No Saving Throw Page 2

  “But—”

  “But—”

  Wes looked like he wanted to make a run for it. A sweet kid with limp brown hair and dark blue eyes, Wes always looked like he wanted to make a run for it. He was ridiculously kind-hearted, and I doubted he’d had anything to do with the group’s decision to give Cody the boot—I could also see how he’d managed to stay friends with Paige and Nick. The boy made a doormat look like Godric Gryffindor.

  I turned my best this-is-serious gaze on him, the weakest one in the herd. “Wes, did the group decide to kick Cody out?”

  He scuffed his feet, looking miserable. “Yes.”

  “Did they ask Hector to kill off Cody’s character?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned to Cody. “There you go. I’m sorry it happened, and I’m sorry they handled it so poorly, but you’re going to need to settle this with them, not me. Hector did what they wanted, end of story.”

  Hector started to smirk, so I rounded on him next. “Hector, you should have told the others that they needed to confront Cody themselves. You’re a game master, not chair of the popularity club, and as a representative of this store, you should have known better. Apologize, and tell the rest of the group they’ll be doing the same.”

  His face drained of blood, and I couldn’t blame him. I felt a tendril of pity creep up, but I quickly squashed it. Discipline needed to be kept, even if I hated doing it, and even if the pouty-faced victim didn’t deserve my justice. I was sure the others had plenty of reason to want Cody out of their game, and I could hardly blame them for wanting to avoid confrontation with him.

  Hector turned to Cody, fists clenched at his sides. “I . . .” He paused, looking sick, and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I should have handled things better.” A long moment passed as they glared at each other in silence. Slowly, as if moving through gelatin, Hector lifted his hand and extended it to Cody.

  Cody stared at it as if Hector was offering him a dead fish and not a handshake. He took a step back, and then another. He lifted one arm, his hand clenched, then pointed a finger at Hector. “This isn’t over.” He turned and pointed to Wes, then, who looked horrified to find himself in the spotlight. “This. Isn’t. Over.” He repeated the words slowly, biting off each one with such dramatic clip that it would have been funny if it weren’t so ridiculous.

  He spun on his heel and marched back through the store, departing through the mall entrance. We all turned in unison to watch him, and when the door slammed shut, I saw that half the other customers had looked up from their ongoing Spellcasters games to watch the strange drama unfolding at the front of the store. I blinked, then turned back to Hector and Wes. Hector had taken on a greenish tinge, and Wes’s mouth hung slightly open, like a child who had seen his parents putting out the Christmas presents that allegedly came from Santa.

  “What on earth was that?” a voice said behind me.

  I flinched and turned to see Bailey Adorno, my other employee, carrying a tablet and an egg timer, ready to start the draft. Her asymmetrical bob was ruffled, the blue streak in it mussed, and her cheeks were pink.

  “You don’t want to know,” I told her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t freak out,” she said.

  My blood pressure immediately skyrocketed. “Why?”

  “Look who’s here.” She pointed.

  I turned and swore.

  Behind me, Hector said, “That’s a dollar.”

  I handed him a twenty and started walking to meet our new guests.

  2

  TALKING HAPPILY WITH PAIGE and an uncomfortable looking Nick were Craig MacLeod, my high school boyfriend, and his girlfriend, Meghan Kountz, former Queen Bee of White Lake High, classic mean girl, wearer of mascara at the gym, owner of no fewer than five velour tracksuits. Though it had been more than a dozen years since we’d graduated, I hated her with the fiery passion of a thousand exploding suns. If my hatred had physical force, it would incinerate her where she stood, leaving a tiny pile of ash and the piece of ticking steel she called a heart.

  Sadly, my power to set people ablaze with my mind had never manifested, or I would have burned her alive the summer we were both eighteen and she slept with Craig while I was off visiting my mom in Madison—breaking my heart, crushing my self-confidence, and stealing one of my oldest friends in one fell swoop.

  She still wore the elegant, pale gray suit she’d worn to the meeting earlier, her dark hair twisted and pinned neatly to the back of her fat head. She looked so perfect on Craig’s arm while he blasted Paige with the thousand-watt smile that made him one of the most successful real estate agents in town. Once upon a time, I’d played in his sandbox. He was my first crush, my first kiss, my first love.

  The first guy I’d cried over.

  Now, he was getting married, or so I heard. Paige worked for him, employed part-time as his assistant, and she occasionally reported his doings back to Jordan and me for the necessary mockery. Apparently he’d proposed to Meghan at a restaurant with the ring in a glass of champagne, a dozen roses, and a fistful of other clichés, but I found myself not caring.

  Totally not caring.

  His future bride owned a store in Independence Square Mall, too, and was competing for the same small business development grant I was. Her plan was to use the grant money to restore the building’s historic façade and make it pretty with flowers and bushes and probably some glitter and sequins. My plan was to make it more energy efficient with solar panels and an upgraded climate control system. That was what Craig had chosen for his life: style over substance.

  And now he had infiltrated my world again, and I hated myself for resenting the overlap between my teenage self and my adult self.

  “Why are they here?” Jordan asked, voicing the question my mind was grappling with.

  I shrugged, wanting to seem nonchalant. “Her store is upstairs. And Craig was already downtown for the meeting.”

  “Yeah, but they’re here. I doubt Craig has played a game since that time you dragged us all to a Shadowrun game junior year.”

  Remembering the look on his face when presented with a character sheet, I snorted. “Yeah, that wasn’t so good. Anyway, they probably couldn’t pass up an opportunity to gloat over my peep show.”

  “That dude has a cruel streak in him, showing up with that woman,” Jordan said. “I’ve always said it.”

  As if he could feel us staring at him, Craig looked up. He smiled and waved at me, and I sighed. “Damn.”

  “Don’t let Hector hear you,” Jordan said.

  “I paid in advance.” I left her behind and wound my way through the crowd to greet them. Craig gave me one of those awkward old-friend hugs, the loose, shoulder-patting kind you give when you don’t really want to touch the other person.

  “Great party,” he said, his voice falsely hearty.

  “Thanks,” I said, equally hearty. “And thanks for coming!” Almost involuntarily, I glanced at Meghan’s left hand. There was a shiny square diamond on her pointy-nailed finger, and I felt my stomach turn over. More than rumor, then. And I still totally did not care. Whatever.

  “Great presentation today, by the way,” Craig said. He almost sounded sincere.

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” Meghan interjected. She looked at me like I was a sixth grader who’d done an exceptionally good job selling band candy. “Especially under the circumstances. I thought you handled it so gracefully.” She wore a sappy-sweet look of admiration so fake I tasted sucralose. She meant my fake laughter when I’d finally realized my predicament. I’d waved my own breasts off as a joke, much to the awkward amusement of the entire City Council.

  “Oh, thank you, that’s so nice of you to say.” I matched her empty verbal calorie for empty verbal calorie. “I thought your presentation was great, too.”

  I didn’t. Preserving the historic façade of Independence Square Mall by installing fake limestone fronts on the newer parts of t
he building would mean Ten Again would be closed to street traffic for weeks while it underwent the renovation. Naturally, the construction wouldn’t affect Meghan’s storefront. Hopefully the grant committee would realize how much that could hurt the small businesses it was supposed to help.

  Craig grinned at the pair of us. “Donald said things were looking good—of course, he wins either way!”

  Donald Wolcott, the building’s owner, was also on the grant committee. The words “conflict of interest” weren’t exactly at the top of the White Lake City Council’s vocabulary list, and Donald ran the Chamber of Commerce, as well. He would think things were looking good if he had two chances to give himself the money. What surprised me, though, was that Craig and Donald had been talking about us.

  “How do you know Donald?” I asked.

  “He bought a building from my boss last year. We met when I was putting the contracts together. Anyway, he has big real estate development plans, and this building is just the first of those plans. I said I could show him some other properties that have done the kinds of rehabilitation you and Meghan are talking about—”

  “You thought you could make a big sale, in other words,” Jordan cut in. Craig had always been the ultimate salesman, after all. My dad used to say Craig could sell a blank canvas to a blind man and call it art.

  Craig looked wounded. “Come on. A man’s gotta eat, and anyway, it’s in everyone’s best interest to improve this old building.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jordan looked dubious.

  Craig ignored her. “As I was saying, he’s interested in seeing what improvements like the ones you suggest look like. I think we’ll go look at that renovated warehouse in the tech park tomorrow—”

  “No one cares, Craig,” Jordan said.

  I froze, torn between laughter and embarrassment at her rudeness. Craig adopted a hurt expression again, but he stopped his sales pitch. “Point is, he’s into it.”

  “Thanks, Craig,” I said. “It’s good to know.”

  In truth, I was pretty surprised. Donald was about as tech savvy as a Little House grandpa, but I appreciated the sentiment. If nothing else, Donald could get behind the idea that he—and, I suppose, his tenants—might save a few bucks every month. He made Scrooge McDuck look like a generous gent, so at least my proposal had penny pinching over Meghan’s historical preservation plans, which would earn nothing back but sentiment.

  Meghan cut in, pretending to make peace. “Donald stopped by Chic after the grant meeting,” she purred. “I’ve been working with him on some other plans for the building, and we meet pretty regularly.”

  Of course they did. She was practically daring me to ask what their other plans were, but I swallowed my curiosity.

  “That’s nice,” I said. “Maybe he’ll stop by—he likes coming to our events.”

  Truth was, he hated these events, but he felt like showing up reminded everyone who was boss. He’d make an appearance sooner or later.

  That reminded me, though—I needed to speak with him. “Actually, I need to call him,” I said, interrupting myself. I looked over Craig’s shoulder to Paige and Nick. “I need to go let him know you’ll be gaming tonight, or he’ll sic Max on you again.”

  Paige’s eyes widened. “That old geezer! Some security guard he is. Last time he threatened to call the real cops on us just because José was leaning over the balcony.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to let him know we have a cop on hand tonight.” I elbowed Jordan, and everyone laughed at my weak joke.

  “And we,” Paige said, turning to Nick, “should get started before it gets too much later.”

  “Don’t have too much fun,” I called after them.

  I excused myself before any more pitiful attempts at humor turned me into a dorky den mother. Jordan snorted and went back to the front of the store to help Hector with crowd control.

  Back in my office, I hurriedly dialed Donald’s number. He and his rent-a-cop security team were pretty cool about letting gamers run around the building after hours for live action role-playing, but they understandably needed to know in advance so some well-meaning and clueless security guard didn’t call the real cops on a group of people in fantasy costumes. We’d had that happen once, early in our history, and my parents had almost died of embarrassment when the White Lake Courier gleefully reported that a werewolf in the employ of Autumn Sinclair had been mistakenly arrested for trespassing.

  No need to revisit that fiasco, especially if Max had been after the LARPers again recently.

  It took Donald forever to answer his cell phone, and I drummed my fingers on the desk as I waited, irked. When he did answer, he sounded irritated. “Autumn,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “Donald, hi,” I said, putting on my very best Bambi voice. “I just wanted to let you know that we had a scheduling mix-up, and we’re going to have some gamers running around tonight.”

  “I see.” He sounded irritated. “Will they be upstairs? I have a meeting I don’t want interrupted.”

  “Oh!” Odd—Donald normally went home by seven, and it was nearly eight o’clock now. “Ah, if it’s a problem, I can have them wrap up by ten.”

  “No, it’s not a problem. Just ask them to keep it down. I’ll tell security when I leave.”

  “Oh—okay. Sorry about this. I’ll tell them not to bother anyone.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’ll spread the word.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Good night.” He hung up.

  I stared at my phone, surprised. He never responded well to the unexpected, and he never varied his routine. If he was here late, it was something important. I felt a brief flash of panic that I’d forgotten another tenants’ meeting, but there was no way this late in the day.

  A secret Friday night meeting—how very cloak and dagger. I would never have guessed Donald had it in him.

  I shrugged to myself, then dialed the security desk. Max, the elderly night watchman answered. I heaved a small sigh.“Hi, Max.”

  “Who’s this?” he demanded.

  “It’s Autumn. From Ten Again.”

  “Oh, hi, Autumn! How are you, hon?”

  I raised my voice. “Oh, fine, I—”

  “I was just thinking about you this morning. My wife has been watching this weird show with vampires and werewolves and some kind of fairies, and I thought, ‘Now, this seems like something Autumn would like,’ and then when I asked her the title she couldn’t remember, and so I thought I’d maybe just check with you and see—”

  I jumped in when he paused for breath. “I’m not sure. Actually, I’m calling because the store is open late tonight, and—”

  “Do you have an emergency?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Uh, no.” I felt more secure just knowing he was downstairs. “I just wanted to let you know we have some gamers in the building tonight.”

  “Oh, gamers! You know, my great-niece likes games, but I think she’s more a fan of those video games, the ones with the little creatures that fight each other? Is that the same? Because I’ve seen a lot of toys and things that go along with it, and I wondered—”

  “Er, no, not really the same.” I was glad none of my employees could hear him. “These are more like people in a play running around the building in costume!”

  “Yes, I’ve seen them around.” He paused, and I could picture him glaring at some hapless vampire trying desperately to stay in character. “Are they disturbing you?”

  “No! I wanted to warn you, so you know they’re here.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  Of course he would. I thanked him and hung up the phone. Donald would explain the situation, too, and hopefully Max would leave the poor LARPers alone. It couldn’t be easy to pretend you were a top predator stalking the midnight streets of a vampire-controlled town when Max the security guard tried to tell you about his wife’s hemorrhoids.

 
; In the brief semi-silence, I took a deep breath. Bay had left the ledger program open on my computer, and I glanced at it, impressed. Our sales for the day were phenomenal, and the numbers hadn’t synced with the register computer since earlier in the evening. I let out a low whistle—we’d made more than double last year’s profits for the same day, and half again already over the profits from the last Spellcasters release day. It was always a gamble holding big, expensive events like what we were having tonight, but it seemed like the promotion had made a significant difference.

  I needed to remember to give both Bay and Hector a serious bonus this year. I spent the next quarter hour looking at the inventory, comparing our orders with what we’d sold, and making mental notes for the next big Spellcasters expansion pack release.

  If things went well, and I got the grant to green Independence Square Mall, the resulting storm of good PR would help the store even more—and the vote of confidence from city leadership would do more than bring in sales: it would lend the store a legitimacy in the local business community I’d never even dreamed of achieving. Flighty Autumn, who got her MBA and came back to her hometown, against everyone’s advice, to open a shop no one thought White Lake needed, would lead her band of geeks to a glorious victory against the naysayers and the wagging tongues.

  And maybe, just maybe, people would start to take us seriously as a community and as a political force and, well, as adults.

  I let myself indulge in my fantasy for a little while longer, ignoring the increasingly exuberant voices from outside my door. When my phone rang, it was almost eight forty-five. I sucked in a breath, irritated at myself for neglecting Bay and the party for so long. Seeing Paige’s number on the screen surprised me since she was usually strict about breaking character during a live action game. “Paige?”

  “Autumn.” She sounded like she’d been crying.

  “Paige, what happened?”

  “I—I need your help.”

  “What is it? Where are you?”