She and Mercy were sharing a double because Lauren had won the single in their draw. Alex was sure she’d cheated, but she didn’t much mind. It would have been easier to come and go if she had a room to herself, but there was also something comforting about lying in bed at night and hearing Mercy snore across the room. And at least they weren’t stuck in bunks anymore.
Alex had planned on hanging out with Mercy and Lauren for a few hours before she had to leave to oversee a ritual at Book and Snake, listening to records and trying to ignore the annoying mmmm ooh of a singing group punishing “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.”
Come on along. Come on along. Let me take you by the hand.
But then the text from Eitan had appeared.
So now she was eyeing the Taurus Cafe. She was about to step out of the shadows when a black-and-white drove by, a new cruiser, sleek and quiet as a deep-sea predator. It flashed its lights and gave a brief belch of the siren, a warning that the New Haven PD did indeed take notice.
“Yeah, fuck you,” someone growled, but the crowd dispersed, drifting into the club or weaving down the sidewalk to find their cars. It wasn’t properly late yet. There was still plenty of time to find another party, another chance at something good.
Alex didn’t want to think about the cops or getting caught or what Turner might say if she got dragged in on a B&E or, worse, an assault charge. She hadn’t heard from the detective since the end of her freshman year, and she doubted he’d be glad to see her under the best of circumstances.
Once the cruiser was gone, Alex made sure the sidewalk was clear of possible witnesses and crossed the street to an ugly white duplex, just a couple doors down from the bar. Funny how all sad places looked the same.
Trash cans overflowing. Weed-choked yards and junked-up porches. I’ll get around to it or I won’t. But there was a new truck in the driveway of this particular house, complete with personalized license plate: ODMNOUT. At least she knew she had the right spot.
Alex drew a mirrored compact from the pocket of her jeans. When she hadn’t been mapping New Haven’s infinite churches for Dawes, she’d spent the summer digging through the drawers of Il Bastone’s armory. She told herself it was a good way to waste time, get familiar with Lethe, maybe eye up what might be worth stealing if it came to that, but the truth was that when she was rummaging in the armory cabinets, reading the little handwritten cards— the Carpet of Ozymandias; Monsoon Rings for calling rain, incomplete set; Palillos del Dios—she could feel Darlington with her, peering over her shoulder. Those castanets will banish a poltergeist, Stern, if one plays the correct rhythm. But you’ll still walk away with your fingers burned black.
It was comforting and troubling at the same time. Invariably, that steady scholar’s voice turned accusing. Where are you, Stern? Why haven’t you come?
Alex rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off her guilt. She needed to stay focused. That morning, she’d held the pocket mirror up to the TV to see if she could capture a glamour from the screen. She hadn’t been sure it would work, but it had. Now she popped it open and let the illusion fall over her.
She jogged up the steps to the porch and knocked.
The man who answered the door was huge and heavily muscled, his neck thick and pink as a cartoon ham. She didn’t need to consult the image on her phone. This was Chris Owens, also known as Oddman, record as long as he was and twice as wide.
“Holy shit,” he said when he saw Alex at the door, his eyes trained on the space a foot above her head. The glamour had added twelve inches to her height.
She raised her hand and waved.
“I … Can I help you?” Oddman asked.
Alex bobbed her chin toward the apartment interior.
Oddman shook his head as if waking from a dream. “Yeah, of course.”
He stepped aside, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture of welcome.
The living room was surprisingly neat: a halogen lamp tucked into the corner, a big leather couch with a matching recliner arranged to face a massive flat-screen tuned to ESPN. “You want something to drink or…” He hesitated, and Alex knew the calculation he was making. There was only one reason a celebrity would turn up on his doorstep on a Thursday night— any night really. “You looking to score?”
Alex hadn’t really needed confirmation, but now she had it. “You owe twelve large.”
Oddman took a lurching step back as if he’d suddenly lost his balance.
Because he was hearing Alex’s voice. She hadn’t bothered to try to disguise it, and the dissonance between her voice and the glamour of Tom Brady created by the mirror had caused the illusion to waver. It didn’t matter. Alex had only needed the magic to get inside Oddman’s apartment without a fuss.
“What the fuck—”
“Twelve large,” Alex repeated.
Now he saw her as she was, a tiny girl standing in his living room, black hair parted in the middle, so skinny she might slip straight through the floorboards.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are,” he bellowed, “but you’re in the wrong damn house.”
He was already striding toward her, his bulk making the room shake.
Alex’s arm shot out, reaching toward the window, toward the sidewalk in front of the Taurus Cafe. She felt the Gray in the beanie rush into her, tasted green apple Jolly Ranchers, smelled the skunk smoke of weed. His spirit felt unfinished and frantic, a bird slamming itself against a windowpane again
and again. But his strength was pure and ferocious. She put up her hands, and her palms struck Oddman square in the chest.
The big man went flying. His body slammed into the TV, shattering the screen and knocking it to the floor. Alex couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel good to steal the Gray’s strength, to be dangerous just for a moment.
She crossed the room and stood over Oddman, waited for his dazed eyes to clear.
“Twelve large,” she said again. “You have a week to get it or I come back and break bones.” Though it was possible she’d cracked his sternum already.
“I don’t have it,” Oddman said on a groan, his hand rubbing his chest.
“My sister’s kid—”
Alex knew the excuses; she’d made them herself. My mom is in the hospital. My check is late. My car needs a new transmission and I can’t pay you if I can’t get to work. It didn’t really matter if they were true or not.
She squatted down. “I feel for you. I really do. But I have my job, you have yours. Twelve thousand dollars by next Friday or he’ll make me come back and turn you into an example for every dime bag hump in the neighborhood. And I don’t want to do that.” She really didn’t.
Oddman seemed to believe her. “He … got something on you?”
“Enough to bring me here tonight and to bring me back again.” Alex’s temples gave a sudden throb, and the oversweet tang of apple candy burst into her mouth. “Shit, man. You look bad.”
