Page 53 of Wicked Hungry

“It smells better than cats.”

Enrique grins. “Much better than wolves.”

“Are we almost there?” I ask him.

“According to the map, it should be a few more blocks north.”

Something about Gary Frumberg still haunts me. Not his bigger size, not his regained confidence, not his dark spiked hair and piercings. Not even his pit bull. What was he carrying? In one hand was the dog leash. Iron links. Or steel. I’m beginning to get a feel for different metals. I finger my brass belt buckle and it feels safe, safer than the iron fence that we’re walking past. I don’t want to touch that fence, although nothing feels like that silver on the dog’s neck, the silver in Gary’s outstretched hand. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl.

But there was something else, something else in his other hand. A bag. But what about the bag? Something special inside of it. And what was written on it?

A logo of some kind. It hits me just as we arrive in front of the store.

Because there, on the dark glass pane, is the same logo, white paint on a black background. A weird fairy with pointed ears and an evil smile.

“Does that look familiar to you?” I ask Enrique.

Enrique shrugs.

“It was on the bag, Enrique.”

“The bag?” he asks, dubiously.

“Frumberg’s bag,” I say quietly, because someone is opening the door.

Jonathan has a shopping bag in hand, just like Frumberg. He lets the door close behind him. “Dude, am I glad to see you two,” he says.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Ever since I talked to Carolina, I’ve wanted to come check it out. I bought some Japanese herbal tea,” he says, then lowers his voice. “You know, they have weirder stuff than tea here.”

“What do you mean?” asks Enrique, but I’m getting a funny feeling already, just looking at the store.

“Just look at the door, at the windows,” Jonathan says. “Squint a little. The door handle has silver sigils all over it, and the glass, too. The whole glass display case is like one big sigil made up of other sigils.”

“What’s a sigil?” I ask.

“It’s a magical mark. For protection, like warding, or to warn you if someone’s coming.”

“What does a health food store need to protect itself from?” I ask.

“Well, these sigils keep out zombies, ghouls, minor demons, you name it. Even vampires or werecreatures intent on harming anyone inside.”

“You believe this stuff?” I ask him. “And what are werecreatures?”

“You know—werecats, werewolves, werefoxes, werewhatever...”

My eyes are drawn to the door handle. “I don’t like silver. And these sigils make my hair stand up, too.”

Enrique shrugs. “Silver doesn’t bother me, but I don’t like these signs. When I look at them, I can’t see straight.”

“Cool,” says Jonathan. “That is so cool.”

Enrique shakes his head in exasperation. “Look, we need to get inside.”

“What’s the rush?” Jonathan asks.

“I need to buy something, and I don’t like standing out here.” Enrique looks up at the sky. “It looks like rain.”