Black Magic Sanction (6 page)

My shoulders tensed and I forced my jaw to not clench. Nick had been a rat when I met him. A real rat, with whiskers and a tail, transformed with witch magic by a peeved vampire who'd caught Nick stealing from him. I couldn't say much about that, though, since I'd been a mink at the time, thrown into Cincinnati's illegal rat fights for having been caught trying to pilfer evidence of illegal bio-drug activity from beloved city son Trent Kalamack.

Nick and I had helped each other escape, which might sound romantic but should have been a warning. He turned out to be a real gem when all was said and done, selling information about me to demons to help his career as a thief. A not very lucrative but nevertheless busy one, according to the file Glenn had on him. The FIB detective was still trying to track him down, not believing that he'd died going off the Mackinac Bridge last summer. The case had gone cold if the dust was any indication—but the file was still out.

I took a deep breath to wash the reminder of Nick away, and the faint scent of vampire tickled my nose. "Huh," I whispered and, sniffing, I made a circuit of the cluttered office, ending at Glenn's short, fashionable coat hung up on a wooden hanger behind the door. Eyebrows raised, I fingered the supple leather. Had Glenn been investigating something that put him in contact with vampires? He knew how risky that was. Why hadn't he come to us? He knew I needed the work.

Curious, I brought the sleeve to my nose to get a better sniff. I loved leather, and it was a nice coat, cut to show off the man's small waist and wide shoulders. I pulled the air deep into me to find under the expected smell of masculine aftershave a mellow tang of honey and hot metal. Deeper was a familiar scent of vampiric incense. A
very
familiar scent.
Ivy?

Blinking, I dropped the coat's sleeve as footsteps approached in the hall.
Why does Glenn s coat smell like Ivy?

Glenn strode into his office, almost shoving me into the wall when he pushed the door open. He slowed, making a surprised sound when he found my chair empty, then started when he found me behind him, pressed into the wall. His brown eyes were wide, and I blinked at the tall, clean-shaven man. "What are you doing behind my door?" he asked, planting his feet. There was a red file under his arm and a ceramic mug with rainbows on it in his hand.

I gave myself a mental shake to get the thoughts moving. "Uh, admiring your coat," I said, giving the brown leather a last touch. I wanted to sit down, but he was standing next to my chair. "I, uh, like the no-hair thing."

"Thanks," he said suspiciously as he moved his compact frame behind his desk. When we'd first met, he had short hair and a goatee, but this smooth-shaven nothing was nice. The coffee went on the corner nearest me, and the file was dropped beside the keyboard. He saw me eye the clutter, and I think he blushed through his dark, beautifully mahogany complexion.

I went to ask him about Ivy, then reconsidered. He and Ivy? No way. Though if they were, they'd look great together. His height was just a shade more than hers, and with his trendy clothes and attention to detail, he could play the part of a living vampire's boyfriend without missing a beat. Glenn was ex-military and worked at keeping his trim look. Right now, he'd gone no hair, and it made his stud earring stand out all the more, the glint giving him a hint of bad boy. The story he gave his dad was that he'd gotten it pierced so he could blend into the darker elements of Cincinnati, but I think he liked the small bit of bling.

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."