Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [31]
My dad still bought me ice cream.
The animals now had plenty of room. You didn’t see them pinned in by bars. Instead, they’d designed the cages to look like the animals lived together, all in harmony. The tiger looked less bored sunning in a field. It was a pleasant lie. He was still in a cage, but I could live with the compromise. At least the tiger wasn’t being killed by poachers. Or Mercedes-driving freaks. I’d put Brooke’s head on the couch before I’d left so she could watch TV. She’d asked me to put a pencil in her mouth so she could change channels on the remote after I left. The thought made my stomach twist.
My hand went automatically to my medicine bag—I tended to use it as a touchstone when I was nervous—only to realize I’d forgotten to put it back on after I’d showered that morning. Not that I believed it held some mystic power or anything, you know, besides the power to make me feel better, but I still wished I had it. I shoved my hands deeper into my hoodie. I’d just gotten here and already things were not going my way. Super.
I wasn’t sure exactly where the guy wanted to meet me. The Asia exhibit was huge. Was he being difficult by not specifying? Testing me? Amused at watching me try to figure it out? Part of me was too pissed off to care. Another part of me decided I should be too scared to be angry. This guy had killed my friend just to send me a message. What would he do if I missed a meeting?
I decided to pick a spot in the exhibit and stay there. When you’re a kid, they tell you that sticking to one spot is the quickest way to be found by someone looking for you. I bought a criminally overpriced cotton candy and parked my ass by the sign for the Asia exhibit. I’d almost bought the popcorn. You can look tough eating popcorn. I bet even bikers eat popcorn, though they probably put lots of butter on it. Bikers don’t care about cholesterol. But something about a pink fluffy ball screams pansy to most people. I decided that pansy was probably a better look. That way there was no possible chance this guy could take me for a threat.
He showed up, bang on time, like he’d been watching me. I’d never found punctuality to be particularly creepy until now, but the way Douglas appeared made me think he’d been following me around, which gave me a serious case of the willies. I’d never been afraid of a man wearing jeans and a polo shirt before, either. I think he could wear anything and still maintain an air of menace. He could probably pull off the cotton candy thing, too.
“You’re early,” he said. He noticed me staring at his clothes. I hadn’t figured him for a jeans person. Of course, even his jeans were clean and pressed. They had creases. I’d always imagined evil in impeccable Italian suits and handmade leather shoes. Sort of demonic CEO chic. He seemed to follow my thinking. One hand plucked at the stitching on the leg. “Suits,” he said, “stand out here. I prefer to blend.”
I nodded, looking him in the eyes. Brown eyes rarely look cold, but his were flat and icy. They held no warmth at all. But I stayed locked on them because it seemed like a good idea to keep watch on the danger. I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to piss him off. Maybe if my answers were short and sweet, my own head would stay attached to my shoulders. Maybe. At that thought I felt my anger rise up and take a seat next to my fear. This was the man who killed Brooke. My mouth started before my brain could catch up to it.
“If I was late, would you have cut off my head, too?” I stared out at the passersby as I said this.
“Perhaps. Punctuality is important.” He said it like my question was one he heard every day. I wondered if it was.
“Sam, is it?”
I nodded again.
“Do you have a last name, Sam?”
“Yes, I do.” I tried to push my anger away for now. It wouldn’t do Brooke any good if I got killed provoking this guy just to make myself feel better.
He let out a barking laugh that made me want to cover my ears. Like his eyes, the sound was cold,