Excerpt: Straddling the Fence (working title)

*NEW EXCERPT Updated 11-20-08 CST!* (Please excuse the mess. Word doesn't transfer right into the novel excerpt box. :( And no, you didn't miss an update. I skipped a chunk of novel to get back to where my writing is half-coherent.)

“The door Menders are young and trusting of their elders. I will find the one assigned to Gideon’s world. He will make the door without the key.” Could it be that simple? I suppose it could be. The key was just a spell to call for the Mender. Nothing special about the bit of metal itself. I needed to remember that the Menders had far more power and mental capacity for deceit than they were given credit for. But in the meantime, I’d use said deceitfulness to my own ends. Hypocrisy, what’s that?
“Yes. That would be great Candy. Can you go now?” I tried for moderate happiness instead of elated joy. Just in case the Mender got suspicious of my motives.
“Of course. I will be back. Again.”
My ears popped from the air pressure changed and the Mender once again became nothing more pink insulation. Leaving me alone with the Bergheist. Fantastic. I stood as far from her as I could without looking like I was actively avoiding contact, my arms wrapped around my chest.
“May I ask what you are planning to do?” Amithi finished unwinding the scarves from her neck and placed them on the floor in a neatly folded pile. I tried not to stare, but it was hard. The last time I’d seen her in this form it’d been dark outside and I’d been fighting for my life, or so I had thought at the time. Not really the time to be looking at minor details like the fact that the black of her skin wasn’t actually skin. It was tar. Yes she was African, that much I could tell from her facial features, but the majority of her was dark from the pitch that covered her.
I tried to recall the story behind Bergheists. They were always children that had died. Usually from hypothermia or falling into a bog. That was the British version. But there were ways to die of cold or tar in other parts of the world. No one seemed to know why they could also take the form of giant creepy dogs but then again, there never seemed to be a good time to ask. I just assumed that small children would need a way to protect themselves in between killing innocent people for a moment of warmth.
“Are you going to answer my question?” I realized I’d been staring at her. Crap.
“Oh, um. Yeah. I don’t really have a plan. More of a vague idea.”
The child muttered under her breath, making me feel more of a fool for thinking I could save Jax. I had no training. No magic. Hell, I couldn’t even open the pickle jar half the time.
“I work well under pressure dammit. I’ll think of something when the time comes.”
Amithi shrugged, removing her gloves to flex her fingers, “I will give you that. My head still hurts.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I never implied otherwise.”
It was then that the niggling sensation that something was wrong finally got the attention of my forebrain. She’s taken off her gloves. “Um, what are you doing?”
“My fingers are stiff.”
“Why don’t you just turn furry then? You aren’t cold then are you?” Honestly I wasn’t sure.
“It takes energy to be in that form. I can’t turn back until I get warm.” An innocent statement and an answer to my question. I was probably imagining that she was looking at me like that.
“Oh.” One word, so simple but so flexible in showing emotional range. This particular one said, ‘that’s nice scary girl thing but please don’t look at me like I look at brownies because frankly it’s freaking me out’.
“Oh don’t get yourself worked up. I can wait to find someone that isn’t so stingy with their life.”
“You almost killed me! That doesn’t exactly inspire trust.”
“I did not almost kill you.” She seemed insulted by the insinuation, “I’ll have you know I have exceptional control. I only took enough to make you pass out. It was an emergency situation and I didn’t want to get hit in the head again.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
We waited in silence for Candy to come back. I heard the heat kick on, that’s how quiet it was. Amithi put her gloves back on but left the scarves in a pile on the floor. Moving to the window, I heard her rub a spot clean to look out. I’d slid down the wall, using it to support my back as I sulked about being made to feel guilty for hitting her.
My stomach growled. I tried to remember what I’d had to eat today. Maybe a cold toaster pastry. Coffee? Did that count as food? Probably not. Well, I could try to kill two birds with one stone. Using the wall to haul myself up, I dusted off the back of my skirt and cleared my throat, “You hungry? I mean, I don’t mind to run down the street and grab us some burgers. Or something. Candy might be a while and I know I need to eat.” I was babbling again. I really needed to work on that.
Amithi turned from whatever she’d been watching out the window and smiled, her teeth pointy and white and not the least bit terrifying...or so I told myself. “Sure. I haven’t had processed food in gosh, years. Does it still taste the same?”
“If you mean does it taste like grease and burnt, then yes.”
She laughed at that, a surprisingly child like burst of sound. “Can I have french fries too?”
“Of course.” I grabbed my coat off the floor where it had been carelessly tossed, “I’ll be back in a minute. Tell Candy to wait if he beats me.” I thundered down the steps and down the short hallway. My momentum was momentarily halted by Ms. Orange Hair blocking my path.
“Ms. Perkins! There you are. I’ve been buzzing the intercom for over half an hour. I was about to come looking for the two of you.”
Thank God for small favors. I seriously doubted Ms. Hair could handle sentient insulation. Dad really needed a better way to keep his decoys under control. He went through secretaries like toilet paper. Poor things. “Oh sorry. I was, um, in the lab.”
She gave me a disapproving look that was standard on all women of a certain age. It spoke of marriage and children and not gallivanting around like I had a functioning brain. I ignored it. There was a mini-standoff before she patted her hair and said, “Well it’s past four o’clock and I need to be getting home. Bill will be expecting dinner.”
The time hadn’t even occurred to me. I gave the receptionist a chagrinned smile, “God, I’m sorry. Um, well we’re not quite done yet but if you have a key do you mind letting me borrow it? That way you could go but I won’t be stuck here until Dad gets…um, decides to call it a night.”
“Of course dear. Your father certainly burns the midnight oil.” She tottered back over to her desk on heels that had probably fit ten years and forty pounds ago. Reaching into a mammoth carpet covered handbag, she produced a ring of keys that would have brought a tear of joy to a janitor’s eyes. It just made me wonder what the hell she needed that many keys for. Did she moonlight as a locksmith?
“Ah yes. Here it is.” She removed an innocuous copper key from the ring and handed it me. I marveled that she could tell one from another as I thanked her and put the key in my coat pocket.
“Don’t you think it’d be safer in your purse dear? Things have a way of falling out of pockets.”
“Oh I don’t carry a purse in the winter. Just another thing I’ll put down somewhere and forget. Be sure to lock up when you leave. I’m just going to run down and grab burgers for me and Am…Dad.” I waved at the woman and bolted out of the door before she could admonish my lifestyle choices with her facial expressions again.
Getting fast food turned out to be more of chore than I’d first thought. All the food was across the street, which was fine when it wasn’t rush hour. Or rush hours. Nashville got off work between three and six and trying to turn left without a light across three lanes of traffic was nigh impossible at this time of day. Not that that stopped me from trying, cussing and mentally wishing harm on all the selfish people that couldn’t be bothered to NOT BLOCK THE FUCKING DRIVEWAY when the light up the road turned red. I finally gave up, turning right to go down to the next light and turn around. Stupid traffic.
Two trips through the drive-thru later, since they forgot that ketchup only cheeseburgers should come with only ketchup, I made it back to the little A-frame. Ms. Orange had gone home, or else someone had stolen her ’88 Impala. Not likely.