Vicki Pettersson - The Scent of Shadows

“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.

I hurried the rest of the way to the day spa, imagining I could hear voices behind me rising in accusation and denial, anger and refute. I found myself wondering if those three men would ever work together again, if they’d ever be a team, or holler at girls in the street again. Doubtful, I thought now, but somehow took no pleasure in that.

Light and Shadow , Zane had said. So you’re the one.

“What have I done?” I asked aloud. Another question I couldn’t answer.

“Never mind you, darlin’.” Cher’s voice popped up seemingly from nowhere. “The question is what have I done?”

Halting, I glanced around the street. No Cher. Her Corvette was backed into an opposing slot, but there was only one vehicle in front of the day spa, a shiny red BMW. I walked to the other side of it to find her crouching furtively by the driver’s door.

“You hit a car,” I said, unnecessarily. “Again.”

Cher had to be infamous within her insurance company.

“It’s only a little bitty ding,” she retorted, digging in her purse. “Come on over here and keep watch. I’m going to fix this.”

She pulled out a bottle of red nail color and began dabbing at the door.

“Cher, this is an accident. You have to report it.”

“It’s not an accident until you’ve been caught.” She blew on the door and tilted her head. “Another coat, I think.”

The absurdity of the moment hit me, contrasting sharply with the moments just past, and laughter—somewhat hysterical, I admit—began to bubble up inside of me. There was no cruelty here, no nefarious activity or laws of an alternate universe at work. It was just Cher. Neither Shadow nor Light. Just my sister’s best friend in all her blinding shades of fuchsia. “You missed a spot.” I giggled.