Salt (5 page)

Chapter Five

Ric doesn’t laugh when I tell him the story. “You better name your future kid after the dude so you can’t forget it.”

I step forward. The barista looks at me like I’m boring her, and I order my latte before she waves me off. “I can’t believe I was almost out.”

“This is the one time having no social life works to your advantage,” he says.

I smack his arm. He’s right; I’ve memorized the stupid handbook like it’s a second skin. I think I know more about being an Enforcer than I can remember about my own father—which is sad.

“I can’t believe you lost twenty-seven. Only ten boys went home,” Ric says, straightening his backpack on his shoulders. I brush past him toward the corner booth. This was the longest day ever.

“I should get to work. The Nons don’t stop buying pants just because I’m exhausted. Stay out of trouble,” he says.

I snuggle into the booth after Ric leaves. As soon I sit my phone beeps. Another death covers the home page of the WNN. A witch was attacked by a demon while he mowed his lawn. Demons are growing more powerful every day, and attacks on Nons and witches are increasing. There’s no way that they can up their attacks and not be upping their numbers. It’s not something anyone talks about, but it’s the bedazzled elephant in the room.

An elephant that’s killing our kind.

I close my phone as the waitress brings me breakfast and my coffee, a caramel latte with extra foam and whipped cream.

“Well, well,” Carter’s familiar voice calls. I roll my eyes and focus on my cup. Maybe I can will him to go away. Close my eyes and wish? Nope. Carter’s still there in all his brown-leather-jacket-in-the-summer and bright-blue-shoes glory.

“My stalker,” I say, setting the cup down next to my phone. “I see you’re already busy at work.”

“I can’t take time off. Got to know where you are or else I couldn’t bother you. I
did
tell you I’d see you,” Carter says. He pulls out the chair next to mine, and it scratches across the floor. I glare at him. I hate when people encroach on my space. “Plus, where else can I be in the presence of such an incredible amount of snark?”

I snort. “I’m sure you have no problem finding large quantities of it.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says, his eyes focusing on mine. I don’t linger in his look. I focus on my coffee and Rafael Ezrati, because that is what’s at stake. I take another sip of my coffee, but my stomach has that queasy feeling again.

“What have you been up to this morning?” he asks.

“You’re the stalker. Shouldn’t you know?”

The waitress—a young Non with pink-and-blue-streaked hair—walks up to the table. I steal another sip of my latte but it doesn’t sit well. She smiles at Carter, completely ignoring me, and leans against the table, purring like a cat in heat. She chomps her jaws, blowing a bubble with her gum. Gross.

“Can I get you anything?”

He leans forward, his arms crossed over the table. She leans in, too. I stare at my coffee, not wanting it anymore. “What would you recommend?”

She blushes and tosses her hair. “We have the most unique coffee in town. It’s best dark and strong.”

I roll my eyes. Is this working? I hope she chokes on that gum.

“I’ll take it,” he says with a wink. I’m going to barf. In fact, it’s as if there’s a storm stirring inside me. Like it’s only going to take a small tilt to push me over the edge. I tilt the coffee around in the cup.

The waitress skips—actually skips—away from our table. I silently wish for her to trip. Carter looks very pleased with himself and laughs a little before settling his gaze back on me.

“You’re something else, you know that?” I say.

“Jealousy is cute on you, Pen.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, pushing my coffee away from me. “And I’m not jealous.”

He leans back on the chair. “Sure. And I don’t think you’re adorable.” I jerk my eyes up. He’s smiling. Screw this—this is so frustrating. I tap my foot under the table.

“We’re stating the facts, right?” he says.

“Right,” I say.

I don’t have time for this. And what is wrong with this coffee? I feel like I swallowed a fire and it’s all just burning at my stomach.

“You look sick again,” he says.

The poorly—or perfectly—timed waitress comes back with Carter’s coffee and a whole tray of drinks. Carter, obviously, flirts again. I don’t know if he’s doing it to get a reaction out of me, but I’m not going to give him one. I watch him and say nothing, but the whole time it feels darker inside my head and my stomach whirs. It’s more empty, and more full, and unsettled at once. The waitress turns to leave a when it happens.

The waitress coughs, as if she suddenly can’t breathe, and trips. She flies through the air. The tray spills all over a table of four. I gasp, horrified. Another waitress grabs her by the waist, trying to give her the Heimlich. The waitress coughs out the gum. She’s crying hysterically, apologizing to the customers dripping with water.

The weirdest part? As soon it happens, all the fury that was building up inside me disappears. It’s calm again, normal. The change is so sudden that my fingernails dig into the table. All I can hear is the waitress’s cry.

“I don’t know what happened,” she sobs over and over again. I close my eyes. Everything inside me is completely still. No storm, no clawing, no emptiness or fullness. In fact, I’m suddenly starving.

Carter’s looking at me when I open my eyes. There’s something unsettling in his gaze, something suspicious.

“I gotta go,” I say. He starts to say something. I don’t stay long enough to find out what it is.

Somehow I just did magic.

“Target ready,” a crisp robotic voice yells out at me.

I don’t even let the whole phrase finish before I pull the trigger. There’s a
pop
that echoes, and orange paint pellets hurl toward a human-shaped target. It hits right in the heart and explodes. Another pretend demon down. I feel like a Power Ranger—well, I would if I had power. Whatever that was at the coffee shop an hour ago is long gone now.

I load the paint gun with another round. I wanted that waitress to choke on her gum. I wanted her to trip. And she did. Pretty much simultaneously. How did that happen? Even if I could’ve, I didn’t call on my magic. I didn’t connect to it with the elements; I saw it and then it happened. I can’t create something from nothing. That doesn’t happen. But it did—twice. What does that mean?

Thank God for the shooting range. Even if it’s only paintballs it’s a good stress relief.

I pull the trigger and shoot, shoot, shoot. Three pink shots, all in a row.

A hand brushes my shoulder and I jump, gun pointed at the angst-interrupter. It’s Pop, and his hands are raised in the air. I toss the gun down like it’s poison.

“I could have shot you!”

Pop laughs, a deep hearty laugh that warms up the room. “I reckon I shouldn’t sneak up on a girl with a paint gun. You weren’t answering the phone. Been waiting outside for half an hour.”

I toss off my protective eyewear, which is a fancy phrase for big, ugly plastic glasses, and pull out my phone. Seven missed calls. Oops. Guess I was in the mood to kill some things, even paper things.

In the car, Pop taps the steering wheel as we drive home. The whole car smells like engine oil from the shop, but it’s oddly comforting. It’s almost enough to take my mind off this horrible day and Rafael Ezrati. Almost. Until Pop decides to talk again.

“How was your first exam day?” There’s a glow hidden under the shade of his eyes and a soft smile on his face.

I huff as the car slows to a stop outside our house. Pop looks out the window, then back at me. There’s something lingering on his lips. I can see the fight under the surface. He always gets this strained furrow between his eyebrows when he’s not sure what he wants to say. In the end, the easier side wins. I think it’s the easier side anyway. Unlike Gran, it’s harder to tell what’s going on with Pop.

“Come for a walk with me,” he says.

I don’t hesitate. I unbuckle the seat belt and trip over myself trying to get out of the car.

“You okay?” he asks, closing his door. I nod. Sure, I’m okay. Yesterday I expelled a demon. Today, I practically lost everything, and almost killed a waitress with Jedi mind tricks. I’m peachy.

I strap on a smile. “Of course I am. It was a long day.”

“How did it go?”

“I’m going back tomorrow, so I guess I didn’t do too badly.”

We walk together in silence. Past the Nons barbecuing on their lawns, trimming the grass, playing with water sprinklers in their front yards. Some of them wave, but most of them don’t pay attention to us. The life around us is a melody, happy and bright. Pop doesn’t speak. I like the silence between us. Pop is good with silence. He has this presence about him so even when he’s not speaking, he’s saying more than words.

After my parents died, he would sit with me. I had this spot in a closet in the upstairs bedroom that no one’s used since the 1900s. I found it, crawled inside and never wanted to come out. Pop would bring me sandwiches, even though Gran insisted I needed to come out. I slept there for two nights. When I opened my eyes, he’d be there, watching me. We never said anything, but having him near was enough.

I wish I were small again. Then, maybe, it would be enough still.

It doesn’t feel like his presence can fix any of this. It can’t fix who I am, who I’m not. It can’t give me what I want. I don’t know which part of that is the worst. Pop can fix anything—he’s a master mechanic and builder—but he can’t fix me.

“Penelope,” he starts. His eyes are on me. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. His brow furrows up and I know it’s the battle from the car again.

My phone beeps in tune with Pop’s. It’s the WNN; I don’t have to look to know that. He pulls out his phone and scrolls the screen. “John Lebow was attacked on his porch.”

My eyes shoot up. His porch? Demons are getting ballsy. That seems unreal.

Three Enforcers pass by us with their little gold triangles. My heart jumps into my throat. That’s where I belong, what I want, and I know it as much as I know how to read.

“Pop,” I say. I want to tell him why I need this. Why I need him to support me.

One of the Enforcers backtracks to us.

“Frank, we could probably use your help,” he says. His name is Jim Wooley. His daughter, Elyse, is in our ST class. Jim pushes up his large black glasses on the bridge of his nose and sniffs. He reminds me of a beagle. He’s tall and lanky, and his eyes are a little droopy.

Pop looks at me. The battle is clear on his face—and this is one that I know all too well. I can’t be left alone in case a demon comes. I show Pop my new necklace from Connie with the little salt-filled glass vial.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I even have on iron earrings.”

They sound inefficient, but you can do some damage with a stud in the eye.

Pop runs a hand through his thinning hair. “The Lebow place?” Jim nods. “I’ll meet you in five.” Then Jim is gone, running off to join the other Enforcers.

“I can walk myself home,” I say through gritted teeth.

Pop huffs. “I heard about yesterday.”

My throat constricts a little. He can’t know about that. “What about yesterday?”

“Phelps and Mayer reported you at the scene of a demon attack. A Non died yesterday, Penelope, and you were there. That could’ve been you,” he says.

Thank God it’s not the demon from earlier yesterday. I mean, not that this is better. I should’ve known they would tell Pop. Gran was retired from teaching and she still heard about anything we did wrong. Pop hasn’t quit the CEASE Squad yet; he still went on patrol whenever he wasn’t moonlighting at the garage, and my name would’ve definitely been mentioned to him.

“You can’t go looking for trouble just because you’re taking the exams now,” he says.

“I wasn’t! I was on a run and I stopped. I didn’t mean to find the demon, Pop. It happened. I’m okay. I had salt.”

“It takes more than salt sometimes, Penelope. You have to be careful.”

“Grandpa.” I reach out to him. “I’m fine.”

Pop shakes his head. “We operate the way we do for a reason. You have to be trained to take them out, and you aren’t. Not fully. Yes, we encourage everyone in the community to be prepared, but we don’t expect them to fight without proper training. It’s how we’ve done it for centuries.”

“I know,” I snap.

“Stay out of the way, Penelope. Your grandma would lose her mind; you know how she worries.”

“Okay, Pop,” I say. Pop nods, and I know that’s the end. My grandpa may be nice and hopeful, but when he was done talking, he was done talking.

Chapter Six

I need someone to invent a coffee IV drip for mornings when I have to be awake with the sunrise. I slump down with my Iced Rage coffee drink of deliciousness in a seat on an oversize couch in the back corner of St. Elmo’s Coffee Pub, waiting for Ric to meet me. This place is halfway between our houses, and it has the best coffee. I take a sip, then a bite of my bagel, and log in to WNN on my phone. There were more demon attacks last night. The cases are spread out among the other regions, but it’s still a lot more than normal. We’ve had a pretty quiet year but now they seem to be in full force. It’s weird.

My eyes drift up and I see Carter walking toward me. I groan, mouth full of bagel.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Pen.”

“To think I thought the day couldn’t start off any worse,” I say.

He smiles. Man, he does that a lot. I am either super amusing or he needs to get some funnier people in his life. “Anyone sitting here?”

Carter doesn’t let me answer, just sweeps my feet off the chair and plops down, coffee in hand. He takes a long sip, his eyes on me. I scan the room for the quickest exit. I’ve hidden myself in the back corner and he’s blocking the only way to the door. Note to self: sit closer to the exit.

I sigh. “What can I do for you, Carter? I’m sure you’re here for a reason—considering all the effort you must’ve put into finding me here.”

“This is my favorite spot, and I think I recommended it,” he says.

I shrug. “It’s everyone’s favorite.” But if he loved it, how had I never seen him here before?

“Maybe I missed your attitude,” he says.

I flip him off and he chuckles, which only frustrates me more. I try to play it cool, but there’s an unease in my stomach again. My eyes drift around the coffee shop to look at something. There are only other zombified people, shuffling in line to get coffee. It’s a little depressing.

I roll my eyes. “Right. If you wanted someone to be mean to you I’m sure you could find them.”

“But no one does it as well as you,” he says. I hate that smile. Perfect smile. Perfect lips, even if the top one’s just a little bigger. It’s cute.

What’s wrong with you, Penelope? Drink the coffee.

“You haven’t met the right people,” I say, glancing at my phone. Ric should be here soon and we still have forty minutes until class. I convinced him to go early with me, so I could work in the library, now that I have official access. I look back at him and expect a smile; it’s not there. He’s not kidding. Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t even know me. “I have to go. See you around.”

I stand and swing my bag over my shoulder. Blocked exit or not, I’m getting out of here.

Carter follows me. Past a woman with a crying baby, and an older woman trying to order in a different language. The bell dings when I open the door. It’s only two or three steps outside into the crisp morning air when he grabs my arm.

“Just wait,” he says. There are cars beeping, moving along the streets, bumper-to-bumper in morning rush hour. Doors are opening, closing, and I’m not doing anything except standing there. Carter is waiting for something. Whatever he wants, I can’t give it. Instinct wants me to run, to kick him where it counts and take off. I can’t fully form a plan of action.

“Look, I think we should talk somewhere. I mean I would like to talk somewhere. With you.”

“I have nothing to offer you.”

“Not even friendship?”

I cross my arms. “You don’t want to be my friend.”

“I do,” he says, stuffing his hands into his jacket.

“Why?”

“We can’t talk about it here, but I know I’m not wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks around, but there’s no one else close enough to hear us. No one even notices the two of us standing there. “Meet me. Let’s talk.”

“I’m on my way somewhere—I’m going to be late, actually.” I don’t even let him respond while I search for my car keys.

“You seemed surprised yesterday,” he says. I turn back to him, my heart pounding a little more in my chest. “When you saw that waitress trip. It was the same expression you had on your face with the demon in the alley.”

I shrug.
Play it off, Penelope
. Don’t let him know you were surprised.

“I have a theory about you,” he says, moving toward me again.

I open the door. “What’s that?”

His foot shuffles on the ground and shakes his head. “We can’t talk about it here.”

What does he think about me? What does he think he knows? Maybe it’s my magic, my response to both times I used it. He’s right. I was surprised. Shocked. He noticed that then—what else has he noticed?

“Fine. I can’t do it until the afternoon.”

“Three o’clock?” he says, his eyes wide. The hopefulness in his expression jars me a little.

I bite my lip. We got out of class yesterday after two. Today may not be the same. “I don’t know yet. I’ll text you.”

Carter raises an eyebrow, and moves so the only thing between us is the door of my car. “Nice try, but you don’t have my number, Pen.”

“Don’t call me that,” I say again.

“Phone,” he says. I hand it to him; he quickly types, his face slightly amused, and hands my phone back to me. He turns around to leave too. His car is in the next spot—some sexy black number. Very Batmobile meets real life.

“Until later then, Felt Tip,” he calls to me without turning around.

I don’t argue this time. He’s doing it just to make me mad. Which—fine. Whatever. I take a breath, slide into the driver’s seat and slam my door shut. “Stupid boys.”

Someone pounds on the roof of my car, and I jump. “I see you’re all sunshine and fun,” Ric says as he opens the door. “Not enough caffeine?”

“I could always use some more.”

“It was your idea to go early,” Ric says, getting into the car. Yes, it was. It’s time to do my own form of demon tracking.

I shrug and before he has his seat belt on I blurt out, “Do you know any witches named Carter?”

“Carter what?”

I pause. “I don’t know.”

“Carter doesn’t ring any bells,” he says. I pout and he fastens his seat belt. Where did Carter come from? He must be in another school in the region. I’ve never seen him before. Ric slaps the dash of my car. “Ooh, is he hot? I knew a Carter in middle school and he was hot. Is he gay? That would be better—a hot Carter just for me.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

Ric sighs. “They never are.”

Ric leaves me off at the elevator thirty minutes early. Once he disappears down the hall, I go back down to the main floor next to the library entrance.

The doors are oak and brass, and squeal when I push them open. I get to go inside! I have to focus so I don’t start dancing right there. I have a mission, and limited time.

The library is a bit like a dusty old cave, except with marble columns and deep mahogany floors and chandeliers. It’s exquisite and creepy at once—and it kind of smells like feet. There’s a fat gray cat sitting at the welcome center, but there’s no librarian.

“Hello?” I call out. All I can see are rows and rows of shelved books, longer than three football fields and still going. The cat meows at me. It has a silver tag around its neck.
Hyde.

“Are you the librarian, Hyde?” I ask the cat. I have never seen a talking cat, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

Hyde meows again and jumps off the desk. I walk past the rows of books instead of down the aisles. The end is not in sight, and I don’t want to get lost in there. Rumor is that the Triad has started making things electronic, because researchers would disappear in the stacks trying to find information.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone here. There’s so much to know about the entire history of magic and witches. Unlimited resources are in this room, and if I play my cards right, I can use them. It’s all right at my fingertips. If I can find what I need here about my demon, then maybe I can find out more about the ritual, too, and be on my way to magical normalcy.

I move down the front of the room and check over my shoulder to make sure I can still see the desk. That’s my anchor. I find a small computer desk and sit. I need to enter my WNN pass code to access the computer and when I do it beeps—high, low, high—and opens for me.

Search
: ______

This is great! Google for magical history! I type in Mom’s name:
Genevieve Warren Grey

Before I’m ready her face pops up on the screen. I inhale at the sight of her beautiful smile, round brown eyes, blond curls. Under her name are articles, too. Her birth, her announcement for the Enforcer finals, her partnership announcement with a picture of her and Dad smiling, her being an Enforcer, their Bonding, my birth, lists and lists of demon attacks that she and Dad thwarted and the only one they didn’t.

I shouldn’t have clicked that. Seeing her whole life on the screen makes me ache for the life we could’ve had with her. One she wasn’t allowed to finish because something she loved—being an Enforcer, saving people, using her magic for greatness—got her killed.

The demon.

Here goes nothing. If he exists, hopefully he was important enough that they put him in the database. Otherwise, I need to go searching in some books. There are a lot of books in here. Like, more than I’ve ever seen in one place. How could I ever find information there without telling the librarian what I’m looking for? There’s only one place to start.

Azsis

It takes the computer a few seconds to gather search results, but fifty-three items pop up. Fifty-three. That’s amazing. This may be easier than I thought before! At least I have things to read. I click on the first one, which is the Enforcer file for cataloged demons. It means someone has seen it before.

Demon File No. 3013791: Azsis

Known power: full range unknown

Last seen: 01/13/2004
, which means they stopped looking for him or no one has seen him since he killed my parents. That’s not encouraging. Nine years is a long time to be unseen.

History: Rumored – discoverer of essence power for demons; fallen angel with Lucifer

Confirmed – excellent strength and speed

Threat level: 10

“Do you need help with something?” a voice says from behind me. I jump up from the computer and face a man who’s shorter than me, has a round stomach, spiked gray-blue hair, and dark slanted eyes. He smiles and there’s a huge gap between his two front teeth.

“Sorry. I—” I start. The man looks at me, waiting for an answer. I what? I was bored? I wonder if that will fly. “I’m taking my exams.”

The man chuckles and the cat circles his feet. “Are you here on assignment?” He nods toward the computer.

“Sort of,” I say. I quickly exit out of the screen.

“Name’s Poncho Alistair, librarian. Something I can help you with?”

“No,” I say. He starts to walk away and I change my mind. “I can use the resources here, right?”

Poncho raises an eyebrow. “Depends.”

“On?”

He smiles. “Do you know what you are looking for?”

“Information.”

He picks up the cat and walks back to his desk. “Your name is?”

“Penelope Grey,” I say.

His eyes find mine, nose scrunched like he’s reading a book. “Owen and Genevieve’s girl?” he asks.

“Yes sir,” I say.

Poncho nods. “Good people. It’s a shame what happened to them.”

His comment takes me by surprise. It shouldn’t. Mom and Dad were well-known before their death, but when others talk about them I feel like I’m missing out. “You knew them?”

“Oh yeah,” he says. “I may not look it now, but I was someone in their circle back in the day. You say you’re in the Enforcer examinations? Following their footsteps, eh?”

I nod silently, not really sure what to say. Yes, no, maybe. I have to pass the thing first.

“You can be here anytime I am,” Poncho says. “And I’m always here.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Can I help you with that information?” he asks.

I stare at him for a moment. He’s the librarian, so he knows how to find things that I can’t. But if I tell him what I’m looking for I don’t know how he’ll respond. “I’m good for now.”

He nods and I head to class.

There are fifty girls left in the running for the Enforcers examination, and no more than ten of us will make it. Maple and her friends saw me come in and moved their circle around me, and now I’m sitting in the front row smack in the middle of four of my competitors. They are going on about some of the boys from their courses who are testing down the hall.

“You know who’s smart?” Miriam, a girl with black hair and a big nose, chimes in. “Keith Collins in region two. He’s totally going to be Bonded to whoever he gets.”

Kessa snorts. I glance sideways at her. She’s one of those super-pretty girls with curly red hair that falls below her shoulders and freckles across her cheeks. “Smart boys aren’t necessarily the best. Not when it comes down to the two of us and a demon,” Kessa snaps.

Trina, the taller girl, shifts in her seat and pushes her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. I guess she agrees.

“He’s good kisser,” Beth mutters. Beth’s cheeks turn bright red, making her dark eyes and hair look brighter. The other girls laugh. I’m not into any of this. I want a good partner, not a make-out buddy.

“There’s a boy from region four—Jordan Stork—he’s really brave. His dad used to teach,” Maple says. She smiles and sips her water. “Sarah Jenks said
he
was a good kisser.”

Kessa squeals. “Sarah Jenks kissed him?”

My eyes drift to the window. I don’t know who they are talking about or even how they know each other. Our regions don’t get together that often, but even if they did, I didn’t. I was always training or studying. I don’t have time to meet people. This is my life. It isn’t about finding a boy I may or may not be Bonded with; it’s about finding demons. One demon.

Trina squeals beside me. The other girls are whispering and I missed whatever they said. They’re all excited—hands moving as quick as their lips. I curse myself as soon as I ask them what happened. Maple leans in to whisper.