Summoning the Night (Arcadia Bell #2)(46)

The market was in the middle of the university quarter. The squat, ugly building occupied a small block that also housed three businesses in a strip of leased storefronts on the sidewalk. The main entrance was inside the attached parking garage. Jupe was wary when we entered, remembering the last time we were in a city parking structure together, but I pointed out that the Starry Market garage contained only half the amount of hobo urine of the Metropark, which I have found to be a surprisingly accurate indicator of lower crime statistics.

Halloween candy, cinnamon brooms, and bins of pumpkins crowded the store entrance. Not many shoppers. Yacht rock from the 1970s floated over the aisles like a bad storm cloud, dumping torrents of Christopher Cross and of the band that gave me sweaty nightmares, Steely Dan. Once we’d meandered past the spicy scents of the seasonal display, the store’s natural oppressive smell reared its head—day-old fish and transpacific shipping containers, dusty and perfumed with petrol.

Lon left me with Jupe while he combed the store looking for Cindy. We wasted time waiting for him while perusing a selection of unusual canned-good delectables from Russia. Jupe was enchanted. “A cartoon squid? What the hell is in here?” Jupe murmured, turning a dented can in his hand and trying to guess the Cyrillic letters. “Is it soup? It says ‘herring’ on the shelf label. That makes no sense. Squid-herring? What is this?” he whispered in wonder.

After he begged me to get a cart so that we could load up on grass jelly, silkworm pupae, and fish balls—which I refused to do—Lon stepped up behind me and spoke over my shoulder.

“Found her.” He grabbed a can of congealed reindeer meat out of Jupe’s hand and set it on the shelf. “Listen,” he said in a low voice, heavy as steel. “This is serious—the first real thing I’ve ever let you do as an adult and not a kid. So stop screwing around.”

Jupe’s mouth scrunched up in embarrassment as he blinked up at Lon. “Okay.”

“I’m having some serious doubts about pulling you into this,” Lon admitted.

So did I, but we were desperate. The fruitless Polaroid had haunted him like a bad dream, while the origin of the strange markings on the seven magical circles I’d photographed in the cannery continued to elude both of us. Lon said Jupe’s knack would probably be less traumatic on Cindy than dosing her with one of my medicinals. I agreed.

“I can handle it, Dad. I swear.”

Lon frowned. “I hope so. This is not something I take lightly. I’ll say it one more time—you’ll only use your knack exactly as we discussed unless one of us tells you otherwise.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“And as you know,” Lon continued, “Dr. Spendlove can get the truth out of you whether you like it or not, so if I even think you’ve been using it for the wrong reason, like cheating on tests or getting some girl to kiss you—”

Jupe feigned offense, his mouth forming an O. What a liar. He’d definitely already thought about using his knack for that. He’d better not have tried.

“—I will take you in to see him and he’ll find out exactly how many times you’ve used your knack and why.”

Jupe stuck a long finger into his curls, slowly scratching the side of his head. “All right, I get it for chrissake. What I don’t get is why the two of you are doing all this. You aren’t cops,” he challenged.

Lon paused, staring at Jupe with fire in his eyes, then took a deep breath and answered in a calm voice. “You know the code? How we keep the demon talk quiet around savages?”

“Yeah.”

“This is an Earthbound matter,” Lon explained, then added, “Ambrose Dare is asking us to help.”

“Mr. Dare? Whoa.”

“Yeah, whoa. And if you can’t handle it, then we’ll just go back to testing your knack with Dr. Spendlove’s ‘favorite color’ suggestion . . .”

“I can handle it!” Jupe insisted.

“And you can’t breathe a word of this to people at school. You’re going to want to brag—I know you. But you can’t. Not even to your best friends.”

“What about Mr. and Mrs. Holiday?”

Lon shook his head. “Only the three of us.” He pointed for emphasis—one, two, three. “This is serious family business.”

Us. Family. I was included. My mind raced back to the promises we’d made in the kitchen the other night and lumped it in with Jupe’s casual kiss on my forehead . . . and now this. Something fragile cracked inside me. My chest felt warm. I blinked away emotion as Lon’s eyes flicked to mine. Get it together, Bell.

“Can you promise me that you’ll keep quiet?”

“I promise.” Jupe held his head a little higher and added, “You can count on me.”

“I know I can.” Lon gave him a muted smile and squeezed his shoulder. And that was that.

We followed Lon to the back of the store. Cindy Brolin leaned behind the fish counter, hosing it down for the night. I puffed out my cheeks as we approached, trying to banish the stench. When she saw us, panic exploded over her face.

“Hello, Cindy,” I said, holding my hands up like she was some skittish pony that might bolt out of the pen. “We only want to talk again for just a minute. Real fast, promise.”

“I’m at work. I can’t talk.” With reddening cheeks and crazy eyes, she glanced around the area, maybe with hopes that her manager was somewhere nearby and could save her. The only person in sight was an old woman three aisles down pushing a cart filled with large multipacks of ramen noodles.