The Scent of Shadows

13

I still had questions about my new life, but at least I knew why Warren had said not to contact him until I had Olivia’s mannerisms, habits, and thought processes down pat. If I didn’t wholly believe I was Olivia, nobody else was going to either. So, while Warren and Micah had promised answers, I decided to seek them out myself. With an hour to spare before a scheduled “date” with Cher, my first, I decided to use the time for research.

“Not just research,” I corrected, aloud. “Mythology.”

Only two blocks from the salon where I was to meet Cher was the comic book store that Micah had mentioned to me. I swung into a parking spot in front of an L-shaped strip mall that also housed a beauty supply store, a video store, and the most familiar sign of modern-day suburbia—Starbucks. As I stepped from Olivia’s TT, I sniffed lightly at the wind. I’d had the nagging feeling of being watched ever since leaving the apartment, but I hadn’t scented or seen anything peculiar. The cars closest to mine belonged to patrons of a sandwich shop three doors down, so I dismissed the feeling as nothing more than nerves and headed for the entrance of Master Comics.

“Oh yeah,” I muttered, looking at a life-sized Aqua-Man painted on the shop’s windows, “this looks like exactly where the answers to the world’s paranormal mysteries are kept.” I walked in anyway.

A jangle of cowbells announced my arrival. I briefly surveyed the place—noting the comics and animé were shelved alphabetically, and the most valuable editions were secured behind glass cases—then noticed the hanging silence. I looked down at my leather minidress and the skintight knee-high boots—which, I’d been horrified to discover, cost more than a payment on my Jag—and grimaced. It’d seemed a conservative enough outfit that morning, but I realized now it was somewhat inappropriate for visiting an establishment frequented by teenage boys.

I compared myself briefly with one of the buxom beauties on the cover of a nearby comic and found I held up nicely. This would explain why the looks I was getting from the half-dozen other patrons were less lascivious than hopeful. Too bad I didn’t have a gold lasso in my pocketbook.

I settled for sauntering up to the register, manned by the only adult in the place. I gave him Olivia’s most encouraging smile. “Hi.”

The man didn’t answer, just stood there, tongue half exposed between his chubby lips. Perhaps he was just shy…though the saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth couldn’t have been normal. I tried again. “Hello, earthling?”

A voice popped up beside me. “You look just like Daphne of Xerena.”

I turned my head, saw no one, then looked down and recoiled. Hairy ten-year-old, or large midget, it was a tough call. “Excuse me?”

“Daphne, the Xerenian princess whose shadow detaches to fight crime worldwide while she’s sleeping. Do your heels turn into switchblades?” he asked, bending over to look for himself.

Ten-year-old. Definitely. “Sorry. No.”

He straightened, plainly disappointed, and I got a clear look at his face. Tufts of hair sprouted from his cheeks in aberrant fashion, and muddy brown eyes peered up at me from beneath bushwhacked brows. “Let me guess, Wolf-Man?”

He rubbed a hand along his voluminous sideburns and shook his head. “Growth hormones. They just have the added benefit of making me look like a superhero.”

I wanted to tell him that Eddie Munster wasn’t much of a hero, but refrained when he pulled a claw from behind his back and made to lunge for me. After the month I’d had, he was fortunate I saw the nails were made of plastic. Another nanosecond and he’d have been eating my Dior handbag.

I raised a brow. “Cute.” He growled menacingly.

I realized then exactly where I was. A role-playing, hormone-ridden den of iconic culture. An adolescent precursor to Playboy magazine and Internet porn. I studied a half-dressed heroine on one of the rags behind the case. Warren probably felt right at home here.

Turning to the man behind the counter again, and ignoring the growling noises emanating from Wolf-boy, I tried another smile. “I’d like some information on superheroes, please.” I felt like an idiot as soon as the words were out of my mouth, a feeling intensified by the way the guy just continued to stare, but I waited. And waited. “Do you speak English?”

“Why do you want to know?” he finally said.

“Well,” I said, taken aback by the coldness in his voice, “it’s just that you weren’t answering me.”

A voice popped up on my other side. “He means why do you want to know about superheroes?”

I turned to find a bald-headed youth staring at me with an equally closed expression. He had a twin—identifiable as such by a T-shirt that said i’m his twin with an arrow pointed in the first boy’s direction—who duplicated his expression and his stance, right down to the spindly arms crossed over his chest. As twins are wont to do, I supposed.

Keeping my eyes on the twins, I spoke to the man. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this, or is this not, a retail establishment? I buy, you sell. I ask, you reply. The customer is always right…any of this sound familiar?”

Dead silence.

Clearly the mantle of “reasonable adult figure” was being thrown solely across my shoulders. I took on a commanding stance—as one did when facing a prepubescent Inquisition—and crossed my own arms over my chest. When all eyes had finally returned to my face, I cleared my throat. “If you really must know, I’m doing a paper for school. You’ve heard of college, right, boys? It’s where you go if you haven’t ditched too many high school classes to hang out with Wolf-boy over here—”

“No!” A voice flew at me from the back of the store. I looked in time to see a head duck back behind an upside-down comic. Even if the voice hadn’t cracked in the middle of the single syllable, it wouldn’t have been an especially impressive show of vigor.

“No, you haven’t heard of college?” I asked sweetly.

“No, we won’t tell you about superheroes,” the man behind the counter finally said.

I returned my gaze to him, clearly the ringleader. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Zane.”

“Well, Zane, I’d like to speak to your manager.”

“I am the manager.”

Wolfie giggled beside me.

“The owner, then.”

“I’m the owner too.”

“Then sell me a comic book.”

“No.”

Confused, I stared at him. Then, figuring I’d been given this body for a reason, I leaned over the counter and asked again nicely. Olivia, I thought, could have done no better.

“No,” he said again.

Now, if I’d been in my own skin I might have given in to the impulse to take Zane by his greasy hair and slam his head into the counter so that glass became a permanently identifiable part of his features. But I was Olivia now, and Olivia would never. Besides, I didn’t relish the thought of taking on Wolf-boy, Tweedledee and -dum, the town crier…and whoever else might be lurking in the back of the store. I straightened and sighed, reconciled to trying reason.

With a grown man who read comics.

“Well, why on earth not?”

“Because earth is all your puny close-minded psyche can fathom!” yelled the crier, rising halfway from his chair. His face was bright red and he was unconsciously crushing the comic book in one balled fist. “There’s a whole universe out there you’ll never grasp! A whole world that can never be accessed by the likes of you!”

“Sebastian!”

The boy dropped back into his seat, deflated, and lifted the crumpled comic to cover his face. His hands were shaking.

“Is he on medication?”

A chorus of growls met this suspicion, and I could feel the hostility rising in the room. I inhaled deeply, imagining the air passing through my limbs, my chest, every cell down to my toes. I scented deodorant, raging hormones, and a taut thread of high-strung affront, but there were no weapons, no Shadow agents, and no superheroes in the bunch…including Wolfie and his plastic claws.

“Sebastian is a little sensitive,” Zane said unnecessarily. “We all are when people like you come poking around.”

Did he mean people who brush their teeth after each meal? I wondered, catching sight of something plantlike between his front teeth. “People like me?”

“People who want to study us like bugs under a microscope—”

“You tell her, Zane!”

“Who think we’re a sociological macrocosm to be dissected and analyzed, then served up in a report so you can get an A-plus in some moronic class that perpetuates the myth of modern-day society. But we don’t accept your mores and values, got it? We defy your definitions of what is right or wrong, and what is truly the norm. We defy you!” He finished off with a pump of his fat fist, accompanied by a loud chorus of victorious accord.

I looked around the store suspiciously. Seriously, reality shows were popping up in the strangest places these days.

“Now get out of here,” he said, breathing heavily, “before Sebastian really gets upset.”

I glanced doubtfully at the quivering mass of nerves at the back.

“Fine. There are other comic book stores, you know.” I hoped. “Somebody will take my request seriously.”

“Not in that dress they won’t.”

I turned to leave, the derision of a half-dozen adolescent boys licking at my heels, before I paused in my go-go boots.

Did superheroes take this kind of shit from mere mortals?

I mean, if I couldn’t face down a pack of Xbox addicts, then how was I going to rid the entire Las Vegas valley of twelve homicidal Shadow agents? Not to mention a being imagined into existence?

Turning back to Zane, I leaned my palms on the glass countertop, mostly because I knew it would annoy him, and pushed my face into his. The victory cries died off into a strangled and wary silence. “Look, forgive me for not knowing your password or secret handshake or whatever gets a person access into your labyrinth of anarchy here, but I need this information. I’m not really writing a paper. I’m not even in school. I mean, have you ever seen an undergraduate who looks like this?”

His eyes flickered, but the rest of his face didn’t change. “Then why do you want to know?”

I sighed loudly, then motioned him closer. Four bodies leaned in. Sebastian strained forward from his seat in the back. “The truth is, I’m a new agent for the Zodiac troop 175, paranormal division, Las Vegas. I’m the Archer, and I need to do some research.”

They all drew back as if propelled, or repelled, by a single force, but no one spoke. As Zane was nearly drooling again, I decided backing up sounded like a good idea.

“Shit, lady,” Wolfie finally said, scratching his half beard. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Yeah, man. We’re big Zodiac fans. Travis here has all the trading cards.”

His twin looked up at me. “I don’t have you, though.”

They all looked at me, wariness once again overtaking their features.

“I’m a new recruit. I didn’t even know I was superhuman until I underwent metamorphosis.”

Zane nodded thoughtfully. “Ah…a late harvest.”

“Ripe, though.”

I scowled down at Wolfie, who grinned.

“Show the lady where the Zodiac manuals are, Carl.” To me, Zane said, “I’m going to trust you are who you say you are, even though you obviously know nothing about your microuniverse and you have no identifying symbol.”

“Symbol?”

“Your glyph. You know, your Zodiac emblem? You’re not marked as an agent of Light or Shadow.”

Is that why they’d all been looking at my chest? I looked down, saw only impressive cleavage, then looked back up into a less-than-impressed face. I shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

Wolfie tugged on my hand. “C’mon.”

He led me deeper into the shop, passing Sebastian along the way. The boy peered up at me from the corner of his eye, extreme agitation marring his brow. Nothing, I thought, a little Thorazine couldn’t take care of.

“Boo,” I said, and he yelped and scurried away.

“Dang, this stuff itches,” Carl the wolf-boy said, yanking off his mustache as he walked.

I winced. “I thought you were taking hormone pills?”

“Nah.” He pulled off another tuft of his beard, studied it, then tossed it aside. “Model glue.”

I watched as he worked a roll of glue from his chin. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, my mom thinks so too. You remind me a lot of her, actually.”

“Why? Is she a superhero too?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Compulsive liar.”

A quiet chuckle from behind met that remark. I turned to find Zane leaning against a nearby wall of manga titles.

“Right here.” Carl stopped before a wood-paneled cabinet in the farthest corner of the shop, unlocking it to reveal an ordinary carousel of comics. Scratching at his chin, he looked from the rack to me and back again. He was beginning to make me itch. “There are two series to choose from, the Shadow side of the Zodiac, and the Light.”

I looked and saw that the series was divided into vertical columns. The only difference between the two lines was the spines. The Shadow side had a black edging to each book, with titles like Enforcing the Eclipse, Midnight Portals, The Opaque Vein, and Afton’s Epitaph.

The Light series had a silver spine, and included the titles The Luminous Void, Shadow Slayer, Lambent Moonlight, and, my favorite, Zodiac: The Desert Ablaze.

“You probably want the Shadow side of the Zodiac since you’re such a bitch and all.”

“I do not want the Shadow side.” I glared at him. “Look at me. Do I look like…like…” I glanced at the lead title in the Shadow series row. “…like Simone: The Mourning Butcher?”

Carl scoffed. “Oh, sure, you’re all Britney Spears on the outside, with your blond hair and rack out to here…”

I narrowed my eyes.

“…but looks can’t hide your true identity. It’s the eyes that give you away. You’ve got dark eyes…not the color,” he hurried on, before I could interrupt, “but the soul behind them. The intent.”

I leaned down until my face was inches from his. “Listen, you little wookie, I’m not a villain, got it? I’ve just had a really bad month.”

I straightened and reached for the first Light title.

“Stop!” Carl grasped my arm.

“What?” I said, yanking away. This kid was beginning to freak me out.

“If you touch that book and you’re not really an agent of Light, then you’re going to get the biggest shock of your life, and I mean literally! I’ve seen it before, and it ain’t pretty.” He shook his finger at me, a frown marring his furry brow. “A girl like you can’t walk around with those sorts of skid marks, if you know what I mean.”

I ignored the innuendo and glanced behind me at Zane, who was leaning against a wall, leafing through Spider-Man, but listening closely enough that his mouth was twitching. He caught my look and nodded, concurring.

I turned back to the kid. “So, you’re saying a Shadow agent can’t read the Light comics, and vice versa?”

“That’s right, blondie. Keeps the sides from cross-pollinating.”

“So if I’m an agent of Light and I touch this,” I said, pointing to the lead Shadow title, “I get zapped?”

“You won’t,” he said with surety, crossing his arms over his puny chest.

I didn’t think so either, but my belief had nothing to do with what series I touched. I reached for the Shadow title, paused just to hear the weird kid’s breath quicken, then yanked the title from its rack. Nothing.

“I told you!” He pointed, jumping up and down. I grabbed another, then another, and every Shadow title down to the ground as Wolfie continued to holler manically beside me. “I told her she was evil! Did you see?”

“I saw,” Zane said mildly.

It meant nothing, I told myself, then said it aloud. “It doesn’t mean anything!”

Zane shrugged and turned back to his comic.

“It means you’re a freakin’ baddie, baby,” Wolfie said, jabbing his finger through the air. “A Shadow agent bent on death and destruction!”

I slid my eyes to the racks as he continued to jeer, then started grabbing more books. He stilled abruptly, mouth hanging open. I snatched the last Light title from the lower rungs of the rack, straightened, and grinned at him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to do that!” he stuttered. “Zane, what’s going on?”

“Guess you don’t know the Zodiac series as well as you thought,” I retorted, turning to smirk at Zane. “Comic books that zap you. Please.”

But Zane had gone chalk white, and the comic he’d been leafing through fell heedlessly to the floor. He stared at the pile of comics in my arms, then back up into my face.

“Light and Shadow,” he finally said, softly. “So you’re the one.”

I drew back, not entirely certain what he meant, but answered with what my gut told me was true. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess I am.”

Whatever that meant.

Dumping the pile of comics in the trunk of my car, I decided to walk the two blocks to the day spa despite my three-inch Christian Louboutin boots. Air was what I needed after the claustrophobic environ of Master Comics, though smog is what I got, toeing the sidewalk with cars zipping by me at forty-five miles an hour. I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, but it didn’t take long to realize it probably had more to do with my outfit than any paranormal activity. I gamely ignored the whistles and honks aimed my way, even from the group of high school boys who raced by again in the opposite direction just to comment on specific body parts, and wondered how Olivia had handled this all those years.

Unfortunately, the catcalls from the teens had elicited the attention of a group of workers doing pavement repair just ahead of me. They paused to watch my approach.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Not today.”

One worker whistled as I waited for traffic to subside. I’d have to pass in the street to avoid the wet pavement. I ignored him, and spotted an opening in the wake of an enormous SUV. The same kids who’d already passed me twice. The passenger leaned out the window this time, making lewd motions with his fingers and tongue. This, in turn, seemed to embolden the three men on the pavement. Still ignoring them—a lone woman’s sole defense when confronted with the pack mentality—I stepped into the street.

“Check the unit, boys!”

I kept walking.

“You don’t want to miss this one, mijos. Sweet as a split peach.”

Almost there. I gritted my teeth.

“I bet her rim jobs could oil a semi.”

That one, plus the accompanying laughter, stopped me cold. Adrenaline surged, tsunami waves wracking my core and my vision turning red. The oncoming traffic was racing toward me again, and I still had time to spring to the opposite walk and continue on my way, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

Whirling to face the snickering men, I caught the halfhearted attempts to cover their grins. Ignoring the horns blaring behind me—with irritation now, rather than admiration—I began to saunter back the way I’d come.

“Check the unit, boys,” I said coldly, the wind of the passing cars whipping my hair into snapping coils around my head. My heels clicked sharply on the pavement as I advanced. “You don’t want to miss this one, mijos,” I said, watching the laughter die on the faces in front of me as something in my face—probably those eyes Carl had commented on—revealed something lurking inside Olivia’s frame. “I bet her rim jobs could oil a semi.”

I stopped in front of the man who’d last spoken. He was my height; plain, not bad-looking. He shifted, and I answered his hesitant smile with a tight one of my own. Then I stepped forward, into his face, his space. Right into his universe. Staring directly into his eyes, I ran a hand over his chest, down his stomach, and into his pocket. The two other men began to laugh, a mixture of discomfort and excitement. I kept my smile fixed even as the man began to breathe hard. Wet cement clung to his fingers, and I could smell the McDonald’s breakfast he’d had that morning, the type of soap he’d showered with, the emotions seeping through his pores. I lifted his wallet from his pocket and thumbed through it.

“Hey.” He shook himself, as if from a dream.

“Is this her?” I said, flipping to a photo of a brunette. “She’s pretty.” I pulled the photo from its plastic cover. Karen, and his name was Mark. I saw it on his ID. I looked back up at him and smiled cruelly. “Too bad you’re right about her, Mark.”

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t quite manage the laugh this time.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said sweetly, leaning into him. “The nights when she comes home later than you. When her lipstick’s too fresh, and her eyes too dark, and she smells like secrets and someone else’s soap.”

The other two men stopped laughing as well.

“Actually, come to think of it, mijo,” I said, pivoting partially to face the second man, “it smells a lot like your soap.”

Mark froze beside me, while the second man’s eyes grew wide.

“What?” I said, mimicking his expression. “You really thought he didn’t know?”

I folded the wallet and handed it back to Mark, but he didn’t see. He was staring blindly at his friend, who in turn was glaring at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, puta,” the man finally said, his eyes full of hatred. Someone should have told him the adage about protesting too much.

“Here.” I tapped Mark with his own wallet. He jolted, then took it, not looking at me.

It was then that I saw his hands were shaking.

A sudden wave of sorrow washed over me. Shock rolled into me like an earthquake, and it came from the man named Mark, who truly loved his wife Karen; and yes, who he knew, deep down, was having an affair with his good friend. What had I just done?

Looks can’t hide your true identity. It’s the eyes that give you away…the soul behind them. The intent. The Shadows.

Olivia would have never done this. I’d come over here intending to hurt these men, and I’d used this ability, whatever it was that Micah had said made me special and heroic, to injure an innocent. A mortal. A man.

My anger was gone. It was a small thing compared to the shame filling my lungs, strangling my breath. I had to get out of there, away from Mark’s injured gaze and the pain I had caused. As the two men began to argue, I turned, passing by the third.

“Bitch,” he shot from beneath his breath. And at that moment, who was I to argue? “You have issues!”

“You have no idea,” I muttered, and with that, walked right through the construction zone, my heels sinking into the newly poured pavement. I knew the sidewalk, my Louboutins, and the lives I left behind me would never be the same again.