Geekomancy (15 page)

She lurched up to a sitting position, and her head lagged several seconds behind. “Eastwood?”

He managed a weak smile. “Good. Can you give me a hand?”

“Why aren’t we dead?”

“Nightcrawler trading card in my pocket. Instant BAMF.”

Ree gave him the stink-eye. “So why didn’t you do that when they showed up?”

Eastwood looked down. “I thought we could take them. Plus, Lucretia was loaded for bear, and she’d have been able to stop the effect at the start of the fight, but I thought maybe I could wind her first . . . Anyhow, she got the ring before I could get to you and teleport out, and Sven left me with this.” He indicated the wound in his side. Blood was already seeping through the bandage.

Ree wobbled over to Eastwood, her head still tracking behind her body, and held the roll of gauze while Eastwood spun, wrapping himself in.

“I’m no doctor, and I think you need one,” she said.

Eastwood shook his head. “I have no interest in explaining myself to the police. I’ve been around the block, and hospitals lead to complications. That concussion of yours, however, you can take care of without too much trouble.”

That explained the wobbling and the lag.
Great, just what my weekend needed.

“What do we do now? Try to get the ring back?”

“Right now, you go home and I convalesce for a while until my healing potion finishes brewing.”

Ree quirked an eyebrow at
healing potion
but let it go. “Is there something else you can use to predict the potential suicides?”

“That’s what I get to figure out today. It’s 3 AM, so be careful on your way home. If I saved your life twice just to have you get shanked by a meth-head for spare change, it’d be a
gorram
shame.”

Ree put her hands over her heart. “I’m touched. You’ll call when you have something?”

Eastwood nodded. “Go have a life, and see if you can take the next couple of days off so you don’t get fired when things heat up again and you have to start pulling all-nighters.”

Lovely.

Ree looked around, seeing the rapier propped up against a shelf along with the bag-o’-stuff. She took a minute to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, and when her head had cleared a little more, she started home, leaving Eastwood to his wincing and whinging.

There was a chill in the air, and the moon was bright in the sky. She kept her hands out of her jacket pockets, ready to respond to muggers or monsters or whatever might come along applying for the job of Fail Cherry on top of the Sundae of Suck that was her night.

Thankfully, there were no takers, and she spent the walk home alone with her thoughts, somewhat jumbled by the continuing ache in her head and neck.

She slinked up the stairs as quietly as she could, unlocked the four locks slowly, then crept inside, since she was supposed to be “asleep.” She tiptoed to the bathroom to take some naproxen and then escaped to her room, tossing her coat on the floor and collapsing onto her bed. She stared at the ceiling until the drugs dulled her pain and she drifted off into long-overdue sleep.

•   •   •

This time Ree woke without questions, to the sounds of Sandra rattling around the kitchen. She heard Darren’s voice as well, the couple’s talking cutting through the paper-thin walls. She ambled out to the living room and then the kitchen, seeing Sandra and Darren in their Saturday-morning domestic bliss. Darren was supposed to be buried in work. Apparently, he’d made time. Ree smiled to herself.

The two slid past each other in the small kitchen, whisking batter in bowls, cracking eggs into a pan, and generally being disgustingly cute. A memory flashed across her vision for a second—Ree and Jay in the same kitchen, making dinner several months ago, when they still saw each other regularly.

“Good morning,” Sandra said, an
I got laid last night
grin plastered on her face.

“Coffee?” was all that Ree could manage, her voice gravelly.

Sandra spun in place and placed a half-full French press on the table next to Ree. Darren handed her a mug, and Ree inhaled deeply as she poured, savoring the smell of Bryan’s Morning Maniac blend. She took a sip, ignoring the scalding heat. She was still, savoring the smell until the first kick of caffeine hit her system and life filtered back into her limbs. She sipped again, popping her neck. Her head ached, but clarity rode in on the heroic tide of java.

This, this is my real life. Not that crazy shit,
she said to herself, forcing down the memories of the last couple of days.

“And now she’s rebooted.” Sandra dolloped some batter onto a pan, which sizzled immediately. Darren layered several strips of bacon onto another pan.

This is why I put up with the cute.
Ree leaned against the wall, wrapping herself in the comfort of normalcy and familiarity.

A few minutes later, there was a feast—blueberry pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit, and coffee. Ree set the table and happily played third wheel while the couple chatted over breakfast. Her downtime would end soon enough, but she had the closing shift today, so she didn’t need to be there until two.

“How’s your head?” Sandra asked.

Conveniently, Ree had acquired a real reason for a headache.
Small blessings.
“A bit fuzzy, but doing better. I’ll be fine.”

Darren shook his head. “Just as long as you aren’t getting sick. I can’t handle another end-of-semester with the flu. That nearly killed me last year.”

Ree shrugged. “Hey, if you’re dead, no term paper.”

“I’d have a problem with that, even if he doesn’t.” Sandra ran her hand over Darren’s short hair, a familiar caress.

“Just for you, I’ll soldier on. After this, it’s back to the mines.” Darren picked up a strip of bacon and ate it a centimeter at a time, making happy grunts.

Ree believed that even the most refined of men would be reduced to caveman sounds when being fed bacon, and she had borne up that belief with more than a little experiential data (aka anecdotes).

“What have you got on for today?” Ree asked Sandra, who was chewing a bite of pancake.

Her roommate wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, “Laundry, groceries, and then downtown for a cooking class. Beef bourguignon.”

“Save me some?” Ree asked.

“Of course.”

Ree would probably be twenty pounds heavier if not for Sandra. On her own, Ree could subsist on café leftovers and whatever she could barter with pastries from her network of restaurateur friends. Sandra made real, fresh food, specifically for herself and Ree, not repurposed or traded away because it was marred or about to expire. Ree had taken a while to get used to the idea, but she wouldn’t give it up for the world now.

How am I going to keep this life while living a crazy-ass Urban Fantasy existence? Those chicks are always single and lonely.

But she was a badass, she could make it work.

Ree helped herself to another serving of fruit, munching on slices of honeydew while Darren polished off a third giant pancake. “If I fall asleep and miss my train stop, I’m blaming you.” Darren leveled his fork at Sandra, who demurred.

“You could always blow off the paper until next week and come with me to the cla-ass . . .”

Darren leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “Lord, give me strength to resist this gorgeous woman.”

Sandra frowned.

“. . . long enough to finish my papers,” he added with a smile.

Ree quirked an eyebrow. “Do you think God would rather you coop yourself up finding new ways to cite Lacan or go out and live?”

Darren dropped his gaze back to the table and met Ree’s eyes. “Sadly, I can’t just cite Jesus and be done with it. That only works in seminary.”

Sandra, who had gone to seminary for a semester, gave Darren a playful scowl, then sipped some more coffee. Which reminded Ree to drink more coffee. So she did.

Yep, still amazing.

Ree finished her cup and went for another as Darren and Sandra finished their meals. Ree volunteered to do the dishes, then went through the rest of her morning routine: shower, café clothes, and packing up her bag for a day of work.

She put the essentials on her bed to take stock. Keys, wallet, laptop (to write during break, theoretically), phone, and from her bedside table, the psychic paper wallet she’d gotten from Eastwood. Like as not, it’d be another long night, and she might not have time to come home and change.

Anticipating that, she laid out an extra shirt and gathered some makeup. She pulled out her Mace, along with the Swiss Army knife and her butterfly knife. Her arnis canes and
jian
wouldn’t fit, so she’d have to rely on Eastwood’s toy-aisle armory.

Looking at the weapons, tools, and essentials spread out over her bed, she thought,
This, ladies and gentlemen, is my new life.

Right on cue, her phone alarm went off at the time she’d set last night.

She’d switched it back to the ringtone Jay had called the air-raid siren. But since Jay was history, back it came. She packed the bag, slipped the laptop into its case, and then set up in the living room to make an attempt at writing before work.

She popped in
Sahara
(the perfectly competent 2005 version) in case the night led to any action-adventure, and fired up Final Cut Pro and her file of notes. She looked through her idea seeds, trying to find something that could spark, an idea that could flourish and let her get past the creative drought.

And . . . nothing.

Her attention continually drifted up to the movie, so she gave in, shutting down her laptop and curling up to enjoy.

She was tuning in on Steve Zahn playing a genre-defyingly competent sidekick in the climax when her phone rang. It was Eastwood.
Joy.

“This is Ree,” she answered.

Eastwood sounded rushed, out of breath. “Did you call in to work? We’ve got a big problem, and I need some backup.”

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I’ve got a lead on Lucretia’s location, but she’ll only be exposed for about an hour, starting at three.”

“I didn’t call off work today, I was going to check with people to see if they could take some shifts later this week. I have rent to pay, you know.”

Eastwood switched into his impatient paternal-figure voice. “Right now you need to call off work so you can help me take that bitch down a notch and get back the ring.”

Ree sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. Call you back in ten.”

“Make it five.” Eastwood hung up.

Ree looked at the phone and said in a mocking snippy voice, “ ‘Make it five.’ ”

She hated to dip into her “my boss adores me” cache with Bryan, but then she thought of Angela Moorely and dialed Café Xombi.

Bryan picked up after three rings. “Café Xombi, this is Bryan.”

“Bry, it’s Ree. Any chance you can do without me today? Something’s come up with a friend.”

She waited while Bryan considered, answered a customer, or whatever it was that he was doing.

A snarl of guilt started twisting around in her stomach until he answered. “Yeah. Charlie’s been asking for more hours, I’ll bring him in to close. Good luck with the friend.”

“Thanks, and thanks for the bailout. Best Boss Ever.”

“Flattery will get you in trouble with my wife,” Bryan said with a chuckle.

“I’m no homewrecker. Crusher of customers’ hearts, maybe, but I don’t do breakups.”

Bryan’s laugh told her she had escaped with her cache mostly intact. “Take care.”

Bank of Blin

Adoration Account Summary

Reyes, Rhiannon—823527

Starting balance = Loved Like a Daughter

Deductions = No Questions Asked re: Last-Second Bailout

Final balance = Massive love

She continued enjoying the movie for another minute, soaking up the energetic fun of it all, then called Eastwood back, the buzz of magic in the back of her head.

He picked up on the first ring. “You good?”

“Yeah, but you’re comping my pay.”

“Good luck. We’re going to Carmine Wharf. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

“Why do you know where I live?”

“I cracked the CIA’s blackout files when you were still in diapers, kiddo.” Eastwood hung up before she could respond.

Why am I calling off work to go risk my life for no money? Damn you, conscience.

She put on her shoes and coat and then rewarded herself with another ten minutes of movie, finishing out the flick before her scruffy grump of a mentor arrived to cart her off to mortal danger. At least she wouldn’t have to clean the bathroom.