty workout themselves. It fit in perfectly with his M.O.- causing pain through sexuality.
I mentally scratched the strip clubs from my list. As much as mainstream society liked to demonize the clubs and the women who worked there, they were fairly white-bread. How else could they flourish in every city in the country? Our culture’s dirty little open secret. Besides, that was too blatant for Joaquin; the sensuality and allure of sexual desire would be lost in the transaction, money for titillation. No, he got his jollies from more unpredictable circumstances. Joaquin, I knew, liked the chase.
I reached over and grabbed one of the folded weeklies from the bed, tossed another to Cher, and flipped directly to the back where all the political rants and pseudo-articles that filled the earlier pages were replaced with ads offering phone sex or house calls or “special massag-ies.”
“Help me look for a dominatrix,” I told Cher, trying not to wonder where all these girls came from. I angled the paper to the side. Did their mothers know they were posed like this?
“Dang, girl,” she said, picking up the magazine. “You aren’t turning into a muffin bumper, are you?”
“Don’t worry, Cher,” I said, skipping past the ads that promised one-on-one action. Joaquin would want to cast a wider net. “You’d be the first to know.”
She smiled brightly. “Why thank you, honey!”
