Synergist Page 4

  “Good.” He stands up and pulls me up with a gentle hand. “Shall we walk?”

  I nod and he links my arm with his. The paved paths veer in and out of lovely landscaped areas in the park. Each area has a different theme. There’s the rose garden in one section, honeysuckles in another, a stand of poplars in a third. There are groves of fruit trees too, and a lovely fountain with sculpted fairies that sit in the center. It’s the last one that he leads me to. How does he know this is my favorite? We stand side by side, arms linked, watching the water play in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Why do you need another job, Amaya?”

  I look away, hiding my flushing cheeks. Coming from a place of neediness is awful. It grates on me at every level, but pride is a luxury I cannot afford. But maybe I don’t have to give him the whole sob story. I decide to take a page from his book. “I don’t want to tell you why. Can you help me or not?”

  “I can help you, of course I can help you.”

  Good.

  “What happened at the Harbor House? Why won’t they give you a reference?”

  I squint at the dancing lights. Madrones frame the fountain, and sunlight filters through, twinkling like starlight on the water’s surface. “Something happened, with the manager there.”

  He turns to face me, holding both of my hands in his. Pulses of energy travel through his fingers into my hand and up my arm. Is his heart beating as fast as mine is?

  “Tell me what happened.” His gaze locks on mine, the intensity of those dark eyes overwhelming me.

  As if I’m in a trance, I answer in a monotone, even though my brain is screaming for me to shut up. “He accused me of stealing so he could fire me and hire his girlfriend instead.”

  The light bouncing off the sparkling water flares, blinding me for a moment, as if the sun moved out from a bank of clouds. When my vision clears, I’m deep in a replay of that shitty, shitty day. I’m standing in the Harbor House Cafe, alone with the manager, moments before the incident that led to my firing.

  I was standing in the main dining room, wiping off a table, when Michael appeared. It was at the end of my shift; we were closing up the cafe for the day.

  “Amaya, my office, now.” His voice was gruff, which confused me because he was always friendly.

  I followed him into the back and he sat down behind his desk, motioning for me to take the other chair.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “You tell me.” He narrowed his eyes at me and rapped his knuckles on the desk.

  “Not following.”

  “The cash register came up short today and you were the one in charge.”

  I pushed my chair back. “There must be some mistake. I settled the drawer an hour ago. It balanced.”

  He bent down and grabbed the bag for the day’s deposit, which he set on the desktop. “Would you like to count it again?”

  I grabbed the bag, opened it, and took out the deposit slip—filled with my neat, precise handwriting—and the tape from the register. Then I counted the money for the third time that day. I’d been working at the cafe for two years and I’d never made a mistake. Math was my thing. Michael waited in silence, watching me. When I was finished, I shook my head and recounted.

  “There’s two hundred missing.” I looked up at him. “But it was there earlier, when I counted.”

  He tapped the register. “Did anyone else handle the money?”

  I shook my head. “No. I put everything in the safe in your office, like I always do, as soon as I balanced it.”

  “Amaya.”

  I’d never seen him look so serious. “I didn’t take the money, Michael.”

  “I don’t want to think that you did, but it doesn’t look good. Does it?”

  I shook my head.

  “What would you do in my position?”

  “Believe me.” I folded my arms across my chest.

  “There’s no way anyone else could have done it. I’m sorry, Amaya, but I’m going to have to let you go.”

  I stood up, toppling the chair over. “No fucking way. I didn’t steal the money and you know it!” I put my hands out in front of me, palms up. “You’ve worked with me for the past two years. You know I’d never do anything like that.”

  “I know that your parents left you alone in the Edge. I know that your family has had money difficulties in the past.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “I want to believe you. You’ve always been a good kid but . . .” He shook his head. “There’s no way that skimming that amount of money is going to fly under the radar here.”

  My hands shook, vibrating with anger. “Are you accusing me because I’m black?”

  “Hey now, you don’t need to play that card.”

  “Really? Because it seems like you have.”

  “I’m not going to call the police. I’m not going to file a report. I’m letting you go, and I won’t even tell anyone so as not to ruin your reputation. I’m sure this has been lesson enough for you.”

  “Screw you. I didn’t steal that money and you know it. I don’t know what game you’re playing here or why you’re doing this, but the only other person with access to that bankroll is you, so please, don’t do me any favors.”

  I flipped him the bird and walked out of the cafe with my head high. Only later, when the righteousness had worn off, would I realize just how monumentally I’d screwed myself.

  When the memory clears, I’m surprised to find myself still standing in front of the fountain with Vasily looking deeply into my eyes and holding both of my hands.

  “No one should be treated that way,” he snarls. “Least of all you.”

  Wait, what? I didn’t say anything out loud. That was just a memory, a memory replaying in my head. “You saw? B-but how?”

  “You have your gifts and I have mine.”

  He lets go of my hands but I grab one of his again, unwilling to let this—or him—go. It’s a ridiculous thing to do, of course. He’s a vampire, he can shot-put me across the whole park if he wants to, but he doesn’t break my hold.

  “That man stole the money himself. He used his position of authority to accuse you. Do you know why?”

  I nod. “Apparently, his new girlfriend wanted a job there. Jules went in a week later and she was working my shift. I know the owner told him he couldn’t hire her unless someone quit.”

  “He shouldn’t be allowed to do that.”

  His anger on my behalf sends something warm and soothing running down my spine. Of course Jules was angry too, but she’s my friend. She’s supposed to be on my side. So why does this near-stranger’s concern feel so vindicating? “He shouldn’t but—”

  “The world is full of bad men.” His brows furrow. “When they have all this.” He gestures to the trees.

  “Yeah, I don’t get it either.”

  “I’m sorry he set you up like that. I’d like to help. If you’ll let me.”

  “How?”

  “I am indeed in need of help at my house. We have one person who assists us already but there’s a particular job I’m having a difficult time filling.”

  “What is it?” Finally we get to the reason I called him. If Jules hadn’t mentioned that he’d already interviewed a few donors from Ichor for whatever this job is, I’d be leery, but Jules has an almost unearthly knack for sizing people up.

  Vasily clears his throat. “I’d rather show you, if that’s all right.” He licks his lips while eyeing my throat. “And I have some friends you’ll need to meet first.”

  TSTL

  Vasily insists on giving me a ride home in his Lincoln. I squirm in my seat, unable to get comfortable. When I give him my address, he doesn’t hide his wince, and shame seeps through my body, wet and ugly. I break out in a thin sweat, worrying what he’s thinking, and then internally reprimand myself. Why should I care? It’s all my parents could afford. Even though Dad used to have a good job that he loved, they wouldn’t give him the promotion he’d spent years trying for. Most likely because we’
re human.

  I clear my throat and turn my eyes to him. “And the job you’re offering me is . . . ?”

  His lip tugs up at the corners and his dark eyes crinkle. “Do you like horses?”

  “Who doesn’t?” I hold onto the door handle to keep from throwing my arms around him, all shame of where I live melting away in my excitement.

  “Good,” he glances at me sideways. “Do you have any experience working with them? It’s not required, my friends and I can teach you everything you need to know, and you don’t have to know how to ride.”

  “You’re looking for a stable hand?” I say in my best Valley-girl accent. I know I’m being snide and would happily be a stable hand over a vampire’s dinner but I do have enough past experience with horses to offer more.

  “No.” His tone is firm and a little gruff. “We have someone to muck out the stalls. We need help with horse maintenance.”

  “Feeding and grooming?”

  “Yes.” His eyes dart to the side. “Do you know how?”

  “I’ve groomed horses before, even done hoof cleaning.”

  “We don’t shoe them, which makes that easier.”

  I suppress a gasp. “Your horses are barefoot?”

  “Yes. I chose not to shod them. We only ride on grass and softly packed dirt. Will that be a problem for you?”

  I shake my head. “I just have to wrap my head around it.”

  He inclines his head, pulling up in front of my house. Glancing out the window, I try to see it through his eyes. Another tract home in the shoddy human neighborhood aptly titled Bar None, though most Signum call it the Barn to be rude.

  Our house is the same as all the others except for the color, which I love.

  As if echoing my thoughts, Vasily says, “Periwinkle. What a lovely color.”

  My chest inflates. “Thanks. My mother’s artistic flare.” Oh, how I miss her.

  “She has a great eye.” He grins over at me and there’s something more in his meaning that I can’t quite decipher. His eyes flash with mischief, brows raised, the corners crinkled.

  My own draw together. “That she does.”

  He gets out of the car and comes around to open the door for me. He extends his hand to help me out and I grasp it. No one’s ever opened a car door for me, let alone helped me out of the car. What a gentleman. Once outside, I smile up at him, narrowing my eyes in the bright sunlight.

  His bulk blocks most of the glare but it lights up the edges of his hair, twinkling as it pours around him, illuminating him as though he’s made of sparkles and sunlight. The effect is regal, making him brighter than the actual sun, which shouldn’t even be possible. I open my mouth to say something but he raises my hand and kisses the back of it.

  “Take your time, I’ll be waiting in the car.” His voice slides around me like a warm fur coat.

  “Th-thank you,” I stutter, trying to wrap my mouth around the words.

  He lets go of my hand slowly, first placing it back down at my side, and when I turn and walk to the door, I stand at least two inches taller. Another lovely summer day in paradise, and for the first time in a very long time, I’m not embarrassed to live in the Barn. At my front door I glance back. Vasily remains next to the passenger side of the car, his eyes still on me. The expression he wears is one I’m not familiar with but it heats my insides, and a little shiver passes through my core. The smile he wears now pulls the corners of his mouth tight and he appears almost – smug?

  I toss my head and let myself into my house to change. Horse work means boots and jeans. Apparel that I don’t mind getting dirty. Less than fifteen minutes later, I exit and lock my front door, bounding down the steps to his car. At the bottom of the stairs, I run directly into Bob. If I didn’t know they were related, I never would have guessed he was Cheryl’s brother. The man is as rotund as his sister is slim. Her skin tone, under the thick pancake foundation she wears, is a pale white but Bob’s is sallow, with large red spots that remind me of the one time I broke out in hives. Mom tried to convince me to sing on stage in a talent contest. That was not happening and I got the hives to prove it. The only similarity they have is the same doughy complexion.

  “Where are you going?” His jaundiced eyes narrow. The bulbous flesh of his top lip is raised in a sneer, stretching tightly over yellowed teeth. “Trying to skip out on the money you owe me?” He grabs the overnight bag out of my hand.

  “That’s mine!” I reach for it but he holds it away from me, laughing. “I doubt any of my clothes will look good on you. But I’m not one to judge if you’re into that kind of thing.”

  “You little brat.” He drops my bag and brings his hand back to slap me.

  Closing my eyes, I brace for impact, but nothing happens. Instead, I hear muffled choking and open my eyes to see Vasily has hoisted my landlord up in the air by his neck, his feet scrabbling for purchase. Bob’s face reddens and his eyes bulge.

  “Vasily, no!” I cry. “Let him go.”

  “He was about to strike you. Who is this man?”

  The way he talks, it’s as if he’s exerting no effort at all, just standing in front of me, having a normal conversation, not dangling two hundred pounds of smarmy landlord.

  I shake my head at him, and he places Bob back on the ground but doesn’t let him go.

  “Bob is my landlord and Miss Cheryl’s brother.” So don’t get me fired, please?

  “Well, Bob had better learn some manners.” Vasily lets go of Bob and the man falls to his knees. “And don’t think I won’t tell Cheryl about this myself,” he snaps at Bob. “Because I will.”

  Bob is still on the ground, rubbing his thick neck and sputtering. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter. Don’t touch Amaya again or you’ll be drinking your own balls out of a straw.”

  The image is gross but the sentiment is appreciated.

  “When I tell Cheryl what you’ve done—”

  “Tell her, please,” he growls.

  “This tart owes me 925 dollars. I hope you know you’re on the wrong side, boy. Just because she’s got a sweet ass—”

  Vasily has him by the neck again. I should be quaking in my boots at the thought of how Miss Cheryl will react, but I stifle a giggle. Bob just does not learn.

  Vasily leans his face closer to the man, who is reddening quickly. “Do not ever speak that way about her again.” His teeth are clenched, his nostrils flared. “Understand?”

  Bob nods his meaty head, or tries to, and Vasily releases him again.

  “You’ll get your money once you start treating this woman with respect.”

  Bob doesn’t say another word. Vasily picks up my overnight case and motions for me to walk to the car. He follows and opens the door for me, waiting for me to get in before closing it behind me. He places my bag in the trunk and climbs in beside me.

  “We need to get you a new house.” He starts the engine.

  “But that is my new house. Newish, anyway.”

  He cranes his head toward me.

  “My parents rented it a little over a year ago. They wanted to have it all set up before they moved abroad. All of their furniture and clothes are there. They wanted me to be safe and comfortable. Before they left a few weeks ago, they even paid Bob another year’s rent up front.”

  “So what’s with the 925?” He coasts down the driveway.

  “Just after my parents left, he told me he was raising the rent a thousand a month. It’s why I need two jobs.”

  Vasily shakes his head, pulling onto Discovery Highway. “That’s not the way things work. Don’t your parents have a lease?”

  I nod quickly. “Yes, but it was for one year, and then it’s month to month. He can raise the rent according to market value.”

  “With notice.”

  “Thirty days.”

  “If I recall correctly . . .” Vasily darts a look at me, his dark eyes smoldering with anger. “California law states that an increase of under ten percent only req
uires a thirty-day notice, but anything more requires sixty days.”

  “That’s what I thought too, or what Google told me, but I called a lawyer and she told me that’s not the way it works in the Edge. And since we’re an unincorporated town, the lawmakers here get to make their own rules.” The car window fogs with condensation and I roll it down to bring in some fresh air.

  “Why are your parents paying rent anyway? They should have had a house gifted to them when they moved here, free and clear. The Human Homesteading Covenant guarantees it.”

  He’s right, as far as it goes. When the witches first conjured Distant Edge into existence, humans all over the world were terrified, believing the new settlement would be like a supernatural Wild West. Or worse—the beginning of a human-free empire. So the Edge’s council came up with the idea of giving away free homes to human families to entice them to move here. There are some stipulations, but it’s a practice that’s still prevalent today. And no surprise, the HHC worked. That’s how we ended up here, as well as so many others. A golden handcuff, if you ask me.

  I sit up straighter in the passenger seat and crank the window all the way down, letting the cool breeze wash over my face. “It does, we did. But it was just a one-bedroom condo, and my parents gifted it back to the city last year, for another family. Dad saved enough money from his job at the philharmonic to rent a larger place and they didn’t want to be a drain on the resources here.” “Give back to those who have so freely given to us” was one of Dad’s favorite mottos. Of course, the only house they could afford was in the poor end of town.

  “Well, Bob’s the drain now. Plus, if he’s so insistent on raising your rent, why doesn’t he ask for it on the back end?”

  “How’s that?”

  “Take the extra thousand per month out of what your parents already paid him. Wouldn’t that take you through another few months at least? Then you could talk to your parents about the issue or at least have time to find a new place.”

  “That’s a great idea, I’ll ask him. Though . . .” I put a hand out of the window to catch the air speeding by, like when I was a kid, loving the way it pushes back against my hand as though it’s an undulating wall. “My intuition says he’ll knock that idea down too.”