Ghost Garages_A Boston Technowitch Novel Page 5

  I knew it had been a solid hex. “That’s a remarkable change of heart. Why the long face, then?”

  Before she could answer, my cell rang in my pocket. I grimaced in annoyance; I usually remembered to set it to vibrate, but my chat with Kendall had thrown off my usual routine.

  I held up a finger to tell Ximena that I’d just be a moment. “Hey, Beth, what’s up?”

  “Can you come to Primark with me after work?” No hello, no lead-up. She must be stressed, which was reasonable if she really had stayed up all night painting.

  “Not today. I have to go by Maggie’s to pick up the dress she’s lending me.” Because Beth had hounded me about needing something nicer to wear and finally called Maggie herself to set it up. None of which I said.

  “Oh, of course.” Sugary venom dripped from the phone. “You’re the one who has to look her best for Brian, and you have no time to help me.”

  “What?”

  “You’re telling me you didn’t look at the list of people who are coming? I don’t believe you. You still want him back!”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, blinking, for a moment. What kind of Twilight Zone had I wandered into?

  “Even if I were looking for another man in my life, which I’m not,” — I ignored the memory of Haris’s eyes meeting mine and the heat that ran through me — “it wouldn’t be Brian. And I seriously doubt he wants a thirty-something single mother of two. And I thought you had something to wear already.”

  “Suuuuure it wouldn’t be him. Fine. I’ll go by myself, and you’ll just have to be jealous of my fast fashion.” She ended the call, ignoring my comment about her wardrobe.

  Well, that was quite the hissy fit. She and I hadn’t even talked about Brian since they’d broken up just before graduation, when she found out he planned to move to Europe for a year. Even then, all I’d done was offer her a shoulder to cry on. When your best friend steals your boyfriend from you, what is there to say?

  But I worried about her. If she’d flown off the handle at me like this, what had she been like to the people she worked with? I really hoped she went to bed early tonight. although I wouldn’t call her back to say so. In her current mood, she’d probably stay up extra late just to spite me.

  More spite … more of the ghost’s influence? I hoped not.

  I remembered to silence the phone this time before I slid it back into my pocket. “Sorry about that. You were about to tell me what’s going on with you today.”

  “It’s just one of those days, you know? After the landlord woke me up early, I went to take a shower, but the thermostat on the hot water heater got fixed—”

  “Don’t you mean got broken?”

  “No, it’s been broken for months. I knew exactly where to set the temperature for the perfect shower. This morning, I wound up with a burned arm.” She pushed up her sleeve to show me the still-pink skin.

  “Did you want to swing by the emergency room and get that looked at? It’s a pretty sizable burn.”

  She shook her head. “It’ll be okay. I put aloe on it. Anyway, after that, Missy used the last of the open milk in her coffee, so I opened the new one and spilled half of it down my front. After I mopped the floor and changed clothes, I added some of the milk to my cereal bowl, only to discover that the milk was sour.”

  I made a sympathetic face. “Rough morning.”

  “Oh, no, that’s only the beginning.” She glanced at the clock up by the menu, and her eyes widened. “Let me go clock in before I’m any later, and then I’ll tell you the rest.”

  Crap. I’d kept her here talking, so it was my fault she was late. Fortunately, one of the minor privileges I enjoyed as assistant manager was being able to adjust people’s time. I could easily give her those few minutes back.

  Except that Kendall stuck her head out of her office and said, “Late, are you? Don’t expect any favors on time-keeping.”

  Double crap.

  While I waited for Ximena to come back, I finished restocking the cinnamon rolls and the apple fritters. Kendall hadn’t ordered any more of the cinnamon chip apple scones, so this was the best I could do. I wondered whether this new trial gave me authority to alter the buy orders. If not, it would have to wait until Kendall felt like authorizing it — not likely in her current mood — or until either Rich or I was promoted and could do it ourself. Or maybe she’d give him authority to do orders as well as hires. That would work just fine.

  When Ximena got back, though, the first thing I said to her was, “Why didn't you clock in the first time you went back?”

  “What?”

  “You came in, you went in the back room looking like something the cat dragged in, you came back to talk to me, and just now you actually clocked in. What gives?”

  She looked at me solicitously. “Are you sure you're feeling okay today? I've only gone in the back once.”

  I opened my mouth to argue with her, but closed it again. What was the point? I couldn't prove my version of things, and the only solid evidence would be the time she clocked in — and that we agreed on.

  “Never mind. Brew another pot of the shade-grown Columbian, would you? That's always popular with the mid-morning crowd.”

  She checked the levels on the other pots before she started measuring beans. “Okay, so like I was saying, after Missy spilled the milk, we were late getting out of the apartment on account of having to clean it up.”

  Missy? She had said she spilled it on herself. Curiouser and curiouser.

  I made a noncommittal noise and reached for the wipes to clean smudges off the display cases.

  “On the way out, I slipped on the stairs. Hit my tailbone hard. Then the bus was late and there weren't any seats left. And when I was getting off the bus, this old guy didn't want to wait for me to get off, so he shoved me into the front seat, and the bus driver was going to pull off and then she yelled at me for not getting off first—”

  “Breathe,” I said. “It sounds very trying, but you're here now — and if you don't pay attention to how much coffee you're adding, our customers are going to be glued to the ceiling. On the second floor.”

  She flushed guiltily and started over. I left her to her work, but I had to wonder how much of what she was saying had happened. I'd seen her head to the back room twice. She’d changed who spilled the milk. I couldn't be sure of anything except that she was having a very hard day.

  Chapter 7

  Rich was late, even though he’d promised to be early, which meant I had to wait even longer while Kendall briefed him on the new competition plan. He was thoughtful when he came back up front. “Do you want the job?”

  “Not really, but if I don’t give it my best effort, she’s going to fire me. So there we are.”

  “Right.” He grinned. “But at least I can finally get some help at close!”

  Off work at last, I could head to Maggie’s. Take the Orange Line from Chinatown to Downtown Crossing and switch to the Red Line? Or just walk up to the Downtown Crossing T station and catch the Red Line in the first place? The Orange Line was tempting because there was no way I would run into Beth, and with the Summer Street entrance right outside Primark, it would be hard to miss her. But I really hate making transfers. Hoofing it up to Downtown Crossing it was.

  Halfway up Washington Street, I remembered the other reason to take the Orange Line — fewer people on the sidewalks, and the station wouldn’t be as busy. I wasn’t going to turn around and go back now, though. I’d deal with the pedestrians, even if they were still snappish and prone to pushing, even more than I expected from a normal Boston rush hour with the heat making people crabby. It seemed my sea salt had been a stop-gap measure at best.

  Sure enough, as I approached the intersection, I spotted Beth. She saw me, too, next to the T entrance, and her eyes narrowed before she turned away. I wanted to run after her and tell her that no, I wasn’t trying to rub her nose in my choice. Instead, I turned away from the lovely brick street and heade
d down the stairs to follow the red paint stripe above the white tile walls.

  I had a moment of panic when I thought I’d left my CharlieCard at home, but it had slid behind my driver’s license. I added more money to the card just in case, and headed in.

  The station seemed a little sheltered from the turmoil of emotions outside; the farther I got from the entrance, the fewer angry faces I saw. Shielding was possible, then.

  The overhead signs showed five minutes until the next Alewife-bound train. I looked around for a place to stand and noticed a familiar face, one I usually saw only in Chinatown, sitting with a case in front of him and his bow on the strings of his Chinese violin.

  I walked over and nodded politely. “Sir.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile, although he didn’t look directly at me. I wasn’t sure he was looking at anything in this world, to be honest. How does one tell with a Lung dragon?

  “You have been busy lately. The muse suits you.”

  Heat rushed to my face. I’d forgotten that he had seen me with Haris the previous day, although his nod to Haris had been one of the things I counted in Haris’s favor. It was nice to have independent confirmation that Haris was a muse, though. “We’ve only met the once.”

  He nodded. “There will be more times.” Not for the first time, I wondered how much of what Hsien said was foretelling and how much was just the way he thought the world should be. And if there was a difference for someone who could tug at the strings of the world.

  He fell silent, plying his instrument and nodding in appreciation to the passersby who dropped tips into his case. “Take care of the children.”

  It seemed a non sequitur, but his concern was always for them. He was the one who had blessed Wei Lui so that her offspring would always have twins.

  “I do. Always.”

  “Not just yours.” His eyes met mine, and I was struck by how black the irises were, with the barest hint of lines usually seen. “All of them.” A piece of paper appeared between the fingers on his bow hand. “Take it. It is a ward spell that will aid you in this.”

  I took the paper with alacrity and glanced at it. It appeared to be a drawing of a turtle with numbers on its back, surrounded by a Lung dragon whose head overlay its own tail. Blue light flickered over the black ink. Not what I would have thought of as a ward spell, but the power in it was unmistakable. Carefully, I slipped it into the inner pocket of my purse.

  As I looked up once more, I saw something moving along the tracks, tall and brown with a shaggy head, not quite human. I cried out, and the Lung dragon followed my gaze.

  “The trolls. They have been here longer than the T itself. Longer than Boston, I think, although it’s hard to be sure.” He looked off into the distance again and started a new tune, with hints of water and the cries of seabirds. “It was not an easy trip for them, nor was their landing good for them or those already here.”

  “Already here?”

  “You are unlikely to encounter them. Very little of this land is as it was hundreds of years ago, and when the people were killed and moved and assimilated, many of the others here lost their power or went into hiding.”

  “Europeans suck,” I agreed.

  A faint smile. “Not all of you, but one can certainly make that argument.”

  The announcer came over the intercom: “Red Line train, Alewife bound, now arriving. Alewife Red Line train arriving.”

  “That’s my train. See you later!”

  Perhaps a too-informal leave-taking, but neither “farewell” nor “goodbye” felt appropriate, for different reasons.

  Regardless, Hsien accepted my words. “Indubitably. But do be careful, not just for the children but for yourself as well. Your newfound ability to see the trolls speaks to a change in you.”

  “That sounds bad.”

  “Life is change. Good or bad depends on what you do with it. Now catch your train.”

  The ride to the Central stop was uneventful and tempers settled, with passengers shooting dirty looks at each other rather than arguing outright, even when people jostled each other getting off or on at the MIT stop. I tried to avoid bumping into too many people when I got off, although there was only so much I could do as I stepped out onto the concrete and painted stripes. Especially when I almost bumped into someone who was at least two feet taller than me.

  “Excuse me,” I said, stepping back and looking up — at the brown shaggy head of a troll like the one I’d seen at the Downtown Crossing stop. I glanced around to see if anyone would comment on my behavior, but we stood in a gap that the crowd flowed around, seeming unaware of our presence.

  “I saw you watching me.” The voice rumbled a bit, a nice baritone.

  It took me a minute. Watching him? Not like the one I’d seen, then, but rather the same one.

  “And you followed to tell me this?” I wanted the skin on my back to creep in response to my fear, but I froze. Nothing was going to move, except maybe to let me talk, and given how breathless my words were, maybe not even that much longer.

  “To tell you that, and to tell you that we are watching you as well. You are magic, you may be a threat. We will watch.”

  “You couldn’t have told me this on the train?” Where I wouldn’t have felt so isolated, even if no one noticed us.

  “I did not take the train. We have our own ways of travel. And they are fast.” He turned and walked away. The crowd flowed around him, but I could follow his head until he entered a door marked “Employees only.” Because who would stop him if they couldn’t even see him?

  I thought about what he’d said — that the trolls were watching me and could get around fast. The fear that held me in place did not doubt either statement. I would have to take care not to be a threat, especially if they thought I was magic, rather than simply using magic. I wasn’t going to argue the semantics with them.

  On the street, people were snapping at each other, and one woman pushed another into the street in front of traffic. Fortunately, everyone’s brakes worked, but I worried. How far did the drowned woman’s influence go?

  Then I neared the parking garage and felt a familiar frisson.

  Here, too?

  My feet turned toward the garage, but I hesitated. I didn’t have enough salt on me to circle another parking space to cordon off a ghost, even supposing I could do so without interruption at this time of day. And I did not want to walk in there by myself to face the ghost. The Lung dragon had said something had changed me, and all I could think of was that the ghost — the first ghost, the drowned woman in the garage near my home — had touched me this morning. What if the change was more than just the ability to see trolls, if she had tainted me somehow?

  I didn’t feel different, but I knew I was. And until I knew precisely how I had changed, I couldn’t afford to take chances. I lowered my shoulders as though heading into a wind and strode on to Maggie’s house.

  Maggie’s cats sat on the doorstep waiting for me. I leaned over to pet them, but Bast, the black one, moved away from my hand, leaving the calico Sekhmet to get all of the attention.

  The door opened. “If you’re finished petting them, I’ve got tea and cookies.”

  Maggie looked as well put together as always, still wearing her suit jacket as though it weren’t in the 80s out and she hadn’t been home for at least an hour. Her brown hair was caught up in a French twist, and her reading glasses — that I knew for a fact she didn’t need — hung around her neck on a chain. Perfectly staged. I’d know there was a problem if she ever looked half as casual as I did.

  “Only if it’s chamomile tea, please. My nerves are shot.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen some of their tension, as I followed her into her spite house — only seven feet wide, but three stories tall, with all of the usual amenities.

  One side of the front room held nothing but a runner leading back to the kitchen. On the other, two Queen Anne chairs flanked a circular table with a silver tray on it. The tray held a
teapot and teacups, as well as a plate of cookies. I knew from past experience that the tray covered a carving of Ouroboros, Maggie’s patron.

  With the simple furnishings, the room felt cozy, rather than cramped.

  Maggie waited until I sat in one of the chairs before she sat in the other and passed me a delicate floral cup. “I told you there were undercurrents in the city. I don’t know why you didn’t listen.”

  I sipped. Chamomile, touch of honey, just the way I liked it. “Did you also know there’s a ghost in the garage down the street from you?”

  “Is there?” She raised one eyebrow at me. “I’ll have to take a look tomorrow. Quite a coincidence after you were just asking me about how to get rid of them.”

  “I wish I believed in coincidences.”

  She outwaited me, as she always did, so I continued, “There’s one in the parking garage near my home, too, and I wouldn’t be terribly surprised to find there are some elsewhere in the city. And they feel too similar; they have to be connected.”

  “Tsk. They don’t have to be. Sloppy logic, Pepper. It’s highly likely, of course, but—”

  I sighed. “Did you find anything more specific on how to get rid of them? Those undercurrents, as you refer to them, are affecting normal people, and we have to do something.”

  “If you were more careful with your magic in the first place, you wouldn’t have to worry about this sort of thing. You know, the others don’t even want me talking to you. Death? Ghosts? What have you been doing?”

  I put the cup down hard enough to chip the bottom edge. “I told you it’s not me. I found a problem that someone else caused, I’m trying to fix it, and all I’m hearing from you is unwarranted blame.”

  “The first one did show up near your house, you said.”

  “That was the first I knew of because it was the closest to me. It doesn’t have to be the first one there was. Did you need to see my calendar for the last month so you can verify that I haven’t been near this garage or any other in town?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell, ready to pop the app open, as if that would convince her.