Black Magic Sanction

Glenn looked up at my silence, his eyebrows raised as he indicated the rainbow mug. “I thought you’d want some coffee. This might take a while.”

“Okay …” He brought me coffee and rainbows, I thought as I reached for it and sat down, feeling the bump my phone made in my back pocket. “They’re pressing charges? For what? Killing a strawberry display? That wasn’t even my charm. I told you, I didn’t use magic. I know better. Get an I.S. team in there. None of the magic will have my aura on it.”

He chuckled, irritating me even more. The painfully slow sounds of him typing clicked key by key as he worked off the open file beside him. “The I.S. is ignoring the incident completely, so sending a team to ascertain it wasn’t your magic? You’re going to take the hit for this,” he said, his resonant voice dark and sexy. “Nice bit of passive harassment.”

My eyes flicked to my strawberry-covered bag and the little silver broach tucked inside. Passive harassment was a good story, but I think the reason the I.S. didn’t show was because the coven told them to back off while they brought me in themselves. Guilt and fear kept my mouth shut. Crap on toast, what if I’d ruined my only chance to rescind my shunning?

“I got the store to agree to disorderly conduct if you pay for the damages,” Glenn said, starting as he noticed the rat looking at him. “Unless you know who did it?” he added, gaze alternating between me and the critter.

I thought about the ID in my bag, and I shrugged. “Vivian Smith from California?” I volunteered. God, I’d called her Strawberry Shortcake. Could I dig my grave, or what?

Glenn made a sound of both amusement and sympathy, his eyes on the screen. “I hope you make more than I do. I had no idea strawberries were that expensive out of season.”

“Swell,” I said, then sipped my coffee. It wasn’t bad, but nothing tasted good since having that raspberry-mocha-whatever-it-had-been Al had ordered me last winter. I set the coffee aside and leaned over to get a look at Glenn’s neck. He might not know that he smelled like vampire, but any Inderlander could tell.

Glenn felt my gaze and looked up from his slow excuse for typing. “What?”

I pulled back, worried. “Nothing.”

Clearly suspicious, he pulled a paper from under the stack in the red folder and handed it to me. “Damages.”

Taking the paper, I sighed. How come my file is red? Everyone else had a normal-colored one. “Hey!” I exclaimed, seeing the total. “They’re charging me retail. Glenn!” I complained. “They can’t do that.” I shook it at him. “I shouldn’t have to pay retail!”

“What did you expect? You can keep that. It’s your copy.”

I sat back in a huff and shoved it in my bag with my sticky scarf as he typed his slow, painful way through my report. “Where’s this human compassion I keep hearing about?”

“That’s it, baby doll,” he said, voice smoother than usual. He was laughing at me.

“Mmmm. Can I go now?” I said dryly, not liking the “baby doll” tag but letting it go.

Glenn searched out a key and hit it with a sound of finality. Leaning back, he laced his dark fingers over his middle like I’d seen his dad do. “Not until Jenks posts your bail.”

I groaned. Damn it, Ivy must have stopped at home first. One more thing to owe the pixy.

“He seemed proud to do it,” Glenn said. “You can wait here, or go to the basement with the rest of the felons.” His smile widened. “I vouched for you,” he added, then leaned forward to answer his phone, now humming on the interoffice line.

“Thanks,” I said sourly, slouching down as he took the call. How was I going to pay Jenks back? My share of the sale of my mom’s house had been keeping me afloat lately, but I didn’t want to tap into that to post bail. Robbie’s half had gone to his upcoming wedding, and I was living on mine. It was hardly the statement of independence I’d wanted, but things would pick up. They always did around spring.

“Who?” Glenn said into the phone, his voice rising in disbelief, and then both Glenn and I looked toward the attention-getting tap on his door frame.

“Trent Kalamack,” the feminine voice on the phone said clearly over the faint office noise, naming the trim figure in his two-thousand-dollar suit now silhouetted in the doorway, his arm slowly slipping behind him from where he’d confidently tapped on the door. Suave and self-assured, the man smiled faintly at the woman’s awe.

“Next time, call before you send someone up,” Glenn said as he stood.

“But it’s Trent Kalamack!” the voice said, and Glenn hung up on her.

My breath slipped from me, almost a groan. Trent Kalamack. The obscenely successful, smiling businessman, ruthless bio- and street-drug lord, elf in hiding, and pain-in-my-ass-extraordinaire Trent Kalamack. Right on schedule. “Why is it you show up only when I need money? “I sat straighter, but I wasn’t going to get up unless it was to smack him.

Trent still smiled, but the faint worry pinching his eyes tickled the back of my brain. Trent wasn’t especially tall, but his bearing made people take notice, as if his baby-fine, nearly white hair, devilishly confident smile, and drool-worthy, athletic physique gained from riding his prize-winning horses wouldn’t. All that I could ignore—mostly—but his voice … his beautiful voice, rich in variance and resonant… That was harder—and I hated that I loved it.

Trent was Cincinnati’s most eligible bachelor, still single because of me. He’d thanked me for that in a weird moment of honesty when he thought we might die in a demon’s prison cell. I was still wondering why I’d bothered to save his little elf butt. Misplaced responsibility, maybe? That I’d saved his life didn’t seem to mean anything to him, since he had tried to make my skull one with a tombstone not three seconds after I got us safe.

Apparently my helping him get the ancient-elf DNA sample from the demons to repair his species genome had been enough to earn my right to live, but I was sure he was still mad at me for having messed up his city council seat reelection plans by trashing his wedding. Rumors in the Were community had it that he was going to make a bid for the mayoral position instead. My gut clenched, and I winced as I flicked a gaze at him.

Where there had once been only irritation, there was now satisfaction in Trent’s green eyes as he took Glenn’s offered hand extended across his cluttered desk. My pulse raced—he’d called me a demon and tried to kill me. I wasn’t. I was a witch. But he had a point—my children would be demons.

“Mr. Kalamack,” Glenn said, hiding his fluster. “It’s a pleasure.”

All trace of Trent’s feelings for me were hidden but for the barest tightening of his eyes. “Good to see you again, Detective,” he said. “I trust Ms. Morgan is behaving herself tonight?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Glenn stopped smiling. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Trent didn’t miss a beat. “I simply have something for Ms. Morgan to sign. I heard she was here, and I was nearby.”

He turned expectantly to me, and my bobbing foot stopped. I don’t know what disturbed me more, that Trent wanted me to sign something, or that he had known where to find me. Had my grocery trip already made the news?

Tired, I shifted my hand to cover up a particularly big splotch of strawberry on my knee. “What do you want, Trent?” I asked bluntly.

Trent’s gaze noted everything before returning to Glenn. “Coffee … perhaps?”

Glenn and I exchanged a knowing look. “Why not,” the detective said blandly, maneuvering gracefully out from behind his desk. “How do you take it?”

“Black, no sugar,” Trent said, and I thought longingly of the time when that would have been enough for me, but no, I was turning into a coffee snob despite my best efforts.

Glenn nodded before he shifted past Trent, the rims of his ears turning red when he rotated the rat back to the wall before he left. His footsteps sounded softly, and I held my breath and counted to five. “What are you doing slumming?” I said as I swiveled the chair, trying to look casual.

“I’m here to help you.”

I didn’t even try to stop my laughter, and in response, Trent moved and settled himself on Glenn’s desk, one foot on the floor, the other pulled up slightly like a GQ model.

“I don’t need money that badly,” I lied, forcing my gaze from him. “The last time I worked for you, you screwed things up so much that I got shunned. Nice of you to tell the press why I was in the ever-after, by the way,” I finished sarcastically, and his brow furrowed.

Guilt? I wondered, not able to tell right now. If he had told the press I’d been there working for him, things might have gone differently. I’d have told them myself, but I doubted that Trent would’ve backed me up, and then I’d have looked twice the fool. The public knowing he’d been caught by demons would have seriously jeopardized his political agenda. That I couldn’t make a living anymore didn’t seem to matter to him.

Yet I couldn’t help but wonder. First the coven trying to talk to me, and now Trent? Fishing for more, I rolled my neck against the top of the chair and looked at the ceiling. “I’m not working for you, Trent. Forget it.”

The soft sound of a linen envelope against silk caught my attention, and I sat up as he extended an envelope he’d taken from an inner pocket of his suit. I looked at it like the snake it was. I’d gotten envelopes from him before. Slowly I leaned forward. My fingers didn’t shake at all as I pulled the unsealed flap open and removed a heavyweight trifolded paper. Silently I scanned it, finding a casually worded, but probably more-serious-than-a-heart-attack contract that said I would work for Kalamack Industries and only Kalamack Industries. Forever. God, what was wrong with the man? Did he think everyone put money before morals like he did?

I dropped my hand to dangle the paper inches from the dirty tile. “I just said I wasn’t going to work a job for you,” I said softly, too tired of his games to be mad. “What makes you think I’ll sign this? Be your witch? What happened to Dr. Anders? I’ve seen your retirement plan, Trent. Is she pushing up rare orchids in your gardens?”

Irritation furrowed his brow as he stooped to take the paper. Immediately I let go of it, and the sheet slid under my chair and out of his easy reach. Trent pulled back, peeved. “Dr. Anders is busy in the labs,” he said.

“You mean she’s too old to kick ass.”

A smile showed, real and unexpected. “I prefer to say she is sedentary.”

My focus blurred, my expression slipping into disgust and anger, not at Trent, but at myself for having mishandled the last year or so to the point where I was shunned and broke, living through the grace of my friends. “Trent …”

He leaned back against the desk, but I couldn’t tell if his worry was real or contrived. “You’re in trouble, and you don’t even know it.”

My thoughts went to the pin in my bag. Uncomfortable, I glanced out the open door, not wanting the office to hear this, but not wanting to be shut in a room with him either. If you only knew the half of it … “I’m sitting in an FIB office while my partner posts my bail,” I said tightly. “I think I know I’m in trouble.”

“I’m talking about the coven of moral and ethical standards,” he said, and I couldn’t help my start. “We had lunch. Rachel, I swear I didn’t tell them what you are. They already knew.”

The fear turned into a solid lump and fell to my gut. What I am? “You slimy little toad!” I whispered as I stood. Trent was on his feet in an instant, but he didn’t back up. “You told them!” I exclaimed softly, hands in fists. “You told the coven I could invoke demon magic!” No wonder they were trying to snag me! Snag me, hell, they were going to freaking kill me!

The noise from the nearby offices filtered in. His eyes fixed on mine, chilling me. “I wasn’t about to lie to them,” he said stiffly. “They already knew. And yes, I confirmed that you were a witch-born demon and that your children will be demons able to exist on this side of the ley lines. They knew my father made you, too. I don’t understand it.” He frowned, clearly more worried about himself than me.

“You little bastard,” I growled. “I never told anyone what you are.”

“Because if you do, you die,” he said, his chin raised and his color high. I could smell the scent of cinnamon and wine as his temperature rose. It wasn’t as if Trent’s being an elf was that great a secret anyway, but still he clung to it. Sort of like I clung to being just a witch when logic told me I wasn’t.

“They’re going to take you, Rachel,” Trent said. “Dissect you to find out what makes you different. Unless …”

His eyes flicked to the paper under my chair. “I become your slave?” I said bitterly.

“Sign the paper, Rachel,” he said dryly. “I lied for you. I told them I could control you, destroy you if necessary. It’s the only reason they didn’t murder you outright.”

Oh. My. God. “Excuse me?” I said, furious. “You told them you can control me?”

Trent shrugged. “They’re understandably uncomfortable with a demon running around this side of the ley lines.”

“I am not a demon, you little cookie maker,” I nearly hissed. “I’m a witch. And your dad didn’t create me. He only made it possible for me to survive what I’d been born with.”

His eyes narrowed. “A mistake that I’m honor bound to do my utmost to contain.”

“Oh really!” My boot heels clunked as I moved until only feet separated us, my hands on my hips. “You want to contain me? Is that a threat, Kalamack?”

Trent arched his eyebrows and backed up a step. “I’m trying to help you, though now I can’t see why. You have a way out of this. Sign the paper. Become my legal responsibility. The coven will stop trying to give you a lobotomy. I might even get your shunning revoked.”

I was shaking, overwhelmed. I didn’t believe him—I couldn’t. He had turned my own people on me because he knew they were the only ones who had the finesse to bring me down.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” I accused softly, very aware that a room full of FIB officers was just out of earshot. “You told them what I’m capable of so they’d come after me; then you hold out your little safety net thinking I’d fall right into it. Playing both of us against each other so you can’t lose. God, Trent, Ceri was right. You are a demon.”

Jaw clenched, Trent went to push the door shut. I leapt into motion and got in front of it, and Trent pulled back, stymied. “I didn’t tell them,” he said, so close I could smell his aftershave. “But if you own me in the ever-after, I’m going to own you here.”

My mouth dropped open. “Those are words on a paper! I made you my familiar to get your ass out of there, that’s it! Have I ever once even hinted at using you? Have I done the charm to forge a link between us? No! And I’m not going to!”

“But you could,” he said, and for an instant, I saw fear flicker under his anger.

Disgusted, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I should have let you rot there, that’s what I should have done, you ungrateful snot. Do you have any idea what I put up with from Big Al every week so you can sit at home and watch TV instead of playing blow-up doll to a demon?”

Stone faced, Trent looked at me, his tan pale and the hem of his slacks shaking. “I will not be owned, Rachel,” he said softly. “Not even on paper. And never by a demon!”

I took a breath, exhaling when the sound of pixy wings broke the tense silence. Trent retreated, his head down as he calmed himself. The familiar cadence of Ivy’s boots sounded over the ringing of a single phone, and I retreated deeper into Glenn’s office.

“Rache!” Jenks shouted, his high voice coming clearly as he rounded the door ahead of Ivy. The pixy stopped short, hovering at head height, his wings flashing red with anger as he saw Trent tugging his cuffs down. “Holy crap, Rache,” he exclaimed, coming in to buzz irritating circles around me. “What did you get greenie weenie for this time? Bowling in black socks?”Trent gave us a dry look, eyes going to Ivy when she halted in the doorway. Glenn was behind her, and the man had to push to get past her, anxious to be back in his office and head off the coming interspecies incident. His jaw was clenched, but what had he really expected? Trent and I didn’t like each other and we argued. A lot.

Even as angry as I was, I watched the swift exchange between Ivy and Glenn, wondering if the tension in the room was solely because of me, or if there was an undercurrent of a secret not shared. Ivy’s irritation could easily be a cloak to hide guilt, and Glenn was equally hard to read when he was in his hard-assed FIB detective mode.

I wouldn’t hold out my hand for Jenks to land, so the pixy alighted on my shoulder instead, coating my sticky jacket in a fading glitter of dust. He was dressed for the chill spring weather, his wife, Matalina, finally having perfected pixy winter wear that gave him both freedom of movement and protection against the cold that might send him into hibernation and possible death. The tight black silk, red bandanna, and wooden-handled sword about his middle made the four-inch man look like a mix of theater and inner-city gang member.

In a smooth motion, Trent swooped forward to pick up the paper from under my chair. I stepped back out of his reach, my instinct to keep space between us kicking in. Refolding the contract, he tucked it away in his jacket. “Let my office know when you change your mind,” he said, then headed for the door, jerking to a stop when Ivy didn’t get out of his way.

“Let us know when cherry lollypops come out your ass,” Jenks said, and I leaned back against the tall file cabinet, arms crossed over my middle.

Glenn cleared his throat, and Ivy slowly moved out of Trent’s way.

“Your team is as professional as always, Morgan,” Trent said lightly. Nodding at Glenn, he turned and walked out. A buzz of conversation rose behind him from the open offices.

I exhaled, shaking. “I hate him,” I said, moving to my chair and plopping into it, making Jenks fly up. “I really do.”

A glitter of silver sparkles hit my hand an instant before Jenks did. “Did he wave money at you again?” he asked, telling me he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “I told you I’ve got this, Rache. I don’t even want you to pay me back.”

I winced. If only it were that simple.

Ivy turned from watching Trent make his way to the elevators. “How much was it?” she asked, staying where she was so the accumulated emotion of the room wouldn’t hit her as hard. Her eyes were dilated more than the electric lights warranted, but she looked okay, especially if I’d interrupted her plans this weekend and she was hungry. Glenn, I noticed, wasn’t fazed at all by her state, almost nonchalant as he moved behind his desk. Yeah, they had definitely been spending time together. His cologne smelled kind of citrusy, too.

“He tried to buy her,” Glenn said for me. “In exchange for getting the coven of moral and ethical standards off her back.”

“How did he know it was the coven?” Ivy wanted to know, and I stared at Glenn.

“How do you know what Trent wanted?” I asked him, my foot twitching.

Smiling grimly, Glenn punched a button on his phone and a light went out. “How else would I win the office pool?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Rachel, you are in deep doo-doo.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Doo-doo? Call it what it is,” Jenks smart-mouthed. “She’s so far up shit creek, she could float down with the rest of the turds.” I sighed my agreement as he settled himself on the warmth of my hand. “What does the coven want?” he asked. “They already shunned you.”

“Someone—Trent probably—told them what I was,” I said softly, depressed. Glenn already knew. He’d been there the day I’d figured it out. “They want to put me in a cage and dissect me.”

Ivy stiffened, and Jenks’s tiny features bunched up. “You’re a witch,” he said vehemently, and I felt a sense of peace at his loyalty.

“Thanks, Jenks,” I said, though I didn’t know if I believed it anymore. “Trent fed them some line about how his father made me so he can control me. Destroy me, even. They’ll let me roam free and in the wild if he takes legal responsibility for me.”

“That’s a lie,” Ivy said from the doorway. “He can’t control you. And he didn’t make you. His father simply found a way to keep you alive.”

I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Looks to me like he’s doing a damn fine job of controlling me right now.” Stupid-ass businessman. I still didn’t believe him. No one else knew what I was capable of except my friends—and Newt, on a good day. Sighing, I thought back to who’d been there the evening Trent told Minias what I was: Marshal, Ceri, and Keasley—but they wouldn’t say anything; neither would Quen, but if Quen knew, then so did Jonathan, the prick who organized Trent’s life. Lee seemed the most likely candidate for playing let’s make a deal with the coven, trading information about me to erase his own questionable dealings in black magic—if he cared to risk their finding out he was just like me. It had to be Trent.

Ivy’s expression became pensive. Having born the brunt of a master vampire’s attentions, she knew how easy it was to control someone through their emotions. She was still trapped in her own personal hell even though the lock had been broken and the door was wide open.

Behind his desk, Glenn looked unsure. “They can’t do this. Even the coven of moral and ethical standards has to work within the law. Can’t you file an appeal or something?”

At that, I smiled and Ivy slumped against the door frame. “Sure, but if I disappear, who’s to say different? Ever wonder why witches generally don’t make much trouble? We police ourselves, just like Weres and vamps. We have a long history of hiding, Glenn. The I.S. just picks up the ones who are stupid enough to be caught.” Caught committing benign crimes like theft, larceny, murder—stuff humans were conditioned to deal with. It seemed ironic that bringing in the stupid ones was what I used to do for a living.

I was totally depressed now, and Jenks rose, his dragonflylike wings clattering for attention. “Rache, we’ve done kidnap prevention before. The weather is warm enough to string pixy lines in the garden, and we’ve got Bis now. They want you alive, right?”

“To start with, yeah,” I said, not feeling any better. Ever since quitting the I.S., it seemed as if all I’d done was run. I was tired of it. But Jenks was right. We’d find a way around this. We always did.

Looking up, I met Glenn’s eyes, then Ivy’s. Taking a slow breath, I stood. “I’ll call David when I get home,” I said, dropping another bit of strawberry off me and into Glenn’s trash. “He’s great with paperwork. If you can’t overpower them, you drown them in red tape.” I managed a smile. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Die, probably,” Jenks said with a laugh as we headed out.

But the thing was, he was right.

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