by Jen Kirchner
“Just like that?” I asked. “You’re just going to have it there?”
“Of course. It’s my job.”
Amazing. Where had he been all our careers?
Agent Ganning turned her attention back to me. The serious look on her face sent my stomach plummeting back to my feet.
“Kari, FBI agents will be onsite, and we can offer you protection. However, we’re worried that if you have new bodyguards following you, it will scare off your stalker. We want you to be protected, but we also want to create a situation that will allow them to feel comfortable.” She raised her eyebrows at me, as if I was supposed to follow her meaning.
I didn’t.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked.
“We need your personal security detail to sit this one out.”
My what? It took me a few seconds, but then I got it.
Mikelis. He’d rescued me from a burning building three months ago, and everyone had seen him escort me. We’d told everyone that he was my bodyguard.
Agent Ganning frowned. “A necromancer bodyguard will scare off our killer. We’re going to have undercover agents stationed on-site, but we’ll need your personal bodyguard to sit this one out.”
In the excitement, I’d forgotten about the part that Mikelis would play in all of this. For the first time today, I was actually scared—not because I needed to protect myself from the killer, but because I needed to protect the killer from Mikelis.
Asking Mikelis to sit this one out was going to be difficult, but we needed to let the authorities handle it.
“So who will protect me if—”
Johnnie cut me off with a wave of his hand. A knowing smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Other security has already been arranged.”
Uh oh. “Who?”
He gazed back at me, and the smile on his lips widened. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Johnnie was excited. Somehow that didn’t make me feel better about this.
“When was the last time you spoke with your lawyer?” he asked.
Uh oh. I trusted Marcus with my life—literally. He had full legal custodianship. We’d become so comfortable with each other that he rarely even consulted me anymore.
As far as the public knew, Marcus was my long-time lawyer and financial planner, and had sometimes helped manage the band since our previous manager often left us without support. Brad and I were two of his bigger human clients. Saying I was having difficulty reaching him right now would raise a few eyebrows.
The truth was that I let Marcus make decisions for me because I didn’t like to handle a lot of details. While this had never bothered me in the past, it did now.
Unfortunately, we hadn’t spoken since before I went on tour. Right now, he was busy defending my case against the Immortal State. And if that didn’t make him hard to reach, the phone taps did. Hopefully he had his hands full with my trial and hadn’t gone off and done something crazy without telling me.
But I didn’t have a good feeling about that.
“I haven’t talked to Marcus in months,” I said. I tried throwing in a casual shrug, as if there was nothing odd about it. “I’ve been really busy with the tour.”
“I see.” Johnnie paused and looked at each of us before returning his focus to me. His smile widened. “Your dating contract with Cody Springer has been renewed for another six months.”
“Six months?” My shriek was so loud it could probably be heard from Mars.
“Whoa,” Ryan murmured. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
“I’ve seen the contract, and it’s amazing,” Johnnie said. “You should thank your lucky stars. You’re getting a salary, plus an allowance for clothing, and, since he’s out of the country, you get to use his jet whenever you want.”
“The jet’s cool,” Ryan said.
I glared at Ryan. “You’re not helping.”
Johnnie waved us off. “Cody and his public relations team are hell-bent on making you two look like the real deal. Cody’s career is built on his desirability, which has taken a hit. You know the story. Three months ago, you were on a date with Cody in Manhattan, in his penthouse, doing—”
Before he filled in the blank, I shot him a warning look.
He cleared his throat and continued. “—whatever you were doing. Yet, when the building went up in flames, Cody and his bodyguard came out alone, a full hour before you emerged from the building in the arms of your own security detail—who happens to be a necromancer that the Immortal State refuses to answer questions about.”
“Mikelis is a badass,” Nicolas said.
“Once again,” I said, “not helping.”
“At any rate,” Johnnie said, “the public thinks Cody puts his own needs before yours, and he’s getting a lot of flak about it. He needs to turn it around by sending his personal best to watch you in Vegas. If something happens, his people know to take care of it discreetly. Marcus agreed to exclusive employment of Cody’s security detail. It’s nonnegotiable, and the FBI has agreed to work with them.”
Both agents confirmed the plan with brisk nods.
Ryan snorted. “Cody’s trying to save face.”
I hated everything about this conversation. Mostly, I hated that this had all been done without my consent.
“No,” I spat. “I’ll agree to have Mikelis stay home, but I don’t want to deal with Cody.”
Johnnie rose from his seat. His eyes narrowed into angry slits, and he jabbed a long finger in my direction. “You listen to me. This band is ten years old and struggling to get back into the public eye. Your contract with Cody Springer is the only reason I offered to manage you. You currently have nothing else exciting to offer the public. If you want people to care about the band again, this is the only way. If you say goodbye to Cody, you say goodbye to my management, too.”
No one spoke. We were too shocked.
Johnnie turned to the agents and extended his hand. “Thank you for your time, Agent Ganning, Agent Aponte. We will see you shortly in Las Vegas.”
The agents looked amused and stood to shake Johnnie’s hand. Without so much as another look at us, Johnnie escorted them out.
The front door slammed shut. Johnnie didn’t come back.
Chapter Twelve
The woods behind my house were quiet, save for the occasional sounds of birds chirping at one another and squirrels chasing each other around tree trunks. Death Radar was clear. The air was pleasant, cool, and smelled of fir and moss. The untamed brush kept poking my butt crack.
Ryan was shaking his head at me. Nicolas ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a heavy breath. I’d just finished telling them about the night I’d had.
“I didn’t even know the Immortal State had an Intelligence division,” Ryan whispered.
“I’m a little surprised they’re involved, too,” I whispered back. “Now that they are, I need an access spell more than ever, but there’s no telling when Marcus will get back.”
“Brad is going to be so pissed,” Nicolas whispered.
I wasn’t exactly happy about it, either. I was disconnected from my entire family, including, for the first time, Brad. At least I had Mikelis for support.
A familiar voice broke into our covert huddle. “Pissed about what?”
We whirled around. I dropped the remote. An unshaven and disheveled Brad stepped out from around a tree trunk. I hated being snuck up on, but Death Radar couldn’t track the living.
I gave him a once-over. He was wearing sweatpants and an old University of Rochester T-shirt. A Sabres cap was pulled down low over his face and a pair of aviator sunglasses reflected our startled expressions back at us.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
“I wanted to know what happened at the band meeting, since I couldn’t attend. Also”—he gestured at the duffle bag hoisted over his shoulder—“I need your washing machine.” He paused. “And I obviously need a new secret offensive
spell.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Were you followed?” Ryan asked.
Brad shook his head. “No. I parked a few blocks out and walked through the woods.” He paused. “What are you all doing back here?”
Obviously, we’d done the same thing because we didn’t want to be followed, either.
Nicolas picked up the discarded gate remote. “I’m giving Kari a new access spell.”
“Explain.”
I summed up the last twelve hours as best I could without giving Brad motive to yell and alert everyone in the neighborhood that we were hiding in the bushes. When I was done, Brad scrubbed a hand across his stubble and nodded at Nicolas.
“Can you do it?”
Nicolas’s chin lifted just enough to indicate offense. “Yeah.” He paused. “I just always forget how big Kari’s property is.”
I turned around and gazed at the house through the towering wrought iron fence. It wasn’t that big; two stories and a basement, barely wider than it was tall. The front yard was a steep, grassy slope, about thirty feet to the street, that curved around the street corner. The backyard was smaller and butted up against trees and a couple of trails. What I had wasn’t extravagant by any means, but it was paid for.
“It’s not huge,” I said, “but I guess the yard makes it bigger.”
Ryan smiled and slung a friendly arm around Nicolas’s shoulders. “I get it. Magic’s hard. Does it hurt your head?”
“Ryan, I’m going to break your arm off.”
“You wish, Toothpick,” Ryan said, but he removed his arm anyway.
Nicolas faced the house. “Just remember that I’m not Marcus, I haven’t honed my second-channel skills for two thousand years. Access spells are tough. Every time my wife gets pregnant and I have to add a new kid to the access spell…” He shook his head. “If we have any more kids, I might have an aneurysm.”
“Aren’t three kids enough anyway?” Brad asked.
I’d met Nicolas’s kids. I would have stopped after one.
I grabbed the remote back. “Just put up the basic spell, and I’ll add the fingerprints.”
But not now. When it was dark, I’d come back out and do it.
“I can do it,” Nicolas snapped, though he didn’t stop me from taking back the remote.
I dropped the remote into my purse. I’d add it manually later. “I’m grateful for whatever you can give me.”
He took a large step back, probably so he could take it all in visually. “Okay, everyone stand still.”
We obeyed, poised like statues in front of the gate. A blue spell string flickered into existence above his head, the twisting, tangled script being written into existence as Nicolas cast his spell. Once the string was complete, the script began to stretch around the property. The more it stretched, the more it thinned, and it began to flicker in and out of view. The energy coming from the string hiccupped halfway around; it held in place for a split second, then winked out.
Brad and Ryan couldn’t see what had just happened, and I didn’t want to give Nicolas performance anxiety, so I looked away and pretended I didn’t notice.
He tried again. I could feel the energy of his spell swell against my skin, struggle, then pop, like a frail soap bubble obliterated by a slight breeze.
Ryan leaned over and tried whispering, but his idea of a low voice was a deep, throaty growl. “Is something happening? Why is this so hard for Nicolas and not your lawyer?”
I didn’t have to turn around. I knew Nicolas had heard, and his ego was probably fuming.
I whispered my answer. “It’s the positioning on The Floor. It’s harder to access the powers that are farther out. It takes time and practice and willpower, so most second-channel spells can only be cast by people sixty years old and up. Second-channel magic really is hard. A botched spell can result in brain damage.”
“That explains a lot about Nicolas.”
“And it’s even harder when you keep talking,” Nicolas snapped, “so shut up and stand still.”
In this case, the eighth time was the charm.
Once we got down to the lab, Brad grabbed the box of lollipops out of the drawer. The guys took up seats around the table. They likened my magic time to a creepy show-and-tell.
I opened the panic room door. The knives were suspiciously silent.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Stubby’s mental voice prickled my brain.
Plotting.
I actually believed that. Luckily, the knives have no arms or legs to carry out their deranged plans, so their evil machinations would go nowhere. I set Longy back into its proper place in the molded foam of the knife case, then grabbed the rolled-up butcher paper from the drawer along with my ꜱʏᴍʙᴏʟꜱ notebook and Stubby.
Before closing the drawer, I paused. “I hope you all know that I’m using Stubby because of Longy’s behavior earlier today.”
Smoke wound around Longy’s blade.
You should have seen me in action. I was the knife of the hour!
“The knife of the hour is also the reason you aren’t getting any television today.”
I expected Stubby to shoot back an inappropriate retort, but to my surprise, it was Rambo who spoke.
Nice going, Longy.
Rambo’s words gave me pause. Was that sarcasm or sincerity? Because of the knife’s monotone, I couldn’t decide. It had to be sarcasm. I left the room and shut the door.
I dropped my equipment onto the table, minus Stubby, who I kept in my hand for safety. The knives had been acting weirdly since I got back from the tour, so I was reluctant to trust them.
The guys paused their conversation long enough for me to propose Brad’s replacement spell: water conjuration. Basically, it would create water randomly and in copious, rushing amounts. A mini-tsunami, of sorts. No one would get killed by it, though Brad would have to cast and run. Or swim.
Ryan pointed out that he’d also need good accident insurance, in case he flooded someone’s house.
My next three suggestions got similar responses and were promptly vetoed.
“I don’t have anything else to suggest,” I said, gesturing at my notebook. “The only other powers I would be willing to use for your next spell are too hard for you. They’re so deep into The Floor that you couldn’t cast them until you’re three hundred years old.”
Ryan shrugged. “So just go down to The Floor, where all the magic is, and find something closer. And less dumb.”
That was a great plan, and one that I would normally go for, except for one minor flaw.
“I can’t go to The Floor anymore,” I said.
They looked at me like I had a booger dangling from my nose.
“What are you talking about?” Brad demanded.
I set Stubby on the table and sat down. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Three months ago, I was down on The Floor and I fell on top of a necromancer power. It wouldn’t let me come back to my body until I’d transferred it into the fourth channel.” And it nearly killed me in the process.
Ryan shrugged. “That’s good, right? Now you can be a proper necromancer without killing people. You can just fall on top of some more necromancer powers and become really powerful.”
A black clot of smoke burst from Stubby’s blade.
No.
I shook my head, echoing Stubby’s sentiment. “Stubby says that the hand gestures used by normal necromancer magic are the same as the ones I use to get to The Floor and create spells. I got lucky with the power I absorbed, but next time I may not be so lucky.”
Correction: you won’t be that lucky.
I didn’t bother repeating that. The guys looked conflicted about what I was telling them. Especially Brad.
“If that happens again, it could overwrite the abilities I use to work my magic, and then I’d be a necromancer like my dad and Mikelis. A destroyer.”
“Would it really be such a bad thing if you were more like Uncle Diaco and Mikelis?” Bra
d asked.
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. I paused. “Yes.”
“Which is it?”
It was a loaded question and we both knew it. I loved my dad with all my heart and I was crazy about Mikelis, but their magic was the magic of killers. I’d never be useful or powerful, but my magic made me who I was. And I loved it. Deep down inside, I knew I’d die for it.
I didn’t want to say any of that, so I gave them a cop-out answer. “What if I get stuck on The Floor and can’t get back to my body because my abilities no longer work?”
The guys all made cringing, distasteful expressions.
“Fine,” Brad said. “You can’t absorb necromancer powers. But you can just go around them, right? Or go to places where they aren’t?”
Maybe. Necromancer powers are different from the ones that fuel the other channels. They actually move around The Floor. That’s why necromancer powers don’t have coordinates. A necromancer must transfer them into the fourth channel before they can be used. The one I tripped and fell on actually chased me around until it caught me.
But I didn’t want to geek out and explain all that when we didn’t have a lot of time. Sometimes, when I get into the nitty gritty of why magic works a certain way, their eyes roll to the backs of their heads and they go to their mental happy places.
I stared down at the map. There were a couple of places I could go where the necromancer powers probably wouldn’t go.
Brad must have sensed that I was starting to cave because he reached over and took my hand between his. His eyes were pleading. His voice was soulful. “Please, Kari. Your spell ideas are all dumb.”
Ryan snickered and grabbed another lollipop.
I grabbed Stubby and stood. “Fine.”
I probably only needed five minutes, anyway.
Brad pumped a fist into the air and stood. “While you do that, I’m going to shower.”
Nicolas was right behind him. “I need to call my wife.”
Ryan stood and stretched. “I’m going to raid your fridge.”