Cold Burn of Magic (17 page)

Still, Mo looked at the customers, then back at me, clearly torn between helping me out and making some money, but I didn't blame him for it. He'd taught me to be the exact same way, and I would have already called out a greeting to the shoppers, if our positions had been reversed.

“I can close the shop early and come help you,” he said, his black eyes locked onto the three women, who'd started browsing. “Just say the word.”

“Nah. You've got sales to make. I'll be fine.”

“Well, if you're sure,” he murmured, finally dragging his gaze back to me.

“I'm sure.”

“Just be careful, okay, kid?” Mo said. “The Families aren't the only bad things roaming the streets.”

His concern touched me, enough that I leaned across the counter and gave him that hug after all. His arms came around me, and his scent filled my nose, a faint, citrusy smell almost like lemon cleaner. It made me remember all the time I'd spent in the shop. All the summer mornings watching him wipe down the glass cases, ruthlessly eradicating the streaks and specks of dust so customers could have a clear, sparkling view of the goods inside. All the afternoons haggling with him about how much he was going to pay me for a watch I'd swiped. All the late nights eating takeout burgers and plotting my next job. My heart squeezed tight again, and I had to clear my throat before I could speak.

“Later, Mo.”

“Later, kid.”

I drew back, turned, and hurried away so he wouldn't see the tears stinging my eyes.

I
walked out of the shop, past the fountain in the middle of the square, and over to the street. A trolley was getting ready to leave to make its loop around the city, so I was able to hop on board.

I found myself in an aisle seat, next to a woman who had her nose and camera pressed up against the window, staring at the food cart at the corner, as though she'd never seen a guy make snow cones with shaved ice that he created with his bare hands. She looked like the same woman I'd sat next to on my ride over to the Razzle Dazzle the day Devon had been attacked, but I couldn't be sure. The tourist rubes all tended to look alike after a while.

The trolley rumbled through town on its slow circuit, stopping at various squares, as well as the main entrance to the Midway. Thirty minutes later, I got off at the stop closest to the library and walked the rest of the way through the rundown neighborhood.

It wasn't six yet, and I thought that I might have to hide in one of the bathroom stalls until the library closed for the night. But the building was already locked up tight, and a sign on the door said that it would also be closed tomorrow so the staff could do inventory. Looked like I'd gotten lucky after all.

I had my chopstick lock picks stuck in my ponytail, so I jimmied open the side door and slipped inside. I walked through the stacks, the storage room, and down into the basement, where I hit the touch lamp, making it flare to life. Maybe it was my imagination, but the basement looked different, even though everything was the same as when I'd last been here. The cot with its tangle of sheets, the faint hum of the fridge, the metal shelf full of what I considered treasures.

But the more I stared at the basement, the more I realized that it was small—small and dingy and just plain
sad
. Or maybe that was my impression of the items scattered around it. After being surrounded by all of the slick, polished glamour of the Sinclair mansion, my things looked no better than the cheap trinkets at the ticky-tack tourist shops.

Still, they were
my
things, the ones I'd saved up money to buy from doing all those odd, illegal, dangerous jobs for Mo. I'd earned them, and I was going to take them with me.

Mo had already brought my best suitcase to the mansion, but I still had two left. I could probably get most of my stuff into them. I hated to leave anything behind, but I couldn't exactly walk around town carrying a cot topped with a mini-fridge. Well, I could, but it wouldn't be practical—or comfortable. I had no desire to try to haul the cot and the fridge back to the trolley stop, and with two full suitcases, the driver would already charge me triple before letting me on.

I started with the metal shelf, packing up my knickknacks. All the books of fairy and monster tales I'd collected. Some photos of me as a kid, grinning and trying to hold my mom's sword upright. A cool piece of rock I'd found when Mom and I had been staying in Ashland for one of her jobs. A pretty crystal necklace she'd bought me in a shop in Cypress Mountain.

I'd been so focused on school, my missions for Mo, and just making it day-to-day that I hadn't looked at some of the items in a long time. All of them brought back fond memories, and I found myself smiling as I packed them away. Even though I hadn't thought it would, the pain of my mom's death had slowly eased, and I could look back without as much sadness as before.

I still had plenty of anger, though—especially for the people who'd killed her.

When all of my knickknacks were stowed away, I moved on to the remaining clothes. There weren't many, and I folded up the few extra pairs of jeans and moved on to my winter sweaters—

Something skittered on the floor above me.

I darted over and touched the lamp, casting the basement into darkness, then dropped my hand to my sword, which I'd belted around my waist before I'd left the mansion with Grant. All the while, I strained to listen to who—or what—was in the library. A sword being drawn out of a scabbard, the scrabble of claws on the floor, the
snap-snap-snap
of teeth clacking together.

But I didn't hear any of that—not one thing.

That skittering sound came again, and I finally realized what it was—someone had banged into the shelf of cleaning supplies in the storage room above me. A low, muttered curse confirmed my suspicions.

Someone was in the library.

If it was one of the librarians who'd come back to start on the inventory, then I was screwed. But if it was someone else, well, I was still screwed. Because there was no reason for anyone to be in here besides me.

Unless they were after me.

My heart pounding, I crossed the basement and ducked into the space under the stairs. Still being as quiet as possible, I drew my sword.

“Here,” that low voice muttered again. “There's another door. Let's see where it goes.”

The door at the top of the steps
creaked
open, and a square of light appeared on the basement floor. Someone stepped into the square. I couldn't tell who it was, but he was wearing a sword, judging from the long shadow poking out from his hip.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as the shadow eased down. I tightened my grip on my own weapon and waited.

Thanks to my sight, I didn't need any light, but the shadow grumbled, then pulled out a phone, using it as a makeshift flashlight. He held the phone out, shining it over the basement. Finally, the shadow spotted my lamp and headed over to it. I left my position under the stairs and snuck up behind him.

The shadow reached for the lamp, fumbling for a switch, but the touch of his fingers was enough to turn it on. I raised my sword, ready to cut him down.

“Finally,” he muttered again. “I was starting to think this was some sort of dungeon—”

A terrible suspicion filled my mind, causing me to pull my blow at the last second. Instead of ramming my sword into his back, I slammed the hilt into his shoulder, making him stagger forward. His knees hit the edge of my cot, and he landed face-first on the tangle of sheets. He flipped over just in time for me to press my sword up against his neck.

Felix blinked up at me.

 

I let out a breath, lowered my sword from his throat, and stepped back.

“Felix!” I hissed. “What are you doing here?”

He gave me a guilty look. “Um, well, you see, it's actually a funny story—”

“It was my idea,” another voice said.

I whirled around. Devon stood at the top of the stairs, a sword strapped to his waist. He came down to the basement, his green gaze scanning over everything from Felix still sprawled on the cot to my piles of worn clothes to the small, pitiful knickknacks I'd packed into my suitcases. His face was neutral, so I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but anger spurted through me all the same. He didn't get to see this. He didn't get to see this part of me—the
real
me.

But I couldn't exactly attack the guy I was supposed to protect, so I slid my sword back into its scabbard and leaned against the wall, as though I didn't care what Devon thought about me and my things.

Still, I couldn't help wondering why they were here. “What happened to the monster movie marathon?”

Felix winced. “Yeah,
marathon
might have been a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like ten minutes of slime action before we took one of the SUVs and followed you to the pawnshop. And then here.”

My eyes narrowed. “You followed me? Why?”

Felix looked at Devon, and I realized he was the ringleader of this little party.

For a moment, Devon looked as guilty as Felix did before the emotion melted into stubborn determination. “Because I wanted to. You know everything there is to know about me and Felix. Well, we wanted to know more about you.
I
wanted to know more about you.”

“Why?” I sniped. “Grant's reports weren't enough?”

His mouth tightened.

More anger sizzled through me. I was the one who broke into people's homes. I was the one who rifled through their most prized possessions. I was the one who saw the dirty little secrets they wanted to keep hidden in the bottom of their hearts.

I didn't like it now that it had happened to me.

I threw my hands out wide. “Well, then, take a good long look around,” I sniped. “Because this is the life of Lila Merriweather. And ain't it
grand
?”

Neither one of them said anything. We could all hear the bitterness in my voice.

But Felix, being Felix, couldn't be quiet for long. “So what were you doing down here?”

“Packing up the rest of my stuff,” I said, my tone tight and clipped.

“How long have you been living down here?” Devon asked. “Since your mom died?”

I didn't answer him. I didn't even look at him.

He sighed. “I didn't mean to upset you, Lila. I just wanted to see where you lived. What it was like. What
you
were really like.”

Once again, his green gaze swept over the small cot, the empty metal rack, the worn-out suitcases that I was still hoping to stuff a few more ragged things into. He saw
everything
—he saw too damn
much
.

“It's . . . smaller than I thought it would be,” he said in a kind voice.

“Well, I think that it's, uh, cozy,” Felix chimed in, snapping his fingers. “Yes!
Cozy
is definitely the word for it.”

He smiled at me, but I stared at Devon, watching the play of emotions across his face.

“Cozy? I think you mean craptastic. We don't all get to live in mansions,” I snapped.

“I know that,” Devon snapped back, realizing I was really talking to him. “I just . . .”

“You just
what
?”

“I'm just . . . sorry for you,” he said. “That you had to live like this. That you didn't have anyone to look out for you. That you didn't have anyone to take care of you.”

White-hot rage roared through me. If there was one thing I didn't want, it was his
pity
. Sometimes, I thought pity was the most heartless thing in the world. All it did was make people feel superior to you, happy, safe, and smug in the knowledge that someone had it worse than they did.

Yeah, my life hadn't exactly been great since my mom had died. Okay, okay, so it had sucked out loud, but I'd managed. I'd survived in my own way on my own terms. I'd certainly done better than Devon, Felix, or anyone else in the whole stupid Sinclair Family would have.

But here Devon was all the same, giving me a pitying look, like I was an unwanted puppy someone had kicked to the curb. Like I was the saddest thing
ever
.

“Don't you
dare
feel sorry for me,” I snarled. “It's not much, but at least I
earned
it. What have you ever done but live the perfect little life?”

“I'm sorry,” Devon repeated. “I didn't mean to upset you—”

“Of course not,” I cut him off. “Because you're a good guy, a good soldier, a good son, and you never upset anyone, right? Grant was right about you. Everyone loves you, and you have everything so damn
easy,
don't you? What have you ever had to work for in your entire life? I'm guessing the answer is
nothing
.”

By this point, his face had gone as hard as the brick walls around us. “Oh, I get it,” Devon said, his voice even colder than mine. “I'm just some spoiled Family brat, so I couldn't
possibly
have any problems, could I? Well, it's not easy living my life, either. Especially not now.”

“You mean when someone's trying to kill you?”

Devon opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but he clamped his lips shut, glaring at me. I gave him an evil look in return.

Felix stepped in between us, his hands held out wide. “Ding, ding, ding. Separate corners, please. This round is finished. Why don't we start over? Devon and I are sorry we followed you, Lila. We shouldn't have done that.”

“Why do I hear a
but
in there?”

Felix grinned. “
But
now that we're here, we might as well help you pack. It's the least we can do, right, Devon?”

He didn't respond, so Felix rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the side.

“Right?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Devon finally muttered.

“Lila?” Felix asked.

“Fine. Whatever.”

His grin widened. “See? It's not so hard to play nice now, is it? So where do you want us to start?”

I didn't really want their help, but I still had stuff to pack, and since they were here, I might as well use them, like Felix had said. So I told them what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to hide, and the three of us got to work.

Felix picked up and folded the clothes he'd knocked to the floor when he'd fallen onto the cot, while Devon moved my mini-fridge, lamp, and metal rack into the back corner of the basement. He also stood the cot up along the wall and stacked cardboard boxes full of books in front of everything, while I tried to creatively fit the rest of my belongings into the two suitcases.

We worked in silence for several minutes, but Felix kept shooting me little glances, obviously dying to ask me more questions.

“What was foster care like?” he finally asked, giving in to his undeniable urge to chat. “You did that for a while, right?”

I shrugged. “Some of the homes were good, some of them were bad, but most of them were pretty indifferent.”