Broken Shadows (12 page)

I should have told him about the apartment. That he wouldn’t have to worry much longer about accidentally grounding himself if he brushed against me, that I was getting out of his hair. But something about the way he smiled, all crooked and wistful, stopped the words in my throat. The next act was up, playing something bluesy, a slow-paced rendition of “Salt of My Tears.” Jackson downed the rest of his whiskey like a shot and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“What—now?”

He laughed. “Yes, now. Come on, Mina.” He slid a bill onto the bar and put his hand on my elbow, tugging me toward him. “Dance with me.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like a fifteen-year old and letting him guide me to the floor. A few couples were already dancing, swaying with varying degrees of skill. I wasn’t much of a dancer myself, but Jackson clearly was. He settled one hand on my waist, then dragged the sleeve of his sweater over his other hand so he could grip mine. His eyes twinkled.

“Gotta have protection,” he said, and I laughed. He had drawn my body close to his, and I let the pressure of his hand on my back guide me around the dance floor. His hip was pressed to mine, and I felt warm as the notes came up slow and mournful around us. I could see Malik leaning against a far wall, talking to Paulie and watching me with a small smile. Paulie was looking at us wide-eyed. I didn’t care. Jackson’s breath spilled over my cheek, and the hard length of his leg pressed between mine, guiding me, daring me to move closer. Our eyes met, and something blazed between us—understanding, maybe just a shared moment of buzzed euphoria, I didn’t know. But suddenly we were both walking off the dance floor, our hands still linked through the wool of Jackson’s sweater.

We didn’t speak as we walked to the subway station. The scotch had worn off, but I still felt giddy, swaying with the train, facing him. When we got into the lobby of his building, the night watchman spared us a stoic, quietly disapproving glance, and we both dissolved into laughter as soon as we got into the elevator. I leaned into one of the corners, panting, while Jackson hit the button for the twenty-seventh floor.

“Thought the hall monitor was going to give us detention,” I said, giggling.

“He’s just jealous.” Jackson leaned against the mirrored wall right in front of me.

“Of what?” I said, not getting it.

“He wishes he were coming home at 2 a.m. with a beautiful woman.”

That kind of thing usually doesn’t do it for me. Too cheesy. But Jackson was grinning when he said it, and I laughed, and he laughed with me, and as the elevator came to a stop on his floor, he leaned in and kissed me, still smiling, and I laughed again against his warm, wet mouth.

It was so simple, like walking through an open door. He kissed me as if it were the only thing he had planned for the rest of his life, as though day and night and day again could come and he would still be here, in the elevator, with me. The door slid open with a ding, and Jackson shot his hand out to hold it there, the muscles of his forearms hardening under the light touch of my fingers. I tilted my head against his, and he went deeper, fitting his lips against mine and testing a bare, teasing, electrifying bit with his tongue.

My brain finally caught up with my body and registered the fact that he was here, right now, with his tongue in my mouth. My spine went liquid and I melted into him. My hands had found their way to his neck, brushing the short hairs above his collar. Jackson’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding the elevator door open, went to the small of my back and pressed me closer, bending me to fit. I moaned into his mouth, and his hand gripped my hip in response. Then the elevator started alarming.

“Shit,” he said, finally breaking the kiss. He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall, then pulled me against him and traced my jaw with a single light finger.

“Are you coming home with me?” he said, and I nodded. Jackson opened the door and we tumbled inside, and a moment later he had me pressed against the wall in his hallway, right next to his black-and-white photograph of Half Dome. I had my wits about me this time. I grabbed his hips and yanked him hard against me, and he nipped the skin of my neck.

“Mina,” he whispered, and I shuddered. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” I said, and my lips found his again. My skin tingled everywhere he touched me, and I tipped my head back and he traced a line down my throat with the tip of his tongue. “Oh, God, yes.” Every nerve in my body was singing with anticipation, wanting more. I grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, put my palms on his chest and ran them to his shoulders, pulling him to me.

It was about then that I noticed the way his power was pouring into me like a wave of static shocks.

“Shit!” I said. I jerked away from him.

“What is it? What?” he looked around wildly.

“No—your powers!”

He lowered his head and reached for me again, eyes dark. “I don’t give a fuck about my powers.”

“Jackson, I can’t—what if something happens—I can’t.” I rubbed my lips together, felt the way they tingled. What was I thinking? I couldn’t sleep with Jackson for more reasons than I wanted to count, his powers being the least of them. He must have seen it in my face.

“Mina, don’t...”

I tugged my hand out of his.

“I’m sorry. Jesus. I’m so sorry.” I turned away from him and ran for the spare room.

Chapter Twelve

I woke up with a headache and a vague feeling of guilt. I understood the headache immediately. Four hours of sleep after four hours of pounding music—no surprise there. The guilt took me another minute.

Shit.

I looked over at the clock on the bedside table. Jackson should be leaving for work any minute. I’d just pretend to be asleep until I heard the door shut. I rolled over and stared at the closet door, hoping he wouldn’t figure out I was awake. No such luck. Thirty seconds later, he knocked on the door. I covered my head with one of his pillows.

“I know you’re awake,” he said.

He didn’t. He couldn’t. How long had that kiss gone on? After last night, he probably couldn’t mindmove a cocktail napkin. I’d grounded out my stolen energy on the bedframe, and when I’d finally fallen into something like sleep, it had been warm, a physical reminder of why a relationship with him—
anything
with him—was a disastrous idea.

He knocked again. “Please, Mina. Can I come in?”

Fuck it.

I got up, pulled on a dirty pair of jeans under my nightshirt, and opened the door. Jackson was dressed for work, looking unreasonably handsome in a dark blue suit with gray pinstripes. His hair was de-mussed, and he smelled as though he’d just shaved. Chasing all the inappropriate thoughts out of my head was going to take longer than I had left to live.

“Can we talk about this?” he said.

“About what?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“We don’t have to talk about it. We should just...pretend it never happened.”

Jackson was silent for a moment, long enough for me to panic over what he was thinking. Finally he said, “If that’s what you want.”

Of course he would be a gentleman about it, put the decision in my hands. “That’s what I want,” I said, and my voice was much steadier than my feelings.

I couldn’t read his face. It was perfectly blank. “Okay,” he said. I felt relieved. I felt disappointed. He still wasn’t leaving.

“Uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’ve finally found a place.”

“What?” He stopped leaning on the doorjamb.

“It’s an in-law unit in Noe Valley. I got a really good deal. It’s Bridget’s sister’s, actually.”

“You’re moving out?” He seemed surprised. No—angry.

“Well, yeah.” I crossed my arms. “Like we talked about.”

“Mina, you don’t need to go. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I think it’s pretty clear that I need to.”

I couldn’t make out his expression. As a mindreader, I’d never had to get good at reading people’s faces, but Jackson was a whole new level of inscrutable. I stood there awkwardly for a moment waiting for him to say something, but he was silent, a muscle in his jaw working.

“It’s your decision, of course,” he said finally. “Just...” He shook his head. “I guess I’ll see you around.” And he turned around and left.

I retreated back into the spare room and sat down on the bed. Thank God my telepathic family was half a continent away. I wanted to crawl under the comforter and go to sleep and forget last night ever happened, but every time I closed my eyes, I remembered Jackson’s lips on my neck, on my jaw. The way he’d caught the elevator door as he’d kissed me. I fished my phone out of my purse and dialed Bridget.

For a few heart-stopping moments, I thought I was going to have to leave a message, but on the third ring, she picked up.

“Hey, Bridget, it’s Mina...”

“Mina! What’s up? How was the gig? I’m sorry I couldn’t come—”

“Oh, it was fine.” Thank God she wasn’t telepathic. “Listen, I’m calling because I was hoping I could move into your sister’s place a little early. Like maybe today.”

“Oh! Well, Megan’s not done cleaning it, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” If she thought my request was odd, it didn’t show in her voice. “Let me give her a call and call you back, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Sounds fine.”

I spent the next five minutes pacing through the room. There was no way I was spending another night in Jackson’s apartment. I’d get a hotel room if I had to.
Christ,
how had I let this happen? What had I been
thinking?

Well, I guess I knew what I’d been thinking. The memory of Jackson’s hands on my skin came back to me like an emergency flare going off in my chest. I felt my face heat up. I
definitely
knew what I’d been thinking. I stopped pacing and rubbed my face, hard. This was ridiculous. I just had to forget it ever happened and hope he would do the same. The sooner we put it behind us, the better. My phone rang. I wanted to cheer.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” It was Bridget.
Thank God.
“She says it’s totally fine. I can let you in today, if that’s what you want.”

“That would be
wonderful.
”

“What time are you free?”

I looked at Jackson’s clock. “Would now work?”

* * *

Maybe it was cowardly. Okay, it was definitely cowardly. Call me a coward.

Most of what I owned was in the storage unit. Everything I’d brought to Jackson’s barely filled up one suitcase, even when I added the red satin dress. I took my toothbrush and toiletries out of the bathroom, wondering why I’d let myself leave traces all over the place. Christ. Was I going to have to come back at some point and pick up a shoebox of things he’d found, hair clips and socks?

I did an extra pass through the apartment, finding, among other things, a dusty metal collar stay under Jackson’s bedside table and a take-out menu from an Indian restaurant under the couch. I left them where they were. When I left, I locked the keys inside.

Bridget helped me move my things out of the U-Store-It. Carrying the futon was like trying to wrestle something alive—and reluctant. We managed it, though, half throwing it into the truck and collapsing on top of it, panting with the hysterical laughter of exertion. The rest was easy in comparison. I drove the rented truck back across town, and we repeated the process, this time going up two flights of narrow stairs. By the end of it, we were both soaked in sweat. We collapsed on the floor of my new apartment.

“Thanks,” I said, staring at the ceiling.

“No problem.” Her voice was weak. “What are friends for?”

“Can I treat you to lunch?”

She sat up. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Seems like the least I can do. Come on—you can show me the good places around here.”

We found a café and ate, and Bridget gave me the key in exchange for the first month’s rent. Her sister was at work, and leaving for another business trip in the morning. It might be weeks before I got to meet her, but I had instructions on which plants to water and where to put the mail.

“Thanks for meeting me on short notice like this,” I said. “Didn’t you have to be at work?”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I do freelance graphic design, so I make my own hours.”

“Still, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no big deal at all. Anyway, I already gave myself the day off so I could look for Conner.”

“Still nothing, huh?”

“I think I need to expand my range. Go down the coast, maybe.” She looked forlornly at her club sandwich.

“I wish there was something I could do.”

She brightened at my words. “Thanks, Mina. Just knowing that helps.”

As I paid the bill, I resolved to ask Jackson if there really was anything I could do. It seemed to me that he and his father were the best chance we had of finding Bridget’s brother.

We parted at the door, and I returned the truck and took the bus back to my new place. I took a shower in my new bathroom and stood in the middle of the floor in my new turret room and looked at the foggy view.

Jackson was going to be pissed when he got home.

It was better this way.

I put my earbuds in and turned on Sera Cahoone with the volume up. It was impossible to hang on to unhappiness listening to Sera Cahoone. She did all the unhappy for you. I let the music pound through my brain while I unpacked. I shook out the sheets and made up my futon and put my dishes in the sink. There was no dishwasher, and they were covered in bits of paper and newsprint smudges—I’d wash them later. When I’d gotten all the essentials in place, I headed for the speakeasy with “Only As the Day Is Long” on repeat.

I knew no one would be there yet, but I didn’t care. I let myself in the back way. The lights were off, so I flicked them on, clocked in and started going through Simon’s disastrous excuse for financial records. I brought the binder into the empty room with the folding table I’d found before and opened it up. It was a disaster. It wasn’t even in chronological order. All the deliveries were addressed to Featherweight’s, and it looked as though they’d been shoved in completely at random. Every so often, I found handwritten notes of cash amounts paid to Sebastian. The only time two pieces of paper showed up in chronological order was once—just once—when I was lucky enough to find them stuck together by something that looked like peanut butter.

Simon was not paying me enough.

A clean slate was in order. I unclasped the binder rings and put all the papers in a stack. Then I started going through and sorting, notes in one stack, receipts in another, deposit slips in yet another. It looked like Simon had a Swiss bank account. Not surprising for someone who ran an illegal underground bar, but still. Fancy.

I finally got tired of Sera and moved on to Solomon Burke. It was that kind of day. I kept the volume up high, which explained why, when Paulie came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder, I screamed like horror movie cannon fodder.

“Sorry!” he said, backing up and biting his lip. “I tried to get your attention, but...” He gestured at my earbuds.

I pulled them out. Everything sounded a little muffled. My heart was still pounding from being startled. “It’s okay. What’s up? Great gig last night, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It was awesome.”

“You want a drink?” I asked. “We’re not actually open, but if you promise to tip the bartender, she might have pity on you.” I flashed him a smile.

“No.” He looked feverish. “No, not—that. I need—Mina, please.” He leaned in close and dropped his voice, even though we were alone. “I need another drain. Just for a few seconds. It was like heaven last time, you don’t understand. Do you think you could do it?”

“Paulie...”

“Please, Mina.”

“Look, I can’t.” I’d grounded Jackson so completely, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to use my powers again so soon. By now I’d probably be able to weaken his abilities, but not fully ground them. And I didn’t exactly feel like explaining why.

“No! You
have
to—” He grabbed for me, managing to get hold of my hand for a few seconds before I twisted away from him.

“Just for a second! Just a little!”

I backed away from him, coming up hard against the stainless steel cooler beneath the bar. He followed, still reaching for me. “Paulie, I can do it later, just not now—”

“Mina, you have to!” He grabbed both my arms, hard. I was going to have bruises. Tiny bolts of power flared over my skin, but nothing like I usually felt. “It’s not working. Why isn’t it working?”

“Paulie,
stop,
” I said, resolving to hurt him if I had to. But before I could come up with the least damaging way to hit him, he jerked back and fell to his knees, gasping and clutching his stomach.

“I’m sorry!” I said, getting down in front of him. “I didn’t mean—” I hadn’t even touched him, or at least I thought I hadn’t. As I tried to figure it out, Paulie was jerked to his feet. I looked up and saw Simon with his hands on Paulie’s collar.

“It wasn’t you,” Simon said. “It was me.”

I hadn’t even known he was around. I got up slowly and took a step back. Paulie was scrabbling at Simon’s hands.

“She can’t help you right now, man,” Simon said. “You can’t be bothering her like that.”

“I know,” Paulie said, his voice raspy. “I’m sorry.”

Simon released him, and he staggered and rubbed his neck.

“Apologize to her,” Simon said.

Paulie looked at my feet. “Sorry, Mina.”

“Don’t do that again, okay? If I say I can’t help you, I mean it. You can’t just grab me like that.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“No means no, you little shit,” Simon said.

“I—I know.”

“Get out of here.”

Paulie went, leaving the door open behind him. Simon went to close it, then came back and poured a pair of whiskeys from a bottle below the bar. He handed me one.

“You okay?”

“He didn’t hurt me.” I sipped my drink. I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t have grounded him if I’d wanted to. The memory of Jackson’s power reminded me of last night in ways I desperately wanted to forget. “Thanks for getting him off of me.”

Simon threw back his shot. “No problem. Paulie’s a punk.”

“Yeah,” I said, but in truth, I felt a little bit sorry for him. He’d seemed so desperate. “So what are you doing here so early? I’ve never seen you here before five.”

“Just checking the inventory,” he said. “I’d better get back to it, actually. Once the place fills up, I never feel like I have time. You okay to open in an hour?”

“Sure. Malik’s coming in, right?”

“At seven. But go ahead and turn on the sparrow. If you’re gonna be here, you might as well get paid.”

“I was—I’ve been working on your books.”

“Yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Besides your Swiss bank account?” I teased.

“Hey, illegal underground speakeasies have to have a place to put their cash.”

“Yeah, well you could put by a lot more of it if you bought your produce in bulk. You’re spending a fortune on limes.”

“Huh.” He peered in the cooler where we kept the cut ones. “Good to know.” He closed the cooler. “How’s the practice coming?”

“Better. I can control the transfers now.”

“What about releasing the energy—that’s getting easier?”

“Much. I just wish I could prevent it from happening if I wanted to.” Again, my thoughts went to Jackson. His mouth on mine. I buried the images quickly, flooding my head with what had just happened with Paulie.

“You just need a bit of practice.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to avoid grounding people. There are only so many converters James needs to arrest.”