A Devil in the Details (19 page)

I slid to my knees to reach under there, only to find it gone.
Dammit!
Had it already faded back across? At the last possible second, I heard a low rattle above me. I jerked my head back as the Scrap dropped down from its hiding place in the shirts, jaws clacking viciously.

As ridiculous as the thing looked, the poison in its teeth wasn’t anything to laugh at. The venom splattered across the back of my hand and instantly burned like all holy hell. I backpedaled fast, scrubbing my hand on my jeans and upending the rack. The vermin charged at me for all of about two feet, screeching at the top of its demonic little lungs, then ducked away under another shelf again.

“Okay, that’s it!” I grabbed a shirt hook off the wall and went fishing. Lying on my stomach on the floor, I could just see the light reflected off its knobby legs, and I poked and prodded with the long hook until I hit something squishy. The thing came boiling out of its hiding place like a little hair ball of fury, snapping and snarling at my face. I don’t think I’ve ever jumped to my feet so fast in my life.

I managed to stomp down on one spindly leg, but before I could feel any kind of triumph, it just snapped the appendage off and limped for the door on three clawed hands. “No you don’t!” Heedless of the venomous bite, I flung myself on it, pinning it under my chest. The thing squirmed and howled through clenched fangs, unable to open its mouth with me on top of it. “Now you’re mine, Creepy.”

Careful to keep the body pinned, I got to my knees. The fur was bristly and greasy under my hands, and I felt my stomach churn. “Done with you now.” The squealing was cut off as I plunged the letter opener through the body with a sickening crunch. The remaining legs twitched and spasmed before finally succumbing.

The door binged cheerfully, marking the return of my coworkers. Kristyn stared at me, and I realized belatedly how it probably looked. The rack of shirts was overturned, the earrings were scattered all over the floor, and one of the CD towers was on its side. And there I was, with a letter opener driven an inch into the linoleum, the telltale remains of the demon parasite already dissolved into nothingness.

The question was plain on her face, and I finally just had to shrug. “Cockroach. Really big cockroach.”

I’m not sure whether she believed me.

A
round eleven, no doubt still a bit worried about my destructive jaunt through the store, Kristyn strongly suggested that I get myself home to my wife, although her language was slightly more colorful.

“You sure? I can stay, walk you to your car.” It was dark, but the nightlife at Sierra Vista was in full swing. She wouldn’t be alone, and that’s what bothered me. Even though I’d disposed of the little parasite, there was worse out there.

“Chris can walk me out. Go home.” She tucked a lock of purple-pink hair behind her ear and gave me
that
look. “What’d you get your mom for her birthday?”

Oh crap
. I hadn’t even thought of that, today. It must have shown on my face, because she laughed at me. “Wal-Mart’s open. Go across the street and buy something. Perfume or a pretty necklace or something.”

The Wal-Mart was a garish beacon of light, its own little island of fluorescent-lit commerce in the night. You find the weirdest people shopping in the middle of the night—people like me.

It seemed wrong to be shopping for a birthday present when the world around me was going nuts. Still, it wasn’t my mom’s fault I was up to my eyeballs in insanity.

I wandered into the perfume aisle and was immediately flabbergasted. I had no idea what kind of perfume my mother liked. I couldn’t even tell you what Mira wore, only that she always smelled like strawberries. There were boxes with movie stars’ faces on them, things with names I couldn’t pronounce, and something I was almost positive belonged in the smelling salts family of aromas. And why on earth did some of the tiniest bottles cost like fifty bucks? I beat a hasty retreat.

You might think, charging the fees I do, that a fifty-dollar bottle of perfume wouldn’t be so intimidating. But when you figure I spent two weeks in the hospital after my last gig for the president, a week of that in ICU, and the insurance company was still rejecting my claims, you see how that fee disappears pretty quick. That’s why I work at It between clients. Those paychecks help us scrape by.

The jewelry counter was no better. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a diamond and a piece of cut glass.

I must have been making security nervous, because two uniformed guards found a place near me to stop and have a rather loud conversation. That, I’m used to. In the heart of the Midwest, anyone the least bit different is always the first suspect.

The appliance section boggled my mind. There were things to dice, gadgets to juice, doohickeys to puree. I just shook my head and moved on. I firmly believe that our ancestors got by with fire and a stick. It’s good enough for me.

When in doubt, hit electronics. At least there, I was more in my element. Was there a movie she might like? She had a camera, so how about a new case for it? Twice, I started to dial Mira, then snapped my phone shut. If I woke her up this late for shopping advice, I’d be sleeping on the couch for a month.

I found about twenty things I wanted for myself, but nothing for my mother. And I was running out of time. There were only two shopping days left before the party.

A small part of me was absolutely incredulous that I was still thinking of going to a party at a time like this. Men were dead. Something could be stalking me, or someone like me, at this very moment. The thought made the skin crawl across my shoulders as it tried to creep away from the imaginary eyes boring into my back.

No . . . wait. I
could
feel eyes on me. No doubt, the security guards were just waiting for me to stuff a big-screen television into my pants and walk out. A cautious glance around revealed no brown uniforms in sight. Then I wondered why in the hell I was being so careful. I wasn’t actually doing anything wrong.

Turning to scan the area around me, I saw no one.
Wonderful. Next, the nice young men in clean white coats will come to take me away.
Unless you counted the store security cameras, no one was watching me. Sadly, the itch between my shoulders refused to acknowledge my superior logic. I was getting damn tired of this continual and irrational certainty that I was not alone in the universe.

Maybe shopping tonight was a bad idea. I’d come back tomorrow when the sun was shining brightly. (No, I am not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of the things
in
the dark.)

I meandered my way out through the various aisles, still halfheartedly hoping that something would jump off the shelves with the tag MOM’S PRESENT already attached. No such luck, but as I rounded the corner to head toward the front, I caught sight of someone dark ducking into another aisle. There is a distinct difference between someone walking down an aisle and someone trying not to be seen, and that was it right there.

Three long strides took me to that aisle, but there was no one there.
Deep breath, Jess. Your imagination is getting the better of you.
My hand clenched at my hip where my sword should be, and I muttered unpleasant things to myself. Right now, if I had another Scrap demon on me, I was screwed. My mirror was spent, and there was no way I was asking Mira to craft another—not this week, and maybe not ever. She was spending too much of herself, casting spells on my behalf. My only defense would be getting into the house, safe behind Mira’s wards.

You know the old saying, right? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. At the other end of the walkway, out of sight, something toppled over with a crash. I darted to the end to see a pile of metal cake pans rolling drunkenly around the floor. One of them wobbled to a stop against my boot. Running footsteps echoed down the linoleum aisle to my left, and I was off in pursuit.

My mysterious stalker rounded another end cap in time for me to see the back of a black hooded sweatshirt and one fleeing sneaker. It was a tall figure, lean and moving quickly. The chase took us down the picture frame aisle, and there were footsteps behind us now.

“You there, stop!” Security didn’t like our playing tag through the store, evidently.

Normally, I am a law-abiding citizen, but at that exact moment, I was more interested in who had been following me than in stopping. And face it—rent-a-cops don’t exactly count as the law. At least, that’s what I’d say when I felt guilty later.

A walkie-talkie tweeted, and I heard a panting voice say, “I need backup in housewares!”
Backup? Are you kidding me?
A tinny announcement blared from the intercom overhead. “Code forty-seven in housewares. Code forty-seven in housewares.” Well, now I knew what a code 47 was.

We didn’t stay in housewares long. He was leading me out toward lawn and garden, and since I didn’t think he had a sudden urge to fertilize his lawn, there was probably a rear exit there. In and out of aisles and clothing racks we ran, my stalker toppling displays into my path to slow me down. I hurdled a tower of scattered DVDs easily, but the security guards were having a harder time of it. I could hear them huffing and puffing behind me as several more joined the chase.

It occurred to me in a moment of perfect absurdity that this was the second retail establishment I’d destroyed in as many hours. If I hadn’t been running so hard, I might have spared the breath to laugh.

I probably could have outrun security indefinitely, except for one thing. I rounded the office supplies end cap and saw the WET FLOOR sign a split second before I hit the damp linoleum. I went skidding, arms pin-wheeling for balance. Yeah, it wasn’t my most graceful moment. We’ll just pretend that didn’t happen, all right?

Ahead of me, my quarry met the same fate and crashed into a rack of greeting cards. Wrapping paper and ribbons went flying in a colorful explosion, and a piñata shaped like an ogre bounced off my head with a soft crunch. One trampled card played a garbled version of “Happy Birthday” as it died.

Time froze in that funny way it does, and the two of us stopped there amidst the wreckage and stared at each other. I knew those wide black eyes. “Paulo?”

With a scramble and the chirp of wet sneakers, he was up and gone. Before I could follow, meaty hands laid hold of both arms. “All right, buddy, you’re outta here.”

As they “helped” me to my feet (and I use the word loosely), I eyed both rent-a-cops. It would be so easy to make them release me, especially with the adrenaline pumping through my body. Both were middle-aged and out of shape. One was red faced and gasping for air after the short run, dark sweat stains marring his shirt. A quick twist, and my arms would be freed. Maybe jab the breathless one in the gut, really take him out of the race. But they’d gathered two more friends during the chase, and the extra security guards crossed their arms over their chests as they glowered. Boy, they sure thought they looked intimidating in their rented brown uniforms.

I wasn’t intimidated, but I was practical. Four-to-one was a bad fight no matter how I looked at it. And it wasn’t as if they were bad guys.
They’re just doing their job, Jesse.
Yeah, dammit, I knew that. It didn’t mean I was happy about it.

I grudgingly allowed myself to be escorted from the store, and the guards waited at the door to be sure I was leaving. No doubt, the news tomorrow would say Wal-Mart security foiled some nefarious terrorist plot.

The parking lot was a ghost town, with only twenty or so cars under the humming lights. Moths and other flying critters darted around the pools of light like little biting fairies, shadowed by the bats that preyed on them.

I accosted the single poor soul who happened to be walking into the store at that moment. “Hey, did you see a Hispanic kid, about my height, come running out this way? Or a blue Ford Escort?” The man shook his head and made haste to put distance between us.

I stood in the parking lot for a long time, watching the darkness beyond the sickly yellow light. Nothing stirred, save the gnats and the bats. And there was no sign of a little blue Ford Escort, though, somehow, I didn’t think Paulo was the type to try and kill me, no matter what tough-guy front he wanted to put up.

Whatever Paulo had been up to, he was gone now. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but the next time I saw him, he and I were going to have a long and heartfelt discussion in the back room. First and foremost on the topic list was the proper way to tail someone. I never would have spotted the little idiot if he hadn’t run in the first place.

Only when I got into my truck did I realize how badly my right leg was throbbing. A wince escaped as I reached down to examine it. Nothing seemed to be grossly out of place (I’m not a doctor, but I visit them a lot!), but the calf muscle was extremely tender to the touch. The fall had done more damage than I’d thought. Maybe I was getting old after all.

Driving a stick shift was going to be interesting. I put the truck in gear and coasted out toward the highway, experimenting with hitting the clutch and accelerator all with my left foot.
Damn, damn, damn!
My kingdom for cruise control.

It occurred to me, once I was already on the highway, of course, that I still hadn’t gotten my mother a present. I used the opportunity to truly exercise my creativity at cursing. That entertained me for a good ten minutes.

Thankfully, traffic was light at nearly midnight, and there was minimal shifting involved. I started to think I was going to make it home without any undue stress. I should have known better.

I only vaguely noticed the dark car parked on the emergency access road in the median. People left disabled vehicles all over the road all the time, and cops liked to lurk there, waiting for hapless speeders.

The headlights flicked on as I passed, though, and the car pulled onto the highway.
That
I noticed. “Oh, do not do this now.” The last thing I needed was a ticket. Out of habit, I checked the speedometer, and I was going a nice and sane sixty-five, under the seventy speed limit. I broke out in sudden goose bumps, shivering in a nonexistent chill. That, as well as the car’s never flipping on its cherries and berries, made me certain this was not a cop.