Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(85)

“If it’s secret, why are you telling me?” She pushed the sunglasses back up on her nose, looking skeptical.

“Because you are literally the last person left who can help me save someone I care about. Someone who’s being held captive by people you trust, and might die.”

“Are you pitching me a script?” she said. “Because I would read this.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for later, but no. This is real, as you’re about to see. But you have to promise me that I can trust you.”

“I prayed after Ellis called me,” she said, “and Jesus gave me the green light. Whatever you have to say, I am ready to hear it.”

I blinked. “Jesus . . . gave you the green light.”

“You have a problem with Jesus?” She lowered the sunglasses again.

“Uh—”

“It’s okay in this town to believe that crystals can heal asthma or vaccines cause autism or an alien overlord is going to give you special brain powers if you pay enough, but I say the J word and suddenly I’m crazy.”

“I’m not the best person to give an opinion on that,” I said. “But funny you should mention religion, because look where we’re headed next.” I pointed to the supposed Christian bookstore, so obviously out of place on a street dominated by drag couture.

Inaya looked at the bookstore. A delicate line appeared between her perfectly tweezed brows before she shifted her gaze across the street. “Oh, hey, is that a shoe store? You suppose they have any of those pumps in ladies’ sizes?”

“Inaya, I need you to trust me, and just follow me into the bookstore, okay? Also, tell me right now, did you forget anything? Phone? Keys? Wallet?”

“Do I seem like the absentminded type to you?”

I started walking, and she followed me halfway to the entrance before stopping abruptly and patting herself down. “I— No, wait—I didn’t forget anything. I just said that. Oh my God, are you a mentalist?”

“Just follow me, please.”

“Ellis said you’d lost your legs,” she said, eyeing my jeans, which concealed the prosthetics. “How did that happen?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Can we go back to the sushi place? I really have to pee.”

“There are bathrooms inside,” I said. Actually, I had never seen any, but I was also pretty sure Inaya West wouldn’t show up to meet a stranger with a full bladder.

The ward was doing its tricks on me, too, of course, but once you’ve seen the structure of a spell and know what it’s doing to your brain, you can kind of compensate for it. Just like a glance in the mirror after a dental procedure tells you that your lip isn’t really three feet thick.

“All right,” said Inaya. “But let me just pop over to that shoe store quickly first.”

“You’re trying to avoid following me. It’s something the place does to you, a mind trick. My partner had to physically push me in the door.”

“Don’t even think about doing that.”

“I have no intention of it. But that’s why I need you to walk in under your own power, all right? By the time I count to ten, I need you to walk into that bookstore. If you do not, I am going to cause a public relations nightmare for you by pretending you pushed an amputee into the street.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“One . . . two . . .”

“I’ve always trusted my intuition,” she said, sounding deeply unnerved. “But I honestly don’t know what to do right now.”

“Three . . . four . . .”

“Part of me is just screaming that this is some kind of trap, but another part of me feels like my whole life has been leading up to it.”

“Five . . .”

She started to look panicky. “Do I sound crazy? I feel crazy.”

I shook my head reassuringly but kept counting. “Six . . .”

“I’m not crazy.” She straightened her spine and walked into the dizzying technicolor splendor of the Seelie bar with me close on her heels.

Immediately she backed into me, hard, and her “Sweet Jesus!” was so loud that the patrons swiveled to look at us. One or two of them recognized me and looked wary; the rest just went back to their drinking. A glowering giant of a man with carrot-red hair approached the two of us, blocking our way to the bar and folding his bulky arms.

“You are not authorized,” he said.

He used the word “authorized” with the same sort of childish glee that the Queen’s messenger had. His facade had been designed with intimidation in mind; he looked as though he could reach out and snap our necks with one beefy hand apiece.

“I’m with the Arcadia Project,” I lied. “Ask Baroness Fox-feather. And this is my guest.”

Beefcake stepped aside just enough to let Foxfeather see us. She tossed her golden mane over her shoulder and gave the two of us a brilliant smile. “I know Ironbones,” she said. “And her friend is familiar too.”

“Seen any hit films these last three decades?” I joked.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But I go to a lot of parties,” Foxfeather explained. “It’s a great way to meet humans.”