Tangent (A Liminals prequel novella) by Maree Anderson

Tangent: Chapter Two

Tangent

By Maree Anderson

Chapter Two

Rixon understood there'd been one big-ass hole in his logic the instant he came to, sprawled on the cold tiles of the toilet stall floor. If anyone had been using the stall when he'd become liminal again, he would have been royally screwed. As it was, he could only hope no one had discovered him while he was out cold... and was even now sprinting off to alert security.

It took two tries to heave his butt off the floor, and he only made it as far as the toilet bowl.

When he'd finished emptying his stomach, he lay there for a bit, curled around the cold porcelain. Sheer willpower finally got him up and moving. Biting his lip to stifle a groan, he slumped atop the toilet seat, elbows braced on knees, head hanging, waiting for the pounding in his skull to ease. Blood throbbed hotly through his veins but his abdomen felt strangely hollow, as though cored by a raging torrent of electricity. His bones, his skin—even his effing hair follicles—hurt. And thinking logically was so not a good idea right now, either, but that didn't stop his stupid brain from chewing over why'n the heck he felt like shit.

Why'n the heck had this phase affected him so badly?

Huh. Maybe this was the reason lims weren't supposed to attempt phases to places they'd never been before—because once you exited the subliminal state and your body re-formed, you felt like you'd been steamrollered and turned inside out.

When he could focus without feeling like his head was about to explode, he squinted at the cheap men's wristwatch Lily had found a few months back. A mere ten minutes had passed but it sure felt like a freaking lifetime. On the plus side, he'd phased to the right place. At least, it was highly unlikely there were two dull gray toilet stall doors inscribed with a message from the Gingerbread Man, exhorting people to run like hell.

Rix climbed to his feet, steadied himself with a palm against one side of the stall, and then stumbled out. He checked the cramped shower stall next to the toilet, and found it empty... thank all popular gods. Hunching over the small washbasin, he splashed cold water on his aching face, and blotted his eyelids and mouth with the frayed sleeve of his coverall.

Better. Kind of. Because the mirror above the washbasin revealed hollowed eyes, ashen skin, and pain grooves etching the bridge of his nose and mouth. Looked like he'd been partying real hard all night and then some, and desperately needed to sleep it off—which, come to think of it, could work to his advantage, because right now he looked nothing like a stealthy intruder about to break someone out.

His brain revved up a gear, prodding him to quit stalling and move his sorry ass. The longer he lingered here, the more chance of getting busted.

He glanced around the bathroom. Yep, the kids had been right on the money; there was a floor-to-ceiling cupboard in the wall on the right. Locked of course, but Rix had never let a basic locking mechanism stop him. He fished the lock picks from his boot, and had the cupboard open in thirty seconds flat.

Broom. Mop. Bucket. A few basic cleaning products. Dust cloths. Hardly worth the effort of locking up. Then again, in the right hands a mop could be a deadly weapon. And that metal bucket would sure do a bit of damage to someone's skull. Not to mention the unpleasant side effects of copping a faceful of ammonia. But Rix wasn't looking for weapons. All the kids had described guards armed with Tasers and God knew what else, and Rix wasn't arrogant enough to believe he could prevail over armed guards. His best bet was to fly under the radar and not get noticed. And, as he'd learned during a temporary stint to cover for a friend, no one took any notice of janitors. All he needed from this cupboard were a few props to beef up his disguise—kind of like strolling around an office building with a clipboard, looking all busy and shit.