Romancing the Dead by Tate Hallaway

Author:Tate Hallaway
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

6.

Mars

KEYWORDS: Violence, Power, and Animal Nature

I stood up. “I’ve got to go,” I said.

Traci was thrilled. “You saw something! Ohmigod! What did you see?”

Explaining Micah was far too complicated. “I’m not sure, but I saw someone I know. I think he might have some answers.”

Traci nodded solemnly. “You have to go,” she agreed. “Do you need a ride anywhere?”

Even though I wanted to find Micah as quickly as possible, the thought of spending another awkward ride in a stranger’s car—particularly a stranger who was quite so into me—made me shake my head vehemently. That kicked-puppy look threatened to surface on Traci’s face, so I said, “This is something I have to do alone. I saw it in the crystal.”

Of course that was a lie, but Traci bought it. She thanked me several times and offered, very solicitously, that if I needed anything—anything—I should call her. I took the business card she offered politely. Glancing at it, I noticed a LiveJournal blog address. “Is this the supplier group’s blog?”

She shook her head. “That site is locked. Do you want me to get you in?”

“I do.”

When it was revealed that I didn’t have a Live Journal account, Traci said she’d be more than happy to set one up for me. I gave her my work e-mail—it was the only one I had— and she said she’d be in touch. She hugged me a little too tightly for just a little too long, and we parted ways.

Outside, the afternoon had turned into a storybook gorgeous summer day. The temperature had leveled out somewhere in the mideighties, no clouds in the sky, and the rhythmic sound of automatic lawn sprinklers filled the suburbs.

I needed to get back to the city. Micah knew something about Sebastian’s disappearance, I was certain of it. Not only had I seen his smile in the scrying bowl, but he’d been standing at the junction where Sebastian’s astral cord frayed.

Bright yellow school buses made their rounds, and the clusters of mothers waiting at street corners gave me suspicious looks as I walked down the wide-paved sidewalks. I took advantage of their stares to ask for directions to the nearest bus stop. I was informed that the best spot to pick up public transport into town was the strip mall about a mile and a half thataway. Good luck, good-bye, and don’t come back was the subtext. Even so, I thanked them cheerily and went on my way.

The big square houses that I passed, which all looked much the same, made me want to sing Pete Seeger’s “Little Boxes.” Even the gardens had a cookie-cutter feel, tending toward hydrangea, sedum, and hosta. Occasionally, some brave soul would break out and have a tall stand of sunflowers or a riot of deep purple wave petunias spilling from hanging baskets, but they were rare. All the trees were approximately the same size and shape, being all the same variety and having been planted at the same time.

In my spangles and black jeans I felt conspicuously different.

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