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Or goddesses, for that matter.
CHAPTER 4
Iglanced over my shoulder, shocked that even more people were arriving, the line running so far to the back of Southridge Mall that it had wrapped around the corner. I’d been so convinced that the mall was in its death throes, but the amount of footfall it was seeing today was probably more than enough to make up for its losses.
Scratch that. The opening of another Happy Links location was all but guaranteed to revivify Southridge Mall all on its own. Peering through the glass I could see that the previously abandoned lots to either side of it were now boarded up with COMING SOON signs for brands eager to ride on Happy Links’s coattails.
I yawned, kind of annoyed that I hadn’t had my usual cup of coffee, but maybe kind of glad, too. We’d been in line for at least an hour, and I wasn’t planning to leave the queue to pee and come back. I didn’t even trust Morrow to let me back in the line, knowing how much of a goody two shoes he could be.
Anyway, people could get touchy about that kind of thing, but especially people who’d lined up since morning for a handful of free charms from Happy Links. For the first hundred customers at the new location, at least. Very clever of them, as if the shop even needed to drum up extra excitement.
I stuffed my hands in my leather jacket’s pockets, shrugging off the morning chill. Surprisingly cool today, partly because we were there before lunch — not ideal in terms of my waking hours, of course. Morrow was lucky I wasn’t any grumpier.
Morrow, who had foregone his usual uniform of a suit and tie and was now dressed like some kind of thrift-store reject. Almost as if someone had dunked him in glue and rolled him around the inside of a bargain bin. A threadbare cap pulled over his eyes, a garish teal and purple windbreaker, torn and faded jeans, and running shoes with neon laces.
Individually, maybe, some parts of the outfit were cool, but put all together, this alternate version of Theodore Morrow was an unwelcome assault on the senses. He was carrying his shoulders a little lower than usual, too, changing the way he walked and talked like this was some kind of spy game, like he was Double Oh-Seven himself. Hah. More like Double Oh-Kevin.
“Morrow. As your partner, I should really be honest and tell you. You look even more constipated than usual.”
He scoffed under his breath. “Better constipated than conspicuous. We have to stay incognito. Happy, Inc. is still a rival corpo, after all.”
I pursed my lips. “They probably care more about people like Director Sakamoto and the Occultech higher-ups, not about scrubs like me and you.”
“Shush! Keep it down. You want them to know where we’re from? No names. Everybody has dossiers on everybody, Frost. You never know.”
“You just said my name, though.”
“Hush up. What if their CEO is here? Newly installed, too. It’s a dynastic empire — the Thorpes, long line of entrepreneurs dating back to the turn of the century.”
He stared mournfully down at his hand. I could tell he wanted to activate his Occultech palm technology so he could read his precious little dossier and rattle off facts at me like the nerd he was. And why was that so cute? Stupid Morrow and his stupid but kind of sexy ’90s windbreaker.
I nudged him with my elbow. “Does it say anywhere in the dossier why they can’t make their minds up about their business? I mean — food, stationery, jewelry. What gives?”
He shrugged. “No information as to why. Hard to say, honestly. You’d think the different divisions would just splinter off and be done with it, but for whatever reason, the corporation looks perfectly comfortable having everything under one umbrella.”
“Seems chaotic,” I said, frowning at the line.
Then again, what about all of this hadn’t been chaotic to begin with? The frantic rush at the first store’s opening when we went to get boba, Anita Cocktail’s ever-shifting personality, and now this line of people that rivaled shoppers waiting for a Black Friday store opening, or hardcore amusement park fans itching to get on a new ride.
I’d chalk it all up to demons if I didn’t already know that Nomicon Valley’s particular brand of infernal was more dedicated to the maddening properties of too much order over hellish chaos. Literally. I’d heard that the preferred method of firing a client over at JackAsh was to send them on a deliberately confusing quest between the corpo’s floors, counters, and offices, complete with armfuls of increasingly complicated and useless forms. The confusion would inevitably drive a client mad — provided they didn’t die of exhaustion, starvation, and dehydration first.
The line suddenly lurched forward. Everyone murmured in excitement. We were moving. The store was open.
“Come on,” Morrow said, grabbing my hand, rubbernecking to see where we were going.
“I’m right behind you,” I complained, making no effort to remove his hand from mine.
I already knew that Morrow was strong, but I could tell that it wasn’t just from going to the gym. Those sturdy fingers, the rough palm — was he a bouldering fan? I thought back to when I’d trapped him with a copy of one of his own concrete wall spells, how he’d actually clambered up the damn thing with very little effort. And those muscles in his back, those didn’t just sprout from —
“Keep up, will you?” Morrow barked over his shoulder.
I hadn’t realized I was stumbling over my own two feet. We were moving faster than I’d expected, the excited chatter growing louder and louder as we plunged through the mall’s atrium. Jesus Christ. This was how long the line actually was? Surely it was going to slow down soon, now that everyone up front was cramming themselves into the store.
But the line just kept moving, and as we hurtled toward Happy Links Too, I could finally see why. There were kiosks set up around the facade, some of them dispensing the promised free charms for the store’s first one hundred shoppers, others offering games to win even more.
Devious. It might have taken some extra permits from mall management to set this all up, but considering Southridge’s formerly flagging reputation, whatever passed for management was probably happy to let the store do whatever it wanted.
They’d set it up like a miniature carnival, even: big colorful signs, metallic balloons in the same shapes as their tiny charm counterparts, a fleet of smiling workers inviting shoppers to try out their various attractions. Balloon darts, a ring toss, a claw machine — they’d pulled out all the stops.
