None of that explained much of anything at all, but there wasn’t time to probe further. The waitress showed up, presenting Thea with a large bag of – something, along with the check. True to her promise, Thea picked up the tab, swatting my hand away when I offered to split the bill. I scratched at the back of my hand and muttered my thanks.
The waitress sorted the check, then came back with exactly two fortune cookies, presented lovingly on a brass serving dish.
“Now,” Thea said. “I did say that they don’t do Americanized Chinese food here, but some things are expected, so they still do the fortune cookies. Customers can be funny like that.”
She picked one up, cracked it open in a single hand, then pulled out a slip of paper. She chuckled after reading it, then tucked her fortune into her breast pocket. “I’m pretty sure that was a song lyric,” she said, patting at her pocket. “How about yours?”
I eyed the cookie suspiciously. I never did subscribe to anything involving superstition, fortunetelling, or divination, but what harm was there in playing along? It was just a mundane urban ritual. Just a fortune cookie, I told myself.
They made these little guys in a factory somewhere, with fortunes probably scoured from the web and printed out by some bored interns. It wasn’t like Thea was shoving a soothsayer in my face, begging me to have my fortune told. And weirdly, yes, I still felt this apprehensive even after learning about the Veil, even knowing that some of this divination stuff was actually true. Sorry, can’t tell you which. Trade secret.
“Fine,” I said, perhaps a little mopier about it than I should have been. I picked up the cookie in one hand and crushed it, the way Thea did, except in my case it just splintered and crumbled all over the pristine red tablecloth. Damn. After I’d made so much effort not to spill anything over lunch, too.
Yet when I opened my fist, that’s all there was in the palm of my hand: shards and crumbs of fortune cookie. No slip of paper to be found. No fortune.
“Um. Well that’s – ominous.” I meant it as a joke, but somehow saying it out loud drove a tiny sliver of dread into my chest.
Thea clapped her hands together, seemingly tickled. She shrugged, then made the worst possible joke she could have in that moment.
“That’s the way the cookie crumbles.”
Is it possible, I ask you, for someone who isn’t a dad to make a dad joke? I’d like to know.
Minutes later we were making our way down the block, Thea all but gleaming in her pantsuit, looking out at the streets of Valero through a pair of aviators that somehow made her look even more executive than executive. I trailed after her like a hobo in my wrinkled jeans and jacket, squinting against the sunlight. Hey, I didn’t know I’d be working so long that day, all right?
The bag of whatever it was from the Seven Dragons rustled as Thea carried it along on our little sojourn. She didn’t ask me to bring it for her, and I didn’t dare to ask lest she go on another of her circuitous “Did you know that tea is from China” lectures. I’d find out soon enough, anyway, except that instinctively I knew that I’d only have more questions as the afternoon stretched on. She stopped in front of a store just some blocks from the restaurant, and I knew I was right.
I looked up at the sign. “This is a bodega.”
“Yes,” she said, her face neutral. Those sunglasses really did a lot to hide her expression.
I cocked my head, then looked around. Absolutely nothing mystical at all about this place, but I shrugged and relented. “So – more reagents?”
Thea smiled. “You got it. I know it isn’t quite as magical as you might have expected,” she said, waving her one free hand in the air, waggling her fingers as she said the word. “But it works.”
This time I didn’t bother hiding my sigh. She laughed again, and I followed her into the store. Minutes more later we were back out on the streets again. She had picked up some of those little tea candles, a box of chalk, a water for herself, and a juice box for me. I was thirsty, and in need of sugar, don’t judge.
At this point Thea took out her phone, peering at a map of the neighborhood to look for – well, whatever it was we were looking for. I tried to be cool about peeking over her shoulder, but she caught me out pretty quickly and chuckled it off.
“Hold on there. We’re getting close.”
“Another shopping expedition?”
“Very funny, Graves. No. We’re looking for the entity’s tether. It’s like their signature in this realm, how we know we can access them from a physical location.”
“Huh.” I rubbed my chin, noticing that I’d been awake long enough to grow a faint bit of stubble. “So like an address.”
Thea stopped mid-stride, then favored me with a wry smile. “Yes, actually, exactly like an address.” She snuck another glance at her phone, then cocked her head over to the right. “This way.”
I followed for a few more steps before asking the obvious. “I mean clearly this entity’s address isn’t just on your maps app, right?”
“Again: very funny. No, I’m looking for a specific brick wall. You’ll understand when we get there.” She poked her head down a particular alley, one that was shrouded in darkness despite the light of the noon sun, then slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Right. This is the place.”
We stepped into the alley, the smell of it dank and musty, and maybe the burgeoning darkness of it should have made me nervous, but since I’d learned how to step, something about shadows soothed me, somehow. I knew I was safer with them nearby since I could always hoof it and find an exit. Which was almost what I did, mind you, when Thea pulled out a knife.
“Whoa.” I backed away, my hands in the air. “Hey. Whoa.”
Thea blinked at me, then lowered the knife, sputtering apologetically. “Oh God. Sorry. I forgot. I know you have a thing about these now.”