Frosty Relations

by Tara Quan

  “What are you, my therapist? I can’t have sex without skin contact, which triggers my one useless power. Trust me, nothing sours the mood like sensing a man’s emotions when you’re locking lips.”

  “A guy should be thinking positive and yummy things at that particular moment. If he isn’t, he’s the one with the problem.”

  She’d managed to handle the physical side of her relationship with Michael because he’d never cared much about anything. When it came to sex, the overwhelming reaction she’d detected was indifference. “I guess there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Yes. You have shit taste in men—or, well, man.”

  “What is this? Interrogate Mina Day?”

  “Nope. It’s Slap-Some-Sense-into-Mina Day. For an empath with a psych degree, you’ve got some serious self-esteem issues. Just because the first guy you dated was a borderline sociopath doesn’t mean you’re doomed for all eternity.”

  Sweets had a point. Since Mina suspected the woman to be a powerful, albeit closeted, foreseer, she gave today’s advice significant weight. “Okay. Enough. I already said I’m seeing the night through, barring unforeseen circumstances. I packed condoms and everything.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, her friend eyed the combs, which had wrangled Mina’s hair into an intricate French braid and coiled the tail to form a chignon at the back of her head. “I have to say, this kit’s a bit old school, but it has good taste. You’re going to knock your date off his feet.”

  ***

  Chicks never showed up on time. Perhaps punctuality was a trait unique to the Y chromosome, or maybe some girly magazine once advocated tardiness as a type of power play. Either way, Jack could never count on a woman’s arrival without going through the trouble of dragging her there.

  Back in his freshmen year of college, he’d decided only losers waited for dates to show up. He made a point to avoid such a disadvantageous first impression—even if it meant spying on a hotel entrance through a pair of binoculars while still ensconced in his Lamborghini convertible. Though it looked weird next to the piles of dirty snow on the sidewalk, he’d put the top down. The cold affected him in a peculiar fashion. Instead of slowing him down and causing discomfort, lowered temperatures pumped him full of energy and lifted his spirits.

  If he’d had more notice, he would’ve hired some schmuck to stand outside with a video camera so he could watch his date’s progress from the comfort of his hotel room. But Madame Eve hadn’t given him the courtesy of advance warning. For some reason, when he’d called his trusty private eye earlier this afternoon to request his services, the man had burst out laughing and hung up—another item to add to his growing list of why holidays were evil. Christmas messed with people’s heads.

  He could, he supposed, wait inside the hotel like every other idiot, for once, but the consequences could be dire. What if this woman turned out ugly—or even worse—ditzy? Seated inside, extrication would be a huge pain in the ass. If she didn’t take the hint, as women with limited intelligence tended to do, he’d have to resort to acting offensive and rude. While he had no moral objection to being a dick, coming up with insulting verbiage took more effort than one might think.

  Whoever came up with the whole “don’t judge a book by its cover” saying lived in La-La Land. He could learn a great deal about his potential date based on her appearance. For one, at tonight’s below-freezing temperature, it’d take a certain level of stupidity to show up with no leg or head coverage. Considering the sheet of slippery ice on the sidewalks, the woman had better be wearing sensible shoes, preferably with Louboutins stashed in her Chloë purse.

  And then, of course, the hotness factor came into play. He wouldn’t bother getting out of his car if she didn’t score at least a six out of ten while wearing a coat. Because of his preference for winter activities and vacation spots, one of his many pet peeves was skimping on outerwear. Taking couple shots and posting them on Facebook numbered among the top reasons why most people even bothered dating, and frumpy clothing made for crappy photos.

  Besides, this activity distracted him from the weird edginess that had plagued him all afternoon. He couldn’t fathom what caused it. It felt as if insects crawled under his skin, and his mood shifted without warning between annoyance, irritation, and nausea-inducing despair. His knuckles itched, his hands tensed for no reason, and his face turned warm at random intervals. He didn’t know why, but googling Teach for America and finding out they had a Washington, D.C. corps managed to silence the roaring in his ears, but he’d still been overwhelmed by the urge to pace.

  And he never paced. He couldn’t understand the point of marching back and forth like a caged lion while glancing at the phone every two minutes. He’d no idea whose call he waited for, or whose number his index finger twitched to dial, but he refused to surrender to the medley of emotions tying his stomach into knots. His shoulders had gotten all achy, his neck muscles stiffer than usual. Since all masseuses in the city had decided to take today and tomorrow off for no good reason, he’d been grateful to have this one-night stand as a distraction.

  A piece of white paper flitted into his line of vision, landing on his lap. Scowling, he put down his binoculars and yelled after the middle-aged woman who’d apparently just pulled up in an old-model Prius. “You’re giving me a ticket? It’s Christmas Eve.”

  She turned to face him and pointed at a sign two cars down.

  Frowning, he squinted at the fine print. As luck would have it, it happened to be the third Wednesday of the month between 6:00 and 9:00 p.m. Damn the city’s messed up parking rules. “But I’m in the car.”

  “It says no stopping, not no parking. You’re in front of the Canadian Embassy. Please move your vehicle.”

  Located off the National Mall and around the corner from the Archives Metro Station, the Castillo Capital had a great view of the Smithsonian Cathedral and happened to be adjacent to a number of diplomatic missions. “Give me a break. Where am I supposed to go?”

  “The hotel has parking.”

  Reaching over the door, he pointed at the less-than-four-inch clearance between his car and the road. “The angle into the underground lot is too steep. I’ll scrape the car. And they won’t let me park by the entrance unless I give up my keys. You know valets can’t be trusted.”

  Her nostrils flared. She closed her eyes for two seconds before responding, “There are spots around the corner.”

  “Those creepy alleys?” D.C.’s relatively recent gentrification meant very few feet separated shady and posh neighborhoods. “Do you want me to get mugged?”

  “Not my problem.” She squinted, pressed a few buttons on her handheld machine, which spat out another ticket. Walking over, she dangled it in front of his face. “Your tags are expired.”

  Snatching it, he pressed the ignition button and peeled out. As he rounded the block and headed toward the National Archives, a sudden psychic tug drew his attention. Even though Mina had never officially signed on as his familiar, he could always sense when she came near. A comforting warmth curled in his gut, the air currents altering in a way he could never describe in words. He hadn’t given the phenomenon much thought. Trying to explain awesome things took the mystery out of life.

  His rendezvous forgotten, he continued forward until he spotted a feminine silhouette in the distance. He couldn’t see much, but his magic, sensing an outlet, zeroed in with laser-like precision. He leashed the current of power, parallel parked, and shut off the headlights. It’d be damn fun to jump onto the sidewalk and yell boo.

  Grabbing his handy-dandy binoculars, he zoomed in on Mina. She’d just exited the Metro Station. Wearing heelless black boots, she drowned in an oversized, shapeless maroon coat that reached halfway down her calves. Adding to the fashion disaster was a faux-fur-lined hood that reminded him of the obscuring cowl in the video game Assassin’s Creed. Hands shoved in the pockets, she marched forward, not looking left, right, or back. Her breath created a white mist in the cold air, h
er nose and cheeks an adorable red.

  He frowned as he watched three Asian men follow her out of the station and onto the sidewalk. The one hanging farthest back wore a knee-length wool coat and sported a black dragon tattoo that covered his neck and half his face. In front of him marched a tall, skinny dude wearing a leather jacket, his ears and nose serving as a walking spiky-jewelry advertisement. The muscled-up guy closest to her appeared normal enough. Short and beefy, he wore a nondescript Old Navy hoodie and baggy jeans.

  Smart girl that she was, she must have sensed something fishy about the Chinatown crew as well. She hastened her footsteps, which might not be the best of ideas since she was heading into a darker section of the street. Drawing her shoulders forward, she cast a furtive glance at her pursuers.

  The men closed in until two of them bracketed her on the left and right. She broke into a run. Dumping the binoculars, Jack jumped over the car door and sprinted toward her. His heart choked in his throat as the bodybuilder dude grabbed her by the head and pulled her kicking body into a dark alley.

  Fear coiled and froze into cold rage. One scratch on her and he’d bury the city in ice, if that’s what it took to make them pay.

  Chapter Four

  Her scream muffled by a ham-fisted hand, Mina’s stomach lurched at the foul odor of stale cigarette smoke, sweat, and cheap whiskey. Eyes watering, she stomped her heel on her assailant’s foot and jabbed her elbow into his stomach.

  The beefy man grunted. “Biao zi.” His hold loosened enough for her to fill her lungs. Capitalizing on the element of surprise, she grabbed the Taser in her coat pocket, twisted her torso, and stabbed it into his upper arm. With a choking sound, the thick-necked peon crumpled to the ground.

  “Biao zi yang de,” she muttered under her breath. Served him right for calling her a bitch.

  Turning to face his fellow gangster wannabes, she considered her options. The Council frowned on public use of magic, but her weapon had dispelled its single charge. Each man was twice her size. Face-to-face, she doubted her self-defense classes would do much good. Deciding to bide her time, she tried to channel a scared damsel in distress and failed. “What do you idiots want?”

  Because of her height, men tended to underestimate her. Until this moment, she’d never considered it an advantage. With a leer, nose-ring dude lurched forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. Since her strongest ability required touch, she let him shove her against the side of a building. Thank goodness the hood separated her hair from the dirty brick. Her attacker hadn’t worn gloves, which simplified matters.

  “Don’t be stupid, mei-mei.” His rotten breath brought tears to her eyes, the stench triggering a gag reflex. His grin widened, displaying a shiny golden tooth. “Keep fighting, and I’ll hurt you worse.”

  She rolled her eyes. The guy couldn’t be older than twenty. “Little sister, my ass. If you have a beef with Tony, go after him. Trust me, anything I’ve got that’s worth more than a hundred bucks, he’s already stolen.” She’d known this day was coming, ever since her brother broke into her apartment and grabbed anything he could sell. It was why she carried around a Taser.

  Her captor’s grip tightened. If he kept going down this route, she’d be tempted to get nasty. “Your Ta-ge took our product on credit and skipped town. Now your family owes us ten grand.”

  Leave it to her drug-addict big brother to do something this stupid on Christmas Eve. “Do you really think I have that kind of money?” she spat back. “Even before the sha gua stole my ATM card and cleaned me out, my account never got over four digits.”

  The tattooed older man stepped forward and patted her cheek. The lecherous gleam in his eyes made her thankful black leather covered his fingers. “America has allowed you to forget yourself. Tony is your elder—the future leader of your family. Calling him an idiot is not a woman’s place.”

  When it came to gender roles, some second and third generation immigrants acted like they were still fresh off the boat. Considering recent events, she couldn’t respect her brother if she tried. “Kiss my ass.”

  The man’s lips firmed into a thin line. “Your bàba and māma too have forgotten what matters. With their fancy house and car, they could have paid when we threatened to kill their only son. But instead, they called the cops, telling us they refused to waste more money on the no good yanse lang.”

  She gained newfound respect for her father, though she couldn’t imagine him saying “man whore” in any language. “It’s not their house or car, moron. Bàba works for a rich white guy. And why do you think I’ll pay?” If she had the money, she might consider it. But she couldn’t cobble a grand together, let alone ten.

  “We don’t.” His snake-like voice slithered down her spine, the unarticulated threat coiling around her neck and threatening to cut off air. “Your father will pay to save his hardworking, dutiful daughter—especially once we send him a video of our men taking turns with your cunt.”

  Stifling the urge to vomit, she redirected her attention to the walking human piercing who held her immobile. The magical community had one hard and fast rule about psychic attacks—always give at least one warning. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll fuck you up so bad you’ll be screaming in a cell for days.”

  The jackass hooted out a laugh and closed his bare hand over her throat. “I’ll have fun breaking you.”

  She wished she could say the same. Using the bruising point of skin contact, she shoved her power into his mind. Sifting through the maelstrom of jealousy, hatred, and arousal, she searched and found the core of all his fears. Amplifying the dark, slimy abyss, she folded the terror over itself. Bile coated her tongue as her attacker screamed and lurched away. He scrambled back over the frozen dirt on his hands and ass, the bottoms of his jeans and sneakers leaving indentations on the ice-slicked ground. Coughing, she struggled to catch her breath before turning to face the last man standing.

  The gangster looked her up and down before remarking in a too-calm voice, “Wū po.”

  She massaged her throat. “I prefer psychic to witch, but if it helps get the message across. Why don’t you take your boys home and tell your boss to let this one go?”

  In response, he pulled a black hunk of metal out of his coat pocket and pointed the barrel in her direction. “Or we can work out a creative way for you to pay off Tony’s debt—without touching me, of course.”

  This one proved to be the single member of the club with any brains. Good thing he thought she was a one-trick pony. She’d be in deep shit if she hadn’t spent an hour this afternoon stockpiling Jack’s magic. “Move the hell out of my way, ji bai.”

  One corner of his mouth curved up. Then he pointed the weapon at her leg. Before he could pull the trigger, she aimed a telekinetic blast at his wrist. Howling with pain, he dropped the pistol. With a flick of her head, she sent it skidding straight into the gutter. Threat eliminated, she lobbed another psychic blow between his legs. More drained than she’d anticipated, she didn’t wait to see how much damage she’d done.

  Sprinting toward the lights at the alley’s entrance, her heart pounded as she heard footsteps behind her. She’d never hated her short legs more. Curiosity winning over caution, she twisted her head and glimpsed Tattoo Guy limping in pursuit. She must have hit his thigh instead of his balls. Quickening her pace, she turned and slammed into a charcoal-gray suit.

  Despite her significant momentum, the solid masculine form didn’t budge or express any signs of pain. The familiar scent of Angel, laced with snow, permeated her next breath. Then a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed tight.

  All muscles relaxing, she tilted her head back and met worried silver eyes. “Jack?”

  His familiar crooked smile steadied her adrenaline-fueled, topsy-turvy world. “I was about to play knight in shining armor, but you went all witch-fu on the bastards. What are you doing here?”

  Remembering the man chasing her, she turned…and watched her assailant slam full speed into a ne
wly materialized wall of ice, the thudding impact putting him down for the count. In the blink of an eye, the conjured barrier collapsed into a pile of powdery snow. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him.”

  His arms manacling her, Jack’s chest vibrated. “You’re such a law-abiding sweetheart. A little concussion never hurt anybody.”

  She glared at him. “What if he mouths off…?”

  He smoothed one palm up her back and yanked down her hoodie. “And says what? That he crashed into a non-existent block of ice after attacking a witch? Where were we? Oh, yes. What brings you to this part of town, and when did you learn the word ‘cunt’ in Mandarin?”

  Did she say ji bai out loud? “The guy started it. And I have a date tonight—or I did. I’m so late, the poor man’s probably gone.”

  “And where was this hunk supposed to be, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Put off balance by the entire sequence of events, she furrowed her brows. “At the Castillo Capital down the street, but I’m less in the mood to meet him now than I was before.” Sighing, she beamed a smile at the man crushing her against his chest. “What are the chances I can charm you into giving me a ride home?”

  He angled his head from side to side. “I could be persuaded. But I’m curious—you wouldn’t by any chance know who Madame Eve is, would you?”

  “Umm….” Then the pieces fell into place. “You’re my one-night stand? Thank goodness. I’m not missing anything, then.”

  He placed one hand over his heart, his other palm remaining in its initial spot at her lower back. “You sure know how to boost a guy’s ego. Trust me, you lucked out on this anonymous match. I’m hot stuff.”

  Giggling, she reached up and patted his shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong—you’re a good-looking guy. But I’m glad to know this night was never going anywhere.”

  He caught her chin. Her eyes widened at the cacophony of emotions soaring into her. What the hell went on in his head? “You’re the empath. How do I want this to end?”