Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau Book 2)

by Hailey Edwards

  “Last year,” I recalled, “three people were hospitalized with food poisoning from the potato salad.”

  “I forgot about that.” She grew distracted. “Dessert is here, so I need to go. Email the to-do list, please.”

  “I’ll type it up tonight and send it over in the morning.” Throat tight, I hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll get through this,” she assured me, which ought to have been my job. “All of us.”

  “Enjoy your dessert.”

  “It won’t be as good as what you bake, but I’m sure I can find room in my stomach for it.”

  The call ended, and I dropped my head back on my neck. “I don’t deserve those girls.”

  “You’re right.” Clay slung an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure kids their age could find management positions in any shop in town. I bet the owners would listen to their suggestions and implement their ideas. I’m sure they would get paid the same and benefits would be included in the package too.”

  “Okay.” I huffed and leaned into him. “You made your point.”

  Just not the one he meant to, since it got me thinking I had subconsciously been giving the girls hazard pay for years.

  “You’re a nurturer, Rue.” He rubbed my back. “Through and through.”

  Goodness wasn’t innate to me. I started out mimicking people who behaved in the way I wanted to act. I embraced fake it ’til you make it as a template for the person I wanted to become. I still had days when I felt plain fake, but moments like this gave me hope it was more than pretend change, that I was doing it.

  The mantle of black witch felt most comfortable on my shoulders, but white magic sat easier on my soul.

  With my peculiar lineage, I could have gone either way. Light, dark. Good, evil. Kind, cruel.

  Until the director was awarded custody after my parents’ deaths. Until he brought me to his mansion on the cliffs where the Black Hat Bureau hid its compound under the waves. Until he decided a path for me.

  To be fair, he only knew one road, the blackest of the black, but he forced me to walk alongside him.

  Yes, I could have gone either way.

  And now, in embracing white magic, I had come full circle.

  4

  The drive home from the shop gave me time alone to stew over the biggest surprise of my night.

  Namely, a certain daemon body-jacking Asa to spend quality time swapping spit muffins with me.

  I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, the case, or leaving the girls alone to deal with a tsunami of repairs.

  As I stepped out, the wards surrounding my property hummed a steady drone that told me all was well. I was at the front gate, about to push through, when a black SUV pulled in behind me, Asa at the wheel.

  Our gazes collided, leaving my skin flushed and tight all over, and I gripped the gate to steady my pulse.

  He had changed in my office before we left, and that meant he was dressed to the nines.

  Lean muscle covered his frame. Hard to forget that after watching him model his underwear. No amount of tailoring could conceal his strength, but he managed to hide his powerful body better than most. Four hammered silver hoops fixed into a single earring hung from each of his ears, and a ring pierced his septum of the same material. His hair had lost its sheen thanks to the oil blend in the hand soap and the daemon’s vigorous scrubbing. It was clumped down his back, mostly dry, but tangled from its ordeal.

  His poor hair. His poor, beautiful hair. His poor, beautiful hair that was long enough to wrap around my fist…

  No.

  Bad Rue.

  This was how I kept getting myself in trouble.

  A faint smile played around his full lips as he watched my gaze rove over him, and he returned the favor.

  Muffled squealing drew my attention back to the house, where a pale face smooshed against a window.

  Faster than a bolt of white lightning, Colby shot into the yard to zoom around me.

  Seriously.

  Who knew moths got zoomies?

  With white fuzz covering her abdomen and a wispy off-white mane, she was a showstopper. Pearlescent wings blurred when she got excited, like now, and her velvety black legs kicked with excitement. Though we had agreed the uppermost set, tipped in cream, would be deemed hands despite the lack of fingers.

  “Clay.” Her antennae fluttered with delight. “You’re back.”

  “Hey, Shorty.” He grinned from ear to ear. “You miss me?”

  The ward dipped in warning, popping my ears, as Clay and Asa entered my yard.

  “Duh.” She lit on him as soon as he crossed the barrier. “All the cool stuff happens when you’re here.”

  Heart pinching at her enthusiastic greeting, I told him, “That’s a nice way of saying trouble follows you.”

  Just like a certain dae had followed me, silent and stealthy, as if he were stalking prey.

  “Hello, Colby.” Asa stood close enough for our elbows to brush. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Hi,” Colby said shyly, waving at him. “Rue made detangler for you.”

  If there was any justice in this world, I would incinerate on the spot and be pardoned from facing Asa.

  When I failed to self-immolate, despite trying my best, it proved what I already knew. There was none.

  My only saving grace was she didn’t out me for testing what I had mixed up so far on my bracelet.

  And no, it wasn’t just so I could catch a whiff of juicy green apple while he was gone. That would be sentimental and ridiculous.

  With a smile in his eyes, Asa excused himself to the bathroom. Probably to perform damage control.

  Chin held high, I launched into my totally valid excuse. “I’m starting a haircare line for the shop.”

  “That’s interesting.” Clay rubbed his jaw. “Very interesting.”

  “Don’t make me hit you.” I narrowed my eyes on him. “I don’t want to break my hand.”

  “Seriously.” He held his palms out, toward me. “I’m interested.”

  “You’re serious?” Shocked to my toes, I forgot to be embarrassed. “You would entrust your hair to me?”

  “The shampoo I use now is nothing special. I bet you could make a better version.”

  “You want me to magic extra shine into every bottle, don’t you?”

  “A spelled preservative would be nice too. Do you know how much a good wig costs these days?”

  “Actually, no.” I flashed a sugary smile at him. “I haven’t bought a wig in a few decades.”

  “Not this again.” He groaned with sincere regret. “I apologized then, and I’ll apologize now.”

  Antennae twitching, Colby asked, “What happened?”

  “I bought Clay a wig for his birthday. We had been working together for six months, and I had no idea he was such a huge snob. I picked a style I thought he would like, but it turned out to be synthetic, not real, and he looked at it like it was a giant rat I fished out of the NY sewers and suggested he wear like a hat.”

  “I wore it every day for a month,” he reminded me. “I wore it until the hair fell out of the cap.”

  That was one of the moments when I realized Clay wasn’t acting, or not just acting, when it came to me. He was more than the spy the director paired me up with to keep an eye on me. He truly was my friend.

  “Not true.” I snickered at the memory. “I rescued you when you started to resemble Friar Tuck.”

  “I still have nightmares,” he said in a haunted voice. “Life’s too short for a bad wig.”

  Legs tapping on Clay’s shoulder, Colby tilted her head. “Who’s Friar Tuck?”

  “Whippersnappers these days.” I flipped a hand at her. “They don’t know nothing about nothing.”

  “We’ll rent Robin Hood for you.” Clay patted her head. “The 1973 cartoon edition.”

  Antennae drooping at the ends, Colby scrunched up her face. “Are bad wigs less traumatic in cartoons?”

  “Much,” Clay r
eassured her. “Plus, as much as you enjoy raiding, I think you’ll like Robin.”

  “He goes on raids?” That got her antennae quivering. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  Heavily editing the tale, he skipped over the part where Robin stole from the rich to give to the poor. Far as I knew, Colby never gifted her spoils of war. She would trade, but charity? She was more of a hoarder.

  To spare him from losing his audience, I shifted gears.

  “Shine, I can do.” I thought about the required materials. “Preservative might be cost prohibitive.”

  “You’re thinking too small. Forget selling to the locals. You’ll make a killing online.”

  “You sold me on the idea.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll start researching it after this case.”

  “Case?” Colby zipped back to land on my shoulder. “We have a new case?”

  “There is definitely a new case.” I scratched her head. “I haven’t decided if—”

  “I’m in.” She pumped her tiny fists. “This is going to be awesome.”

  “Ahem.” Clay tipped his chin toward me. “You need to take that up with Rue.”

  “We’re a team,” Colby assured him. “She wouldn’t leave me behind.” She slid her gaze to me. “Again.”

  “How am I always the bad guy?” I left Benedict Arnold and entered the house. “Seriously, how?”

  “Remember when you were a kid,” Clay began, “and your parents told you no, and that made them the bad guy?”

  “Now that you mention it—” I angled toward Clay, “—no.”

  The few memories I had of my parents had been weathered by time…and magic. Unlike the tea I brewed for the girls to help them cope, the director slipped bitter potions in mine when I was a child. He wanted to erase anything that came before, anything that might hold me back from reaching my full potential.

  Years of my life were a blank slate he had written his own message on.

  The awkward lull that followed prompted Colby to make a confession.

  “I don’t remember much about my parents.” She hunkered down on Clay’s head. “Is that weird?”

  “Neither do I,” I confessed, so she wouldn’t feel as exposed in her vulnerability. Colby never talked about her family. Ever. A fact that worried me. But I didn’t share my childhood either. “I don’t trust what little I think I do.” I had too much magically induced brain trauma to be certain of its authenticity. “Pretty sure I invented my loving version of Mom and Dad based on the stories I’ve heard from others over the years.”

  “I hate that.” Sympathy etched Clay’s face. “For both of you.”

  As a golem, he had no parents. He had a creator. A long-dead one. Any bond they shared had been buried with him.

  “After I turned thirteen, I got recruited for Black Hat, and my…” I bit my cheek until a copper tang spilled into my mouth to avoid calling the director Grandfather, “…guardian wasn’t able to screw with my head anymore.”

  And…I hadn’t meant to overshare like that.

  “Thirteen?” Clay boomed with ear-ringing volume. “He turned you over at thir-fucking-teen years old?”

  Colby stared at him in awe then whipped her head toward me to see if he got in trouble.

  “No cursing,” I told them, then escaped down the hall to avoid more questions. “I need to pack.”

  Bile crept up my throat as I entered my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

  The faint knock that hit seconds after the latch clicked made me regret ever opening my big mouth. Now that I had unstoppered that bottle, I had done worse than release a genie. I had freed a wisp of my past I didn’t want to pollute my present. I had no use for pity. For better or worse, what was done was done.

  Expecting Colby, I lost my train of thought when I opened the door on Asa. “Look, if you’re here to—”

  “—borrow a comb and detangler?” His lips twitched. “I could use your help too, if you don’t mind.”

  A giddy thrill shot through me, and I had no idea why, but this olive branch was exactly what I needed to seal the past back into the airtight box, where it could suffocate for all I cared. I hated that I recalled with such perfect clarity how the director trained me, how I lived for years under his roof, but Mom and Dad, their faces, were remembered from the photos I had collected of them.

  “It’s in the workroom.” I waved him back to the third bedroom. “This is where we test new recipes for the shop.” I indicated one of the stools. “You can sit there, and I can hose you down. Unless you’d rather shower? The soap your daemon used wasn’t meant for hair, but I keep the good stuff in the bathroom.”

  “I’ll give it a day or two before I wash it,” he decided, “let my scalp replenish some of its natural oils.”

  “You’re big on haircare, huh?” I caught myself before I brushed aside a few twisted strands caught on his collar. “Do you keep yours long for any particular reason? Other than exploding ovaries, obviously.”

  “It’s tradition.” Asa sat and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m forbidden to cut it except for split ends.”

  “Wow.” I grabbed the detangler and moved behind him. “That’s strict.”

  “Traditions often are.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

  “No.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sounding too eager, and I instantly regretted aggravating the sore. A good reminder it was a habit in need of breaking. “I can’t turn down a chance to test a new product. Your hair is gorgeous, and there’s so much of it. You’re the perfect guinea pig.”

  There. Totally valid excuses. Professional even. I was proud of me.

  “Ah,” he said simply and relaxed as I began spritzing the long strands.

  “So…” I fumbled for conversation. “Fae or daemon tradition?”

  “Daemon.”

  One of the first things Asa told me about himself was that his daemon father had raped his fae mother. I hadn’t dug any further into his personal history after that explosive revelation. I had tiptoed around him, too afraid I might step on another landmine. But it puzzled me to learn he honored his daemon heritage.

  As was often the case with Asa, I couldn’t help myself. “You have a relationship with your father?”

  “Not as such.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes when I began to comb. “I’m his heir.”

  “What does that mean?” I ran my hands through his hair to my heart’s content. “Or is it rude to ask?”

  “It means my father is Orion Pollux Stavros, High King of Hael, Master of Agonae.”

  The casual namedrop left me choking on my own spit. “What?”

  A subtle tension entered his shoulders. “Does that matter to you?”

  “Um, yes?” I fumbled my comb. “I have enough problems without adding that to them.”

  “The title makes me less desirable to you?”

  “Much.” I was, sadly, almost done with his hair. The detangler worked too well. Dang it. “Sorry.”

  The tension in his shoulders eased once more, and a faint vibration moved through his chest.

  “Are you…purring?” I froze on the spot. “Daemons purr?”

  “Only when they’re happy.” I heard the smile in his voice. “And you make me happy, Rue.”

  “We’re a terrible idea.” I kept my tone light. “You know that, right?”

  “I’m aware.” He chuckled. “Clay reminds me at least once a day.”

  “He’s like a big brother.” An urge to defend him rose in me. “No brother wants his little sister to date.”

  “He loves you very much.” Asa twisted to see me better. “Do you know how rare that is for him?”

  “Clay is a social butterfly. He likes everyone. He was my partner for a long time. That builds bonds.”

  “Clay is a very old thing who has become exceptional at acting any role assigned to him by his master.”

  A cold spot opened in my chest that hadn’t chilled me
in far too long. “What are you saying?”

  “That you’re a singularity. That’s why he worries about you.” He glanced away. “And your heart.”

  For as long as I had known Clay, he had been the hand I gripped to hold my head above the waterline.

  We were friends, I knew that, trusted it, but I had never stopped to wonder if I was his only true friend.

  “He cares about you too.” I toyed with his hair. “He doesn’t give nicknames to just anyone.”

  “He likes me well enough, or he did.” He laughed softly. “Until I showed an interest in you.”

  “We’re both adults, and we’re entitled to make our own mistakes. Clay can bide his time and rub in the I told you so after we crash and burn. That ought to make him happy. Being proven right usually does.”

  “You’re sure we’ll crash and burn?”

  “Oh yeah.” I laughed at how fast the certainty hit me. “I can smell the smoke from here.”

  A thoughtful quiet settled between us as I passed him the comb.

  Ignoring it altogether, he asked instead, “Would you mind?”

  “I get to braid your hair too?” I bit my first knuckle. “I feel so special.”

  “Only three people are allowed to touch my hair. My mother, myself, and…you.”

  “Oh.” My hand fell to my side. “Um.” I tapped the comb against my thigh. “That sounds serious.”

  “I am fascinated with you.” He softened his tone. “You have been granted permissions others have not.”

  We were in a long-distance cupcake exchange. I wasn’t convinced that qualified as dating or much else. But I was glad to hear Asa’s permission kept me from being targeted by his father.

  A bitterness flavored his voice that worried me. “Others have tried?”

  “They have, and Father punished them.” He ground his molars. “He’s always aware of infractions.”

  “Probably spying on you.” The way the director, apparently, had been spying on me. “That sucks.”

  “It does.”

  “Dare I ask what’s the cost?”