Alchemy Shift

by Jenny Schwartz

  “And you’ll save me?” He wasn’t mocking her.

  “I don’t know.” Vengeance didn’t always mean saving someone. Sometimes it meant being too late. But I won’t be! She stared at him, wanting to believe that she could keep him safe. But her mom and brother were cops. She knew that loving someone wasn’t enough to save them, not always. “I’d try.”

  Surprise, then approval flickered in his eyes. “I like realism. Trying is all any of us can promise. If I recognize a trap, I’ll tell you before I rush into it.”

  She smiled wryly. “I guess that’s as good as it gets. Are you going to the Collegium to meet with Martin and Seleste, otherwise can you drop me at a station, please, because I need to go in?”

  “I’m meeting the guardians. Seleste was looking into Graham Monroe’s background. We can go to Collegium headquarters together.” He started the car. His expression turned noncommittal as he concentrated on his driving. “Will it be a problem for you, being involved with a were?”

  It was a question that suggested he’d encountered plenty of mage snobbery at the Collegium. That would have to change. Not just for Jet’s sake, who deserved respect. But because mages and weres ought to be able to work together and each contribute their strengths. That would be why the president of the Collegium had agreed to a were liaison.

  “It won’t be a problem,” Delphi said. “The people I like and respect are smart. They don’t discriminate on the basis of magic. Any idiots who do…” She blew a raspberry.

  Jet glanced at her, his expression relaxing into a grin. “Good answer. You’ll find some weres are anti-magic. They can’t see the point of it.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t believe it.

  Jet’s eyebrows flew up. Evidently, her ignorance shocked him. “Yeah. Most weres go their whole lives without knowingly dealing with a mage. There’s not so many of you or us in the general population. So avoiding one another just happens.”

  “Until now,” she said. “Now, you’re the were liaison to the Collegium.”

  “It’s a limited role. Think of it as a CIA agent working with a Russian one to prevent a nuclear terrorist incident, while most Americans and Russians continue to live their whole lives without encountering each other. It’s the same for those few of us who work for justice for weres and mages. We might cooperate a bit more, but the dynamics between our people won’t change, not fundamentally.”

  She studied his grim expression as she said, slowly, “You’re warning me that being together, we’ll encounter prejudice.”

  “Yes. And so will our children.”

  She felt something then, a surge of protectiveness and power, and it wasn’t all hers. Was it the mate bond he’d mentioned earlier? She resisted the temptation to analyze it, for now. Instead, she blew a second, louder raspberry. “And that’s my final comment on bigots. They have no say in how we live our life together.”

  There was no mistaking the rush of love and pride that filled her heart. She gasped. She was feeling Jet’s emotions and they were intense. “Is that the mate bond?”

  “What do you feel?” He watched the traffic but shot a quick glance at her.

  “Love.”

  He smiled. “Yes, that’s the mate bond. I can feel your love like a fire, blazing in warning, crackling in defense, and now, settling into a steady glow.”

  “Yours is like a rib-cracking hug.”

  He laughed. “That’s how I feel. I want to wrap you up in me.”

  “This bond…” She had to clear her throat. “It’s going to add something to love-making.”

  Jet didn’t answer with words, but a hot, sweet anticipation flooded her soul.

  “Oh yeah,” she sighed. “It’s going to be good.”

  Chapter 7

  Jet listened as Seleste ran through the information she’d found on Graham Monroe. Some of it Jet had already found out for himself—or his contact on the NYPD had. Perez had been busy and had shared the results with Jet in an encrypted email. Weres mightn’t have magic, but some of them were top class computer geeks and the Suzerainty, the weres’ justice center, benefited from their work.

  Seleste’s voice lowered portentously. “Graham Monroe is dead.” She waited for a response from Jet.

  She’d have to keep waiting. This wasn’t news. He leaned back in his chair. “Forty years ago.” He wasn’t in the mood to play games, especially games of one-upmanship. Or perhaps this wasn’t that. Perhaps Seleste merely wanted to prove that she and Martin, despite their track record so far, could contribute to the investigation. Still, Jet wanted this meeting over. “The real Graham Monroe died as a baby forty years ago. The man calling himself Graham Monroe appeared on the scene twenty two years ago, when he was—or claimed to be—eighteen. That man, our Graham Monroe, should be trackable.”

  Seleste’s mouth puckered as if sucking a lemon. “How did you know?”

  “An email from a police contact this morning,” Jet said briefly. “Graham Monroe spent nearly half his life as a small-time arts dealer. Did he ever blip on the Collegium’s radar?”

  “No,” Seleste said.

  Martin shuffled through some papers, head bent, studying notes scrawled on the edges of the printouts. “Art dealer is a useful career title for someone trading in magical objects. If he kept the trade small and discreet, he could have avoided capturing our attention, and since he went to jail rather than attempting to use his magic to evade mundane justice, he must have a significant reason for wanting to avoid the Collegium’s attention.”

  “Graham went to jail for aggravated assault. He was caught robbing a dead woman’s house.” Seleste’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He stabbed the security guard who found him rifling through the woman’s library.”

  “Library?” Jet asked alertly. Perez hadn’t mentioned a library.

  “I read the court record. The security guard, Vlad Ratasky—” She stopped at Jet’s grunt of surprise. “You recognize the name?”

  “I do. The Rataskys are Belarusian bear-weres. If Vlad is one of the family, that would be how he came to walk in on Graham mid-robbery. Graham would have been relying on magic to hide his presence, but depending on the magic Graham used, say an illusion, as a were, Vlad Ratasky would have seen right through it.” Jet stood and paced the three steps the small room allowed him. He felt hemmed in. “With magic failing him, Graham must have panicked and lashed out with—”

  “A letter opener,” Seleste supplied.

  “But even wounded, the security guard hung onto Graham. The police came, Graham was arrested and sent down.” Jet gripped the back of his chair. “Who was the dead woman? Could she have had a collection of banned magic books?”

  “Anything’s possible in this case,” Martin said. “Her name didn’t ring any bells, but we’ll look into it. Family lines sometimes give up secrets. That’s why this Graham operating under a fake name baffles us. He’s hidden his heritage.”

  “And that is interesting,” Seleste said. She turned a page in her notebook. “However, we have found Ian Lewis’s location.”

  Jet dropped into his chair and leaned forward. “Go on.” He listened and schooled his face to inscrutability. The address Seleste had could conceivably overlook Central Park, which would support Delphi’s prophecy.

  Her prophesying ability was beyond his ken, but then, he expected he’d find a lot of her magic new to him. He’d certainly never anticipated falling in love with a woman who could casually mention that she might hold King Arthur’s legendary sword, Excalibur.

  In the minute his thoughts wandered, Seleste continued, her tone holding a degree of pride in her accomplishment. “I used a locator spell to find Ian Lewis. His criminal record provided a photograph. There was resistance, but I broke through it.”

  Jet stared at Seleste, dumbfounded. His knowledge of magic was minimal, but her recklessness was obvious. Anger vibrated in him, straining on its leash. “This resistance you ‘broke’, would that be a spell Graham Monroe cast to prevent anyone
locating Ian?”

  Seleste eyed him warily. “Probably.”

  “So, you’ve warned Graham that someone with magic is after him?”

  She folded her hands together on the edge of the table. “I didn’t use the locator spell to find Graham Monroe.”

  “Just his only known off-sider. The only person whom we know has a link to him.” Jet stood. “You’re telling me that you felt resistance, but you kept going because why the hell not warn Graham that someone with magic is interested in Ian Lewis whose only known link to magic is Graham, himself?”

  “Perhaps we’ve lost the element of surprise.” Martin tried to smooth the waters, while Seleste glared defensively at Jet.

  “Perhaps?” If this was how these idiots worked, surrendering key elements of a successful hunt to their prey, then Jet was bone-deep committed to not giving them a hint of Delphi’s prophecies. They’d likely screw that up, too, and potentially fixate on using her talent, the one she wanted to hide.

  His mate had his first loyalty and his protection, especially from the idiots she worked with, so he didn’t mention that it was likely Graham Monroe and his death magic books were with Ian Lewis at this Central Park location, nor that they would burn.

  “We need covert surveillance on Ian Lewis’s location.” Jet forced his tone to sound calm. As were liaison it wasn’t only Delphi who’d have to work with these idiots in the future. He needed to build goodwill, not destroy it.

  Despite his calm tone, Seleste and Martin both looked wary. Obviously, his patience sounded forced.

  It was the best he could manage right now. “I have some were operatives who can share the surveillance. Eight hour shifts. Since magic doesn’t directly affect us weres, they’ll be able to see through glamours and illusions. However, substantial magic will require mages to identify and potentially counter it.”

  Martin ducked his head, pugnacious, like a fighter squaring up to an opponent. However, his next words revealed that the opponent wasn’t Jet. “Kora has agreed we’re to have additional people as required. We’re reporting to her daily.” In other words, the commander of the guardians had chewed out Martin and Seleste yesterday and would now be taking a close interest in the case.

  That worked for Jet, as long as he could keep anyone from guessing Delphi’s prophetic role. Fortunately, her description of her visions was vague enough that he didn’t feel compelled to share a warning of direct danger with the guardians.

  They worked out the surveillance schedule on Ian Lewis and protocol for handover, then parted.

  Jet had the budget to employ three weres, trained in surveillance and more deadly skills, to watch Ian Lewis’s address, which left him free to pursue other lines of inquiry. He caught up with Perez as the man was going off-shift.

  The police sergeant yawned. “Coffee.”

  “You need sleep.”

  Perez shook his head despite the dark circles under his eyes. Tall and rangy, the jaguar-were indicated a diner with a jerk of his head. They slid into a booth that offered them a degree of privacy and kept their voices low. “We’ve identified the boy who was killed and flayed. Anton Hopell. Father unknown. Mother, deceased.” A quick, sympathetic glance at Jet. “His mom was a drug addict. She died of an overdose. The kid vanished. Slipped through the cracks in the system.”

  And no one had looked too hard to find the boy.

  “How old?” Jet asked.

  “Eleven.”

  Too damn young to be on his own. Too damn young to die.

  Jet swore under his breath. Their food, enchiladas, arrived. Jet took a couple of minutes to get his emotional response under control. Anton Hopell could have been his cousins Tony and Grace.

  “Child victims are the worst,” Perez said around his food. “You can’t stop. You can’t sleep knowing the monster who did that is still out there.” He stared at Jet. “What do you have?”

  Jet told him about Ian Lewis’s possible location and the surveillance arrangements. “I’ll let you know what we find.”

  “Tonight,” Perez said. “Sooner if you get visual confirmation that Ian Lewis or Graham Monroe are there.”

  Jet nodded, accepting that progress on the case was more important to the cop—to both of them—than sleep.

  Perez wiped his fingers and swallowed the last of his coffee. He was ready to head out.

  “Wait.” Jet considered the remnants of his own meal. “Couple of things.” Seleste, Martin and the other Collegium guardians weren’t the only ones he needed to build solid ties with. Perez and he would be working together again given Jet’s new base in New York and his role as were liaison to the Collegium. “First one’s personal and I’m only telling you because Captain Cosmatos is your boss. Her daughter’s my mate. Bond’s new, but it’s not going to break.”

  Perez sniffed, then shook his head. “Man, I must be tired. Yeah. I can smell the woman. Don’t think I’ve ever met her. Dianne?”

  “Delphi, and she’s a mage. Works for the Collegium.”

  “Well, damn. The captain’s got magic?” Perez focused on what mattered to him.

  “Not enough to mention, according to Delphi.”

  Perez shook his head and grinned. “Congrats, man. Mate bond, huh.”

  “I’m telling you because you need to know my loyalties have gotten complicated. Delphi’s family—”

  Across the table, Perez started laughing. “The Cosmatos Clan. Complicated is one word for it. But they’re good people. Tight. It won’t be just you and those kids you took in. The Cosmatoses will all have your back.”

  It was something Jet would have to adjust to. He was used to being alone, acting alone. The mate bond meant that had changed, irrevocably. Never mind Delphi’s family. She, herself, had prophesied avenging him.

  The relaxed, proud moment of telling Perez he’d found his mate, vanished. “Second thing I’m telling you, you won’t like. But I’m not a cop.”

  “I hate confessions that start with ‘I’m not a cop’.” Perez leaned back. “Hit me with it.”

  “I’m seeing Ralph next.”

  In New York—hell, in all the world—there could only be one Ralph when a were mentioned the name.

  Perez bit off a curse. “Jet, have you thought—” He paused. Swore.

  “Yeah.” Jet understood. “It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? I’m working with the good guys, but the bad guys have their own networks. Ralph will have heard rumors. He can put the word out for answers.”

  “He’s a killer,” Perez said.

  Jet looked him in the eye. “Aren’t we all?”

  Delphi stared at the sword lying on the floor in front of her. She sat cross-legged with her back to her office door. All of her wards were up, meaning that none of her colleagues would be affected by or able to sense the magic she did. She’d run through the standard enchanted objects tests and Excalibur—if it was Excalibur—had again shown no magic. Yet, when she held it in the presence of evil, the sword glowed.

  The evil in this case was a poppet doll seized from a minor witch from Delaware two years ago. The poppet was an expendable evil object, which was why Milbourne had reluctantly handed it over from his stash of such objects in the evidence bunker.

  Delphi picked up Excalibur and it began glowing faintly. She nudged the poppet with the sword’s tip and the glow of the sword neither intensified nor faded. Delphi pushed a little of her magic into the sword in case Excalibur needed a kick-start. Still nothing.

  In her prophecies she’d seen herself as an angel with a flaming sword. She didn’t want to avenge Jet, she wanted to save him, so she needed to get a handle either on this sword, Excalibur, or work out what else her prophecy could mean.

  And there she went, distracting herself again!

  When you held a sword, you ought to be focused, especially when the sword seemed enchanted by an elusive magic. She lowered the sword and felt the faintest tug of resistance. Excitement quickened her heartbeat. She closed her eyes against the distraction of
the sword’s glow and concentrated on the weight of the sword as she held it out and swept it in a small arc.

  The sword distinctly tugged in the direction of the poppet.

  Could Excalibur not only glow in the presence of evil, but hunt it?

  “Calm down,” Delphi whispered. It could be her own wishful thinking. However, if the sword sensed evil she might be able to track down the death magic mage for Jet.

  A sword as a dowsing rod for evil. It was possible.

  She opened her eyes. The sword still glowed. She went to scramble up, intent on testing the sword by going on a hunt for evil in the office—her colleagues having shown yesterday that they had the oddest collection of minor evils stored casually on the floor—but her training kicked in. She was an alchemist. Testing objects meant following protocols that kept everyone safe, and one of the key protocols was to complete each test and record the results before moving on.

  She was seated on the floor of her well-warded office to test if Excalibur could destroy the poppet and what happened when it did. She needed to complete the test.

  Nudging the poppet with the sword hadn’t activated any magic—or had it? Had the nudge locked Excalibur onto the evil of the poppet, hence the resistance she’d felt? The sword now knew the evil of the poppet and could find it again.

  Putting down the sword, she hastily scribbled her thoughts in a notebook, then picked up the sword and knelt up to reach the required angle. Then she stabbed the poppet with the sword.

  Excalibur ceased glowing.

  Delphi didn’t sense any other change within the office. She slid the poppet off the blade, released Excalibur, and checked the poppet. It no longer held even a whiff of magic. It was simply the remains of a poorly stitched rag doll.

  She noted the absence of magic, picked up the sword with her left, non-writing hand, and wasn’t surprised when the sword refused to glow. The evil had been vanquished. She wrote that down, too, before getting up and tossing the remnants of the poppet into a basket for safe incineration. Then the sword and she went for a walk.