Broken Shadows Read online

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  The next day was the last for the Music Center. We could’ve stayed another week and a half, but our funders had pulled out when the building sold. As the only accountant on staff, I handled payroll, and I knew Doc had been forfeiting her salary for the past month to make sure the rest of us got paid. We barely had enough cash left to keep the lights on. The coffin was closed. All that was left was hammering in the nails.

  “I just called Hearst Valley Middle.” Avery, one of the staff musicians, sat down in the empty chair in our shared cubicle and slumped, her sleek black hair swinging in front of her face. “The principal broke down on the phone.”

  “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

  “This is such bullshit. This city.” She glared out the window at the construction site across the street. It used to be a locally owned coffee shop. We’d gone there for afternoon coffees and cookies all summer. Now backhoes were digging out a basement for a new gourmet grocery store.

  “Not much we can do about it.”

  “Yeah.” Avery played guitar. Not a typical instrument for a school music program, but the kids loved her. “Bastards.”

  On Avery’s first day, she’d assumed I was the receptionist and asked me to call her a cab. It was clear she’d taken one look at Steve, the fifty-something white man who was our actual receptionist, and me, a twenty-something black girl, and jumped to the wrong conclusion about which one of us did the filing. I’d sighed—I was sadly too used to it—but Steve had jumped in before I had to correct her. She’d turned absolutely scarlet when she realized her mistake, and she’d spent the next two weeks apologizing. I’d finally had to tell her that the first seven times were enough. Now, we got along fine. In fact, my backup plan involved sleeping on her couch.

  “Have you found anything?” she asked me.

  I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to be an unemployed professional in San Francisco. The last interview I’d been on—an entry-level payroll position at a big law firm—had a dozen other candidates all waiting in line together, like cows in a slaughterhouse. The woman in line behind me had an MBA from an East Coast Ivy League, and I’d seen her a week later filling orders at a coffee shop on Market. I hadn’t even gotten a call-back.

  My situation was getting serious.

  Back home, I’d earned plenty of money giving piano and violin lessons, but I couldn’t do that now. For a telepath, playing music wasn’t just about the notes. Listening to music wasn’t like listening to conversation or street noise. When a song really got to someone, they’d go quiet inside. The music would fill them up until all their stray thoughts went dim, and all they were was what the song was making them feel, a heartbreak or a first love, outrage or hope or joy or longing. Memory and emotion, totally pure. When I played, I was a conduit for all that intensity, and no matter how different everyone was, where they were coming from and what the song was making them feel, their experiences all came together in me. When it was just one listener, it felt a little like a shared moment of laughter, the kind of emotional harmony it was rare to find with a friend, much less a stranger. With a small crowd, the experience was almost spiritual.

  I’d tried it once since I’d lost my powers, busking in a downtown BART station off peak hours so I wouldn’t step on the regulars’ turf. I’d gotten through the first third of “Lean On Me” before the silence got to me. The notes fell in the empty station like dry leaves. There was no reflection from the handful of people who’d paused to listen, no emotional feedback, no perfect resonance as the song tapped their unique memories and brought them all together in the music. I finished the song, abandoned three dollars in change in the paper coffee cup I’d set on the floor, and put my instrument in its case. I hadn’t taken it out since. Not even Doc knew I played.

  Lessons were out of the picture.

  Avery must have seen everything I was thinking on my face.

  “That bad?” she said.

  “Worse.”

  “I’m sorry.” She twisted her lips. It wasn’t the same for her, and we both knew it. Her live-in boyfriend was a software engineer at one of the big tech companies south of the city. She’d be fine.

  “Mina—I have to tell you something.” She leaned in. Her usually clear alto had gone soft and blurry, her words running together. This wasn’t good news.

  “What is it?”

  “Stu and I...we’re moving.”

  “You’re moving apartments?” It was hard find anything to rent in the city right now, and high-end two-bedrooms like Avery’s place were going for double what they’d been a few months ago. A tech bubble, everyone said. If only I were one of the techies.

  “No—we’re moving to Colorado.”

  My jaw dropped for a moment until I caught myself and schooled my expression back to normal. There went my backup plan.

  “I’m sorry, I know I said you could stay with us if you have to, but the thing is...” She looked down and dropped her voice until it was barely audible. “The thing is, I’m pregnant.”

  “Avery!” I forgot to whisper. Avery looked alarmed, and I covered my mouth. “Sorry.” I mouthed the words. “Wow—that’s fantastic! I mean, are you happy?”

  She smiled a little weakly. “Well, it wasn’t planned. Obviously. And I don’t want Doc to know yet—you know she knows my parents. But we’re excited. Stuart doesn’t want to raise kids in the city, and I guess I don’t either. It’s too expensive, and it’s changing so much. So...”

  “Now’s as good a time as any?”

  “Something like that. Stu found a job at a start-up in Boulder—we’re leaving next week. We’re month-to-month on our place, so we’re moving out and staying with Stu’s brother.”

  “Wow—I’m really happy for you. Really.”

  “Yeah. My parents are gonna flip when I tell them. But, Mina, what about you? Have you found a new place yet?”

  “I’m sure something will turn up.” Avery looked doubtful, and I squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Loves.” Both of us jumped. Doc stood in the entryway to my cube with her laptop bag, her flute and a grim expression. The blue-black circles under her eyes marred her brown skin, and her usually perfect wavy black hair was pulled into a messy ponytail. “It’s time to go.”

  Avery and I exchanged a glance and followed her out. The half-dozen other staff and volunteer musicians were standing outside on the sidewalk. We all waited, watching, while Doc flipped off the lights and shut the door. She turned to face us, readjusting her bag. She pulled a bottle of whiskey and a stack of plastic glasses out if it, and poured us each a shot right there on the street. Everyone took a glass. More than one passerby stopped and stared at us.

  Doc’s face had that same look it always did, serious and slightly sad, as if she knew every terrible secret in the world and was protecting you from the horror of it all by keeping quiet. “To the Center,” she said.

  “To the Center!” we all chorused, and clinked glasses. The sound of plastic on plastic was unsatisfying. While Doc wasn’t looking, I took a gulp from Avery’s.

  “It’s been an honor,” Doc said. “And if anyone wants to continue the funeral reception at The Twisted Elbow, that’s where I’ll be.”

  A cluster of volunteers followed her, but Avery and I hung back. “Doctor’s appointment,” she said. “And, you know.” She glanced at her still-flat belly with a look between a grin and a grimace. “What about you?”

  “I think I’d better see about finding somewhere to live.”

  “Oh, Mina—”

  “I’ll be okay.” I waved her off. “I’ve still got almost a week and a half.” It was a good thing Avery was a normal, because a telepath would’ve felt me panicking from a mile away. “I’m really happy for you,” I said, and meant it. “Will I see you again before you leave?”

  “I
hope so.” She pulled me into a hug. “Let’s make sure of it.”

  Avery said goodbye and walked toward her car, and I headed for one of the few remaining local coffee shops in the neighborhood. It was a dimly lit, smoky place, full of questionable local art and rickety tables, but the coffee was cheap and no one ever asked you to leave. No time like the present to start hunting through the apartment listings.

  Two hours and three cups of coffee later, I’d found out just how quickly the San Francisco housing market moved. Every listing I called had dozens of other applicants. Some of them were filled after being posted less than a day. I was almost relieved when I had to leave messages—at least it wasn’t a no. I was checking out a semi-reasonably priced studio, which turned out to be reasonably priced because it was two hours away by train, when my phone rang.

  I picked it up so fast I almost dropped it. Someone calling me back already?

  “Yes? Hello?”

  “Hey there, gorgeous.”

  It was Malik. I slumped in the uncomfortable wooden coffee shop chair. My butt was numb. “Hey.”

  “Nice to hear from you too.” He laughed. “Who sat on your cupcake?”

  “Nobody. It’s nothing. What’s up?”

  “You, ah, missing anything?”

  “Yeah, a job.”

  “Seriously?”

  “For now.” I rubbed my face. I was so completely fucked.

  “Well, you left your fiddle here last night. I’ve got it behind the bar. You want to come and pick it up?”

  “Shit.” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it.

  “I’m here now if you wanna swing by.”

  “See you soon, then.” It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do.

  The speakeasy wasn’t far, so I saved the Muni fare and walked. The sidewalk got narrower and more uneven as I went, and the concentration of produce stands and liquor stores went up. The neighborhood around Featherweight’s had managed to escape gentrification, at least so far. Anywhere else in the city, the abandoned car dealership next door would’ve been turned into a towering condo development months ago. I felt sure its time was coming.

  I couldn’t get into the speakeasy myself, so I had to call Malik from my cell phone once I got to Featherweight’s. He told me to go to the broom closet, so I let myself in and waited in the dark until the second door opened to reveal Jackson’s cousin Paulie holding a glass of something amber over ice.

  Paulie was about two inches taller than me, slim, with a thick shock of blond hair. Right now, he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His always-unkempt hair was particularly unruly, and there were bluish circles under his eyes. He was attractive in the way your friend’s kid brother was attractive: sweet and safe.

  I followed him down the concrete steps to the second door. “You’re starting early,” I said, nodding toward his glass.

  He made a noncommittal noise and took another sip.

  “Rough day?”

  “My roommates are going through emotional crises.” Paulie was an empath. He couldn’t mindspeak, but he could pick up on people’s emotions, even experience them. It was a useful gift, but not necessarily a pleasant one. Extremely rare.

  “Shit. That can’t be easy.”

  “It’s like being forced to watch the Hallmark Channel,” he said. “Only it actually gets to me.” He pulled hard at the door at the end of the hall. It had been wedged open with a drink coaster. Empaths usually weren’t telekinetic

  “Awful.”

  “Yeah.” We went into the bar and took seats on the stools. The place was completely empty of patrons. Paulie polished off his drink just as Malik came in from the back holding a bar towel.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” He leaned across the reddish-brown steel slab to kiss me on the cheek, then looked down at Paulie’s already empty glass. “One more and I’m cutting you off.”

  “Screw you.” Paulie poured himself another from the bottle on the bar.

  Malik rolled his eyes and turned back to me. “So. What’s this about you not having a job? I thought you were working at that music center for kids.”

  “It went under. Took my apartment with it.”

  “Honey, you are having a bad week.”

  Paulie gave me a glum smile. “Sorry, Mina.”

  Malik poured me a drink—Glen-something, I didn’t know what—and I took it even though I didn’t usually drink hard liquor. Today was full of exceptions. It stung going down.

  “So what are you gonna do?” Malik asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s hell trying to find a job right now.” I took another sip and held the liquor in my mouth, letting it burn through my nasal passageways and clear out my head like a brushfire. When I swallowed the alcohol and took a breath, the air burned cold over my tongue.

  “You know...we did just lose a bartender. Asshole decided to move down the coast and work on an organic garlic farm. Means I’m running this place myself.” Malik rubbed his shaved, dark brown head. “You interested?”

  “Malik, I’m an accountant, not a bartender. I don’t know the first thing about mixing martinis.”

  “Yeah, well I’m getting a public policy masters, but I still gotta pay the bills. And I can show you how to mix a martini.”

  I tried to control the bubble of hope that bloomed in my chest. It was a job around shadowminds, but I wasn’t exactly high on options. “You think Simon would hire me?”

  Malik shrugged. “He leaves the staffing to me. If I want to hire you, I hire you. I’m trying to graduate in May. This is a shit time for me to be shorthanded.”

  I tried not to let hope get the best of me. “How much?” I said.

  “He pays the bartenders double the minimum wage, all cash, plus tips.” He pulled a beer from a cooler under the bar. “And free drinks if you want them.”

  I was way more interested in the pay than the free drinks. “How many hours a week?”

  “I work thirty. You could do the same. And if you want to put in some extra time cleaning up the disaster that man calls the accounting, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  I did the math in my head. Even if I could make forty hours, it would be less than what I’d made at the Center, and I’d have the added expense of higher rent. But it was all under the table. And maybe I could find a room in a house instead of a place to myself. Assuming going rates for security deposits, I’d have enough in about two weeks. Less if I ate nothing but peanut butter sandwiches. I factored in the cost of a hotel room for a few nights. Maybe three weeks. It could work. Malik was watching me.

  “When can I start?”

  Chapter Three

  I stayed until opening time and several hours afterward, shadowing Malik. It was a weeknight, so it wasn’t busy, and Malik taught me a handful of simple drink recipes as he took orders. He sent me home at midnight, with the promise I could start in earnest tomorrow afternoon.

  The streets around my bus stop were busy enough, but as I got closer to my soon-to-be-ex-apartment, they grew more and more deserted. It hadn’t used to be this way, but the new developments had chased out most of the local bars. The empty construction sites looked like the shells of cities abandoned after a bombing, ragged with steel scaffolding and holes in the earth. My fiddle case felt conspicuous in my hand. I sped up.

  If I still had my powers, I would mentally scan the area for anyone with suspicious intentions. And if anyone tried to attack me, I would put the fear of the devil in them. Hell, my brother once scared a would-be mugger so thoroughly with a floating garbage can, the guy turned tail and ran smack into a parked van. Knocked himself right out. Without my powers, I felt helpless.

  My building came into view, and I relaxed. Almost there. I jogged across the street, almost tripping over the curb in my hurry to get inside, and froze. There was a man stand
ing in front of my door. Wearing a full-face ski mask. Pointing a gun at me.

  “Gimme your purse.”

  I dropped it right where I stood. The man advanced on me, gun trained on my chest, I put my hands up and tried to back away, but came up hard against the construction barrier cordoning off the intersection.

  “I said gimme your purse!” His voice was shaking. He gestured at me with the gun.

  In these situations, people always told you to hand over whatever the man with the gun wanted. And I would’ve. I wanted to. But my muscles weren’t responding to my brain. I stood there, frozen on the pavement, and the man in the ski mask flung his hand toward me and delivered a telekinetic jab to my gut.

  A converter.

  I doubled over, wheezing, and he looked at me with panic in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to reveal himself. “Come on, you stupid bitch!” He backhanded me across the face, and I staggered sideways. Then his hand was on my neck.

  That same tingling feeling I’d felt at Simon’s bloomed over my skin. I raised my arms up and tried to shove him away, but he held on. He wasn’t exactly choking me, but that didn’t make me any less panicked. I raked his hands with my fingernails, feeling his skin tear, and an inexplicable rush of energy surged through me.

  The man shrieked and released me, staring at his hand. It had gone bright red with blisters.

  “Oh my God!” I stepped forward in unthinking horror, and he fell on his ass on the concrete. “Are you okay?” I asked stupidly.

  “What the fuck!” He scrabbled away from me like a crab, screaming, and I realized I was advancing on him. While I was trying to figure out whether I should run or call the police, he got to his feet and took off running with my purse.

  “Hey! Give that back!”

  The only sound was his footsteps on the empty street as he rounded the corner and disappeared behind the one-hour dry cleaners.

  I leaned heavily against the plate glass window of the Center. He’d taken my purse, including my wallet and my keys. I was stuck outside in the middle of the night in a thin jacket and uncomfortable shoes, and I felt as though I was about to pass out from shock and adrenaline.