Golem in My Glovebox (30 page)

“No!” he yelled, turning around.

“Go, Zoey,” Darius said. He set me down without taking his eyes off of Bill. “I’ll take care of this. You go get our Clara.” He brought his forearm up to block a blow from Bill.

I stumbled backward, away from the fighting. “Don’t think I’m not grateful. I truly am, but don’t follow me, Darius. Promise me.”

Bill tried to kick Darius, and the mothman caught Bill’s foot and spun him away. “I know why you left us behind, Zoey. I understand. I won’t follow. Go.”

As much as I wanted to turn and run to save my mother, I couldn’t help glancing at Darius over my shoulder. For the first time, I saw a little of what my mother had seen in him. I wished him a silent goodbye in case I never got a chance to tell him.

I climbed down the hill of the abandoned ride, then turned and ran. As I passed Gris, I slowed enough to grab him, but I didn’t stop. I hopped over the prone bodies of the surfer trio, then tore my way up the boardwalk to the building Soul Patch had given us.

The storefront had faded from what looked like purple to a dull gray. Here and there a flake of purple paint clung to the past. Glass no longer filled the window, but cracks between the wood nailed across it showed a faint light shining inside. The sign above had letters missing, but “Sa t ter affy” was enough. This was the place.

I took a moment to get my breath back, and Gris climbed up my arm to my shoulder.

“Try to hold on,” I said.

“Try not to lose me.”

I inhaled deeply, checked my emotional barriers for cracks, and touched the doorknob.

“You ready?” I asked Gris.

“Let’s go get your mom.”

The door drifted open in front of me and we stood on the threshold, staring into the dimly lit lair of a golden-haired she-beast.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The ground floor was exactly as I expected an abandoned candy shop to look. Collapsed shelves hung toward the floor on one end, forming a stack of ramps for mice and bugs to climb. Broken glass and powdered plaster crunched underfoot. An old fashioned cash register, covered in dust, sat on the counter with its drawer open and a faded, red “no sale” tab showing behind its cracked display.

Toward the back of the store, the faint light source led us toward a staircase. The steps, covered in peeling navy paint, led to a closed door with an ornate, tarnished brass knob. A candle flickered from a holder bolted to the wall. I reached to turn the knob, and Gris shifted and grabbed my shirt in a tighter hold.

I swung the door open and peered into the brightly lit hallway, astonished.

The shabby carpet runner, unpolished light sconces, and gold-leaf-framed paintings had the same feel as the building at the Board’s headquarters where most of the housing and business were located. This room was older and uncared for. Until recently, no one had been here. But, if this was where Katy had grown up a hundred years ago, it stood to reason that she was probably responsible for the ostentatious and dated decorating at headquarters, back when she’d been in charge. What I found most interesting about that was that no one in all the years since she’d left the position had bothered to redecorate.

I stepped into the hallway and winced at the volume of the creaky floorboard. Pretty stupid. Katy knew I was coming. She’d sent Bill and the surfer gang to bring me up here. Somewhere in one of these rooms, she waited for me.

I took another step and ignored the squeal of a loose board. The first door on the left was closed. I tried the handle.

Locked.

Gris shifted again, then crawled along the top of my shoulder to hide beneath my hair at the back of my neck. I nodded silently to let him know I agreed with his decision.

I fluffed my hair around him to keep him out of sight.

Two more steps. Three. On the right, a door stood open. I moved to the doorway and looked inside. The large, well-lit room was a kitchen, furnished with an iron stove, porcelain sink, and an old-fashioned icebox. A woman faced away from me as she poured milk from a jug into a tall glass, then stirred in chocolate with a spoon.

My pulse quickened. “Mom?”

She glanced my way and her eyes lit up. “Zoey? Zoey, you’re here!”

Joy and love radiated from her and wrapped around my shoulders. Mom set the milk jug on the butcher-block counter and stepped toward me with the glass clutched in her hands.

Joy and love went cold, and confusion washed across her face. She scowled. “You’re late, Zoey. Katy’s been waiting all afternoon. Come with me.”

My shoulders sagged with disappointment, and Gris gave me a consoling pat on the back of my neck. I followed Mom down the hall and into a sitting room. I knew my mother didn’t have control of her own emotions at the moment. Katy was doing it to upset me. But after waiting so long to find my mom, Katy could have given me more than a few seconds before she ripped Mom away again.

Katy was a little bitch.

And there she sat, blond curls tied with ribbons, sitting at a table with her head bent and her short legs swinging under the chair. My mother set the glass of chocolate milk on the table, smoothed Katy’s hair, then bent to kiss the top of her head. “Can I get you anything else? Zoey’s here, sweetie.”

Katy’s chubby hand held a pink crayon. She paused for a second without looking up from her work, then continued pressing the crayon against the page with harsh, broad strokes. “I’m busy right now, Mother. I have to finish my pitchure. Pitker. Dammit! Picture!”

My mother looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Please have a seat and wait.” She indicated a stiff-backed sofa. The stuffing and springs sprouting through the worn silk that covered it. I started to sit. My reaction was automatic. Probably ingrained from years of working with clients. I was asked to take a seat, so I should take a seat.

I stopped myself and turned around. “No, Katy. Stop it. We’re all leaving, now.”

Katy stopped coloring and looked up. The look in her eyes chilled me, and I shivered. They were the blue of the Pacific Ocean on a summer day. Yet they held no warmth, no humanity. “Do you want to color?”

I frowned, confused. “What?”

“Sit over here and color with me. We can talk.”

A whoosh of fabric broke the silence behind me, and I turned to see two of the surfer guys, bruised but otherwise unbroken, blocking the doorway.

This all would have been easier if I’d brought my friends in with me. Darius and Kam against a couple of surfers and a little girl? Easy. But the kid could force my friends to act against me with only a thought.

And frankly, I wanted some answers before this was over. I might not get another chance if I had to stake her or knock her out with a chair. So, coloring it would be.

I sat across from her, and the two men moved to allow Mom to leave the room. I didn’t want Mom out of my sight, but dishes clinked in the kitchen, so I figured she was safe for the moment.

“Here,” Katy said, pushing a coloring book toward me. “You can have this one. Sisters share.”

I flipped the book open to an uncolored picture of a hippopotamus in a zoo. “Can I color this one?”

She nodded. “I don’t care.”

I chose a bright green crayon and went to work on the hippo, drawing round shapes on its body and coloring in the circles. “So, I’m here. What do you want to talk about?”

She eyed my work, flashed me a confused, quizzical look. “Coloring is nice, isn’t it? Do you know how long it’s been since I colored?” She chose a brown crayon and shaded the hair on a dancing princess.

“I don’t know.” I switched to a purple crayon and outlined the rest of the hippo. “Ninety years? Did they even have crayons back then?”

She scowled. “Don’t be stupid. Crayons have been around for a lot longer than I have.” She switched to burnt umber. “We just didn’t have so many colors.” She glanced at my picture again, clearly annoyed at my choice of orange for the pond water.

Mom came in with a plate of questionable cookies and a second glass of chocolate milk. She put them on the table, smiling at Katy. “Can I get you anything else?”

Katy reached for a cookie and stopped, her dimpled hand hovering in midair. “They’re burned again. Can’t you get anything right?”

My mother’s eyes went wide and filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, my darling. Let me try again. The oven is so old. I have to get used to it.”

Movement by the door caught my attention. Blondie, the surfer from earlier, approached, his muscles tensed with anger. Before I realized what was happening, he slapped my mother, sending her reeling backward.

She didn’t cry out.

I stood so fast, my chair tipped over. Blondie swung to face me, hand in the air to strike me, too. I grabbed his wrist and watched the anger in his face bleed away into a passive, unemotional mask.

He dropped his arm, and I let go. My mother sat in a chair across the room, a splash of red in the shape of a hand imprinted on the side of her face. She seemed unconcerned. She picked up a ball of yarn and a pair of thin knitting needles and began to knit.

I glared at Katy. She smiled back at me, swinging her feet and shoveling an over-baked cookie into her mouth. I righted my chair and returned to my seat.

I forced myself to stay calm. Like the child she appeared to be, she was looking for attention. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted.

“Don’t do that again.” My voice was soft, and I didn’t look at her. I took a pink crayon and applied it to the sky above my purple hippo with green polka dots.

“I’m a hundred and seven,” she said, spraying crumbs. “I can do whatever I want.”

I switched to lavender and drew diagonal lines inside the fluffy clouds. I didn’t rise to the bait or look at her. “You don’t look that old. In fact, you look like a baby.”

Go ahead
,
Zo.
Provoke her.
See how fast she has surfer dude set your hair on fire.

Katy, who had been taking a gulp of chocolate milk while I spoke, slammed her glass down on the table. “I am
not
a baby!”

I finally looked at her face. Even though I wasn’t in the least bit amused, I giggled anyway. She had a milk moustache and a scowl on her face. Combined with the chubby cheeks and the insistence that she wasn’t a baby, the liquid moustache gave her scowl an ironic spin. And laughing at her was sure to piss her off. “You should look at yourself, then. It’s really hard to take you seriously when you look like you’re six.”

If she had the power, Katy would have melted me with her eyes. As it was, I felt the other adults in the room stirring, waiting for orders as to how they should feel as events unfolded.

“You’re a terrible sister,” she said.

I took a cookie. Sniffed it. “Sisters tell each other the truth. I’m a wonderful sister. I’m the only one who won’t lie to you.” I thought better of it and returned the cookie to the plate.

Katy picked up a blue crayon. “I won’t look like this forever.”

“Nobody ever does.”

We colored in silence for a little while. Gris gave me an encouraging pat on the back of the neck.

Katy paused in her coloring and smiled. “I don’t want to kill you, you know.” She stuffed another cookie in her mouth.

“You already killed lots of people. Why would you want to kill anybody?”

She shrugged. “I wanted you to come play with me.”

“You could have just called me on the phone or sent me an invitation.”

“That wouldn’t be fun. I like scavenger hunts.”

She was an unsettling mixture of childlike innocence and world-savvy adult. Her old eyes stared at me out of a cherub’s face.

“Personally, I’d hate having to live through puberty a second time.” I took the blue crayon from her still hand and colored in between the stripes in my clouds.

I’d finally said something that stunned her, apparently. “Puberty?”

“Sure. You’re pretty old. Maybe you don’t remember it. Acne. Hormonal angst and misery. You’ll start your period all over again after already, I assume, having made it through menopause.” I chuckled but didn’t look up. “I can’t imagine why you would do this to yourself.”

She picked up a red crayon and snapped it in half. “I didn’t do this!
He
did. And then left me to fend for myself!”

Careful
,
Zoey.
Don’t push too hard and scare her off.
Slow and easy.

I waited a few beats, continuing to stroke the colored wax across the paper in a soothing rhythm. Finally, I quirked an eyebrow and looked at her. “Maybe he’ll undo it if we ask.”

She shook her head. “A deal’s a deal. He won’t undo it.”

“Maybe if I asked him for you?”

She looked at me and laughed, a terrible sound, both girlish and jaded. “Don’t be stupid. You’re an Aegis. He hates Aegises.”

I frowned. “Is that the deal you made? He’d make you young again if you killed all the Aegises?”

She gave me a long look while she chewed her bottom lip. Having decided not to tell me anything, she went back to coloring without answering.

“Katy?”

Nothing.

“Kathleen.”

She colored harder, the pressure darkening the pigment on the page.

“Kathleen Valentine, you look at me this instant.”

Her head came up in slow motion. “You do not speak to me that way.”

I brought my face close to hers. “You made a deal, but you weren’t clear enough in your wording. He made you young again. Way younger than you’d planned, because you didn’t think it through.”

“Shut up.”

“What is he? A djinn granting wishes?”

She laughed in my face, splattering me with spit and cookie crumbs. “Way older.”

“Zoey?” My mother sat with her arms midair, knitting needles buried in pink yarn. Her face was tense, but the expression in her eyes was her own. She knew me and she loved me. “Be careful, Zoey. She’s dangerous.” Her expression changed so fast it was difficult to track it. Her eyes grew sad and she slipped one of the needles from the blob of knitting. “I’ll never be a good enough mother for Katy. She deserves so much better.”

She jabbed herself in the leg with the needle. Her face never changed, and she never cried out. She stabbed the other leg.