"No!" A voice flew at me from the back of the store. I looked in time to see a head duck back behind an upside-down comic. Even if the voice hadn't cracked in the middle of the single syllable, it wouldn't have been an especially impressive show of vigor.

"No, you haven't heard of college?" I asked sweetly.

"No, we won't tell you about superheroes," the man behind the counter finally said.

I returned my gaze to him, clearly the ringleader. "What's your name, sir?"

"Zane."

"Well, Zane, I'd like to speak to your manager."

"I am the manager."

Wolfie giggled beside me.

"The owner, then."

"I'm the owner too."

"Then sell me a comic book."

"No."

Confused, I stared at him. Then, figuring I'd been given this body for a reason, I leaned over the counter and asked again nicely. Olivia, I thought, could have done no better.

"No," he said again.

Now, if I'd been in my own skin I might have given in to the impulse to take Zane by his greasy hair and slam his head into the counter so that gla.s.s became a permanently identifiable part of his features. But I was Olivia now, and Olivia would never. Besides, I didn't relish the thought of taking on Wolf-boy, Tweedledee and -dum, the town crier...and whoever else might be lurking in the back of the store. I straightened and sighed, reconciled to trying reason.

With a grown man who read comics.

"Well, why on earth not?"

"Because earth is all your puny close-minded psyche can fathom!" yelled the crier, rising halfway from his chair. His face was bright red and he was unconsciously crushing the comic book in one balled fist. "There's a whole universe out there you'll never grasp! A whole world that can never be accessed by the likes of you!"

"Sebastian!"

The boy dropped back into his seat, deflated, and lifted the crumpled comic to cover his face. His hands were shaking.

"Is he on medication?"

A chorus of growls met this suspicion, and I could feel the hostility rising in the room. I inhaled deeply, imagining the air pa.s.sing through my limbs, my chest, every cell down to my toes. I scented deodorant, raging hormones, and a taut thread of high-strung affront, but there were no weapons, no Shadow agents, and no superheroes in the bunch...including Wolfie and his plastic claws.

"Sebastian is a little sensitive," Zane said unnecessarily. "We all are when people like you come poking around."

Did he mean people who brush their teeth after each meal? I wondered, catching sight of something plantlike between his front teeth. "People like me?"

"People who want to study us like bugs under a microscope-"

"You tell her, Zane!"

"Who think we're a sociological macrocosm to be dissected and a.n.a.lyzed, then served up in a report so you can get an A-plus in some moronic cla.s.s that perpetuates the myth of modern-day society. But we don't accept your mores and values, got it? We defy your definitions of what is right or wrong, and what is truly the norm. We defy you!" He finished off with a pump of his fat fist, accompanied by a loud chorus of victorious accord.

I looked around the store suspiciously. Seriously, reality shows were popping up in the strangest places these days.

"Now get out of here," he said, breathing heavily, "before Sebastian really gets upset."

I glanced doubtfully at the quivering ma.s.s of nerves at the back.

"Fine. There are other comic book stores, you know." I hoped. "Somebody will take my request seriously."

"Not in that dress they won't."

I turned to leave, the derision of a half-dozen adolescent boys licking at my heels, before I paused in my go-go boots.

Did superheroes take this kind of s.h.i.t from mere mortals?

I mean, if I couldn't face down a pack of Xbox addicts, then how was I going to rid the entire Las Vegas valley of twelve homicidal Shadow agents? Not to mention a being imagined into existence?

Turning back to Zane, I leaned my palms on the gla.s.s countertop, mostly because I knew it would annoy him, and pushed my face into his. The victory cries died off into a strangled and wary silence. "Look, forgive me for not knowing your pa.s.sword or secret handshake or whatever gets a person access into your labyrinth of anarchy here, but I need this information. I'm not really writing a paper. I'm not even in school. I mean, have you ever seen an undergraduate who looks like this?"

His eyes flickered, but the rest of his face didn't change. "Then why do you want to know?"

I sighed loudly, then motioned him closer. Four bodies leaned in. Sebastian strained forward from his seat in the back. "The truth is, I'm a new agent for the Zodiac troop 175, paranormal division, Las Vegas. I'm the Archer, and I need to do some research."

They all drew back as if propelled, or repelled, by a single force, but no one spoke. As Zane was nearly drooling again, I decided backing up sounded like a good idea.

"s.h.i.t, lady," Wolfie finally said, scratching his half beard. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"Yeah, man. We're big Zodiac fans. Travis here has all the trading cards."

His twin looked up at me. "I don't have you, though."

They all looked at me, wariness once again overtaking their features.

"I'm a new recruit. I didn't even know I was superhuman until I underwent metamorphosis."

Zane nodded thoughtfully. "Ah...a late harvest."

"Ripe, though."

I scowled down at Wolfie, who grinned.

"Show the lady where the Zodiac manuals are, Carl." To me, Zane said, "I'm going to trust you are who you say you are, even though you obviously know nothing about your microuniverse and you have no identifying symbol."

"Symbol?"

"Your glyph. You know, your Zodiac emblem? You're not marked as an agent of Light or Shadow."

Is that why they'd all been looking at my chest? I looked down, saw only impressive cleavage, then looked back up into a less-than-impressed face. I shrugged. "I'm working on it."

Wolfie tugged on my hand. "C'mon."

He led me deeper into the shop, pa.s.sing Sebastian along the way. The boy peered up at me from the corner of his eye, extreme agitation marring his brow. Nothing, I thought, a little Thorazine couldn't take care of.

"Boo," I said, and he yelped and scurried away.

"Dang, this stuff itches," Carl the wolf-boy said, yanking off his mustache as he walked.

I winced. "I thought you were taking hormone pills?"

"Nah." He pulled off another tuft of his beard, studied it, then tossed it aside. "Model glue."

I watched as he worked a roll of glue from his chin. "That's disgusting."

"Yeah, my mom thinks so too. You remind me a lot of her, actually."

"Why? Is she a superhero too?"

"Nah." He shook his head. "Compulsive liar."

A quiet chuckle from behind met that remark. I turned to find Zane leaning against a nearby wall of manga t.i.tles.

"Right here." Carl stopped before a wood-paneled cabinet in the farthest corner of the shop, unlocking it to reveal an ordinary carousel of comics. Scratching at his chin, he looked from the rack to me and back again. He was beginning to make me itch. "There are two series to choose from, the Shadow side of the Zodiac, and the Light."

I looked and saw that the series was divided into vertical columns. The only difference between the two lines was the spines. The Shadow side had a black edging to each book, with t.i.tles like Enforcing the Eclipse, Midnight Portals, The Opaque Vein, and Afton's Epitaph.

The Light series had a silver spine, and included the t.i.tles The Luminous Void, Shadow Slayer, Lambent Moonlight, and, my favorite, Zodiac: The Desert Ablaze.

"You probably want the Shadow side of the Zodiac since you're such a b.i.t.c.h and all."

"I do not want the Shadow side." I glared at him. "Look at me. Do I look like...like..." I glanced at the lead t.i.tle in the Shadow series row. "...like Simone: The Mourning Butcher?"

Carl scoffed. "Oh, sure, you're all Britney Spears on the outside, with your blond hair and rack out to here..."

I narrowed my eyes.

"...but looks can't hide your true ident.i.ty. It's the eyes that give you away. You've got dark eyes...not the color," he hurried on, before I could interrupt, "but the soul behind them. The intent."

I leaned down until my face was inches from his. "Listen, you little wookie, I'm not a villain, got it? I've just had a really bad month."

I straightened and reached for the first Light t.i.tle.

"Stop!" Carl grasped my arm.

"What?" I said, yanking away. This kid was beginning to freak me out.

"If you touch that book and you're not really an agent of Light, then you're going to get the biggest shock of your life, and I mean literally! I've seen it before, and it ain't pretty." He shook his finger at me, a frown marring his furry brow. "A girl like you can't walk around with those sorts of skid marks, if you know what I mean."

I ignored the innuendo and glanced behind me at Zane, who was leaning against a wall, leafing through Spider-Man, but listening closely enough that his mouth was twitching. He caught my look and nodded, concurring.

I turned back to the kid. "So, you're saying a Shadow agent can't read the Light comics, and vice versa?"

"That's right, blondie. Keeps the sides from cross-pollinating."

"So if I'm an agent of Light and I touch this," I said, pointing to the lead Shadow t.i.tle, "I get zapped?"

"You won't," he said with surety, crossing his arms over his puny chest.

I didn't think so either, but my belief had nothing to do with what series I touched. I reached for the Shadow t.i.tle, paused just to hear the weird kid's breath quicken, then yanked the t.i.tle from its rack. Nothing.

"I told you!" He pointed, jumping up and down. I grabbed another, then another, and every Shadow t.i.tle down to the ground as Wolfie continued to holler manically beside me. "I told her she was evil! Did you see?"

"I saw," Zane said mildly.

It meant nothing, I told myself, then said it aloud. "It doesn't mean anything!"

Zane shrugged and turned back to his comic.

"It means you're a freakin' baddie, baby," Wolfie said, jabbing his finger through the air. "A Shadow agent bent on death and destruction!"

I slid my eyes to the racks as he continued to jeer, then started grabbing more books. He stilled abruptly, mouth hanging open. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the last Light t.i.tle from the lower rungs of the rack, straightened, and grinned at him.

"You're not supposed to be able to do that!" he stuttered. "Zane, what's going on?"

"Guess you don't know the Zodiac series as well as you thought," I retorted, turning to smirk at Zane. "Comic books that zap you. Please."

But Zane had gone chalk white, and the comic he'd been leafing through fell heedlessly to the floor. He stared at the pile of comics in my arms, then back up into my face.

"Light and Shadow," he finally said, softly. "So you're the one."

I drew back, not entirely certain what he meant, but answered with what my gut told me was true. "Yeah," I said. "I guess I am."

Whatever that meant.

Dumping the pile of comics in the trunk of my car, I decided to walk the two blocks to the day spa despite my three-inch Christian Louboutin boots. Air was what I needed after the claustrophobic environ of Master Comics, though smog is what I got, toeing the sidewalk with cars zipping by me at forty-five miles an hour. I still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, but it didn't take long to realize it probably had more to do with my outfit than any paranormal activity. I gamely ignored the whistles and honks aimed my way, even from the group of high school boys who raced by again in the opposite direction just to comment on specific body parts, and wondered how Olivia had handled this all those years.

Unfortunately, the catcalls from the teens had elicited the attention of a group of workers doing pavement repair just ahead of me. They paused to watch my approach.

"s.h.i.t," I muttered under my breath. "Not today."

One worker whistled as I waited for traffic to subside. I'd have to pa.s.s in the street to avoid the wet pavement. I ignored him, and spotted an opening in the wake of an enormous SUV. The same kids who'd already pa.s.sed me twice. The pa.s.senger leaned out the window this time, making lewd motions with his fingers and tongue. This, in turn, seemed to embolden the three men on the pavement. Still ignoring them-a lone woman's sole defense when confronted with the pack mentality-I stepped into the street.

"Check the unit, boys!"

I kept walking.

"You don't want to miss this one, mijos. Sweet as a split peach."