High Steaks (Freelance Familiars Book 3)

by Daniel Potter

  Dammit. Are all magi balls of trauma? I thought, peeling my individuality out of the flow of memories. Why couldn't they awaken after cuddling a bowl full of kittens or something? I stretched myself outwards, spreading my arms beyond the single memory, and reached around them all. She struggled against me, babbling secrets that she wanted so desperately to tell. Yet this was my mind, and I made the rules. I embraced them all and applied pressure. Slowly, the tide of her mind began to organize, like coal into a diamond, until I had all of Grace in a vise-like grip.

  Oh, god! Sorry, oh my, oh my—

  Embarrassment poured from her as she stumbled back into her own head. I closed the link behind her.

  I opened my eyes to find we hadn't moved, but I had a nice close-up view of Doug's teeth. One of his canines had been capped with silver, and he had a few fillings. As he snarled, I felt flecks of spittle impact my nose. "What did you do?"

  "He bonded her!" Rudy was screaming, but Doug didn't appear to hear the squirrel.

  "Answer me!" Doug demanded.

  Wiping the spittle off my nose with the back of my paw, I slammed the good ol' customer service smile onto my muzzle. "I bonded her. That's how I do it. She's—" I started to say "fine," but the word died away as I craned my neck around to look at Grace. The girl behind him wasn't Grace. At least, not the version I had been introduced to. The slender apprentice robe now strained to contain her rounded body. Beads of sweat rolled down her face as she lowered herself back onto her heels. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. "Just in a bit of shock," I concluded, shouldering the smaller cat out of the way.

  The blue of her channeling had died away, and I remembered feeling the sharp jab in the stomach. Grace? Are you all right? I slipped the thought through the link as one might slip a note under a door.

  Yes, sorry. I have to find my anchor again. Please don't look at me.

  "Yow. She grew—" Rudy started. I bucked him. "Ack!"

  "Rudy, if you make a body joke, I'm going to eat you," I warned.

  "I wasn't gonna. I was going to say something about nuts," he muttered defensively.

  That I doubted, but I refocused on my client, who looked to be gathering her wits up around her. Doug's face oscillated between pitying looks at Grace and anger at me.

  Grace pulled her legs into a lotus position and concentrated until the blue of magic bloomed up inside her and the elfish Grace came back, albeit in a stretched-out robe. "You weren't supposed to see any of that," she said. "Ceres's not that bad, you know. It's usually fine. The training and all. I'm good at it."

  "What did you see?" Turns out cheetahs have hackles to raise. Interesting fact, that.

  "Nothing at all," I told Doug. "Why don't you go wait down the hallway, or tunnelway. She's fine." To Grace, I thought: I'm not judging. They don't make magi with happy sing-alongs. We can discuss anything you'd like, but you have to think it to me.

  Doug side-eyed me suspiciously, but he went. Rudy bounded across the floor to take a position peering down the tunnel after the cat. After a moment, he gave me an "okay" symbol indicating he had gone. Finally, I felt safe enough to close the gap with Grace. Her hand lifted toward me but hesitated.

  Can I pet you? She bit her lip.

  Certainly. I'm your familiar for the next hour or so. I'll let you know if I don't like it. Both cats and birds of prey were equal magically, but it was cats who always commanded the higher prices at the TAU auctions. The reason was simple: we're much better at cuddling. Even the excessively formal Veronica had a huge need for tactile sensation. So I really wasn't all that surprised when, after a few tentative pets, I had two thin arms wrapped around my neck, and they stayed there. Her mind vibrated with emotion. Relief rolled through the closed link.

  Dougie's not that bad. It's not that bad in the Luxor, she thought at me with the strength of a mantra as her grip on me tightened. I let myself be pulled closer, and she buried her face in my neck. My own emotions ping-ponged between alarm and pity for the girl. I'd tried not to bond her deeply, to avoid the bliss of first bonding and deep knowing that came from that experience. And despite all that, Grace's hot tears were soaking through my fur. I could feel her mind scrambling to control herself, but the emotional outpouring couldn't be stopped. Her channeling ceased as she attempted to muffle her sobs.

  It's okay. It's okay, I thought to her over and over. It would be so easy to fling the link wide open and dive into her troubles. She had no defenses, no experience with mental communication. Her mind would be as easy to read as an open book with large type. It would be a gross violation of my contract. Whatever was making her bottle up this emotion, whatever Ceres's teaching methods were, I wouldn't be able to save her from them. All I could do was let her cry.

  So that's what I did.

  Slowly, Grace's sobbing subsided, although if anything her grip on me tightened. Thank you. I guess I needed that. Grace sniffled. You feel safe. Doug tries sometimes, but Ceres could always be behind his eyes. She'll be so pissed that I cried. Grace sighed and pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

  No one's going to tell her you cried, I soothed. Serving as a teddy bear is an essential part of being a familiar. I have plenty of practice, I thought. Come on, now. Join me at the circle and we'll discuss the basics.

  Nodding, Grace took her place, not bothering to reach for her anchor.

  We discussed how the familiar bond works. Grace had a very strong grasp of the theory and was a quick study once I walked her through the practicalities of empowering spells with her anchor plane. We had just finished imbuing a chip of concrete with the energy of Grace's anchor. This had given the bit the appearance of mirror-polished obsidian, except it kept the grey tint.

  "And time!" Rudy declared both as I had started to enjoy myself and Grace's deep copper skin had gained a greenish tint.

  Grace broke away with relief in a sudden coughing fit.

  "Hey, wait, don't—" Rudy gestured, but too late. Grace vomited onto the floor, narrowly missing her own bare feet. "—vomit in here," Rudy finished, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

  "Sorry!" Grace channeled, and her body thinned and steadied, her color flushing.

  "It happens. We won't go over my first time grappling with spellcasting." I gave a little shiver at that memory.

  "You're spellcasting within the hour of bonding?!" Doug's voice rang through the tunnels, sounding scandalized and impressed at the same time. My whiskers bent nearly double as a gust of air rushed past me. Doug trotted out of a tunnel.

  "That's how it's supposed to work, right?" I said with a hint of smugness. "Besides, she's perfectly ready to do spellcraft."

  Doug plunked himself down at the edge of the circle, his eyes bouncing between Grace and me. His muzzle remained stoic, but the cheetah's tail lashed across the concrete floor with clear agitation. "Break your bond. Do it as gently as you can."

  Please don't! Grace's loneliness howled through our minds. Just another hour, please!

  We'll be back tomorrow, I soothed and gently closed the link. Grace shivered and hugged herself. Seeing no use for dawdling, I twisted the bond away from her mind as gently as I could.

  Grace gave a small squeak of discomfort, and Doug flowed to her side. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes radiating concern. She seemed to think about the question for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. Then she gave a tiny nod.

  "I'll be all right, Dougie," she said, causing a slight twitch in the cheetah's left ear. Grace channeled, her wide form shrinking into a slender one before smoothly rising to her feet. "Tomorrow, then?"

  "Same time, same channel," I said, earning a slight smirk from her.

  "Let's get you home." Doug gently pressed against her, urging her back the way they had come. All the elegance in the world could not hide the mix of emotion that rolled through the young magus's face as she thought about the concept of home, but she yielded.

  As I watched them go, I had a thought. So what I'd like to know is, how the hell does Doug move like th
at without a single flash of magic?

  What do you mean? O'Meara asked.

  The moment I released Mr. Bitey to bind Grace, he was there, like he stealth-teleported. I replayed the memory for her.

  O'Meara's mind went cold, and she swore out loud. We found a vampire.

  Oh, for the love of— I knocked my head against the wall.

  18

  Interrupting Tacos

  So much for my midday nap! The mental picture of a lone vampire eking out a hidden existence had been dashed. That, we could have handled without help; hunt down the monster and deliver justice in Trevor's name. Simple.

  Not so simple when the vampire is a client - particularly your only paying client. Your only paying client with a topping of being the familiar of one of the most powerful magi in Vegas. That is a very greasy pizza of extreme moral dilemma, slathered with political sauce and mined with fusion-powered peppers. A hazard like this would not be solved in an instant of inspiration. It required serious mulling. Mulling is not to be done on an empty stomach.

  Time for tacos. The best tacos in Vegas are to be found in a tiny shop cozied right up to either a high-class gentlemen's club or a dirty old men's club, depending on your viewpoint. Tourists are generally too blinded by the razzle dazzle next door to notice it. So we claimed a poorly balanced table in between a gaggle of off-duty strippers arguing about boot brands and a pack of well-dressed goons that smelled faintly of wet dog.

  The strippers didn't spare us a glance, but the spell dog goons stopped their conversation cold and wolfed down their food. They were gone within two minutes after O'Meara had sat in the chair. I had to chuckle to myself a little bit. To a goon, we meant tass, power, and trouble. And that wasn't something a low-ranking goon wanted any part of.

  Hard-shell tacos are great thinking food. If you need time to compose a thought or drown out a talkative rodent, you simply bite down on a fresh taco. This place had great hard-shell tacos; they loaded them with this lovely spicy carnitas, layered in cheese and sour cream. O'Meara got herself a burrito the size of Rudy, tail included, while Rudy contented himself with the overly salty tortilla chips. A quick ward against eavesdropping and the conversation began to flow.

  Rudy was skeptical. "So he moves fast without magic. Is that all we got?"

  O'Meara ripped a chunk from her burrito and swallowed. "He's not a normal familiar, not for someone as high class as Ceres. He should be glowing like one of the signs outside."

  "And he's running interference, preventing us from talking to Trevor's supervisor," I added.

  Rudy waved that bit away. "Pah! That's got nothing to do with Trevor, I bet. More to do with Feather. I'd put all my nuts down on those two were a couple before Thomas showed up."

  "Apparently not a very committed couple," I said, recalling the way Feather had looked me over lengthwise. "Still, I don't think she'd get in the way if we did a little poking around." Mulling it over, I cleaned out a taco with my tongue before biting through the shell.

  Goon alert, O'Meara thought, and they don't look like they're here for lunch.

  A burly gang of folks who appeared to shop at the same store that sold a very limited selection of suits crowded through the door. Two women, four guys. I didn't need them to take their sunglasses off to know they weren't here for the food. Magic clung to the man standing in the center: a magus. The others reeked of gun oil, like bad aftershave.

  O'Meara's mind filled with a dozen different combat spells as she reached out to grasp my wrist. I swung my tail to brush her leg, making a crude circle between us. "Play it cool?" I asked as O'Meara popped the ward. Picking up a taco, I crunched down on it as the group marched up to the table. Rudy casually hopped to be between O'Meara and me. Interestingly, the leader wasn't the guy with the magic aura.

  "Mr. Khatt." The goon's stern face cracked into a smile. My ears folded back; the bastard couldn't even keep a straight face when he said my on-the-nose surname. Sure, it sounds like destiny, but I came from a long line of Mr. and Mrs. Khatt. So far as I know, I'm the only one who actually turned into a cat. I call it an accident waiting to happen. It would have been worse to be turned into a dog, now. A dog named Khatt would have been evidence that there is a God and that he frequents the dad joke Reddit.

  "You—" I interrupted the goon by biting down on a fresh taco, and the man's voice was drowned out by the crispy crackling crunch of baked tortilla. His mouth closed, and he swallowed like a frog, eyes closing. When he opened his mouth to speak again, I reached my mouth forward to bite an entirely new taco, not caring that my mouth was still full.

  A gentle hand laid across the dome of my skull stopped me. "Thomas, let the man do his job," O'Meara said in a voice so sweet that you could hear the poison in it. "I'm sure it's not personal." She grasped her anchor, and through her eyes, I watched the magus stiffen.

  "No, not personal at all," the goon said, his eyes clearly noting the placement of O'Meara's hands. The man visibly recomposed himself. "Mr. Khatt, come with us. Death wishes to have a discussion."

  "Huh, really now?" I said, biting into the next taco to buy time.

  So, on a scale of zero to holy shit, we're fucked. How bad is this, O'Meara? I knew Death was another casino owner, but that was as far as my knowledge went.

  Bad news to the core. You in particular are not going to get along with Death. While the other casino owners harvest tass from mundanes, Death is the only one who has gaming tables where you bet tass. Games where mundanes are the dice. Oh, and unsurprisingly, the man's anchor kills people in a way that goes straight through most wards. He can back up the name.

  Wonderful. I smelled a certain feathered not-friend in the air as I suppressed a growl. "Thanks for the message. Please tell Death we'll pop by sometime after lunch."

  The man's eyes widened a millimeter, but he recovered quickly. "Now, sir. Death does not like to be kept waiting."

  I chuckled. "He must really hate hospitals. I try not to face Death on an empty stomach."

  The magus in the back filled with blue light. O'Meara's aura became a red glare, drawing enough energy to blast the goons so hard they'd all bounce off the moon. The magus winced and took a step back behind his spell dog companions. I squinted and focused my sight, following the thinnest trace of a bond outside. The guy couldn't be much more than an apprentice, but he had a fairly rich teacher, because a small hawk perched on the roof of a car across the street. Poor guy looked uncomfortable in that heat.

  "Oooh, a standoff! With goons and everything!" Rudy chittered. "Two against one. Not very fair odds for them. Hell, want me to take them all out? I got something special for spell doggies!" Rudy skewered a tortilla chip with that same sewing needle he had used to poke Doug and nibbled at the edges. The lead goon looked at Rudy as if he hadn't noticed the squirrel at all before he spoke.

  "Running from Death will get you nowhere. Any of you." His voice became a threatening growl, lips twitching in a suppressed snarl.

  "I'm not running. We're having lunch, and then we'll head on over to see what he has to say." I shook my head, wondering if Oric or Ceres had picked up the phone in the half-hour since we left the Luxor.

  "That's not how this works. I don't know what you did, and I don't care. When Death calls, you come." He licked his lips, and his head seemed to vibrate with the force of all the thinking we were making him do. This was a man used to fetching junior magi and mythics; had O'Meara not been sitting next to me and bonded, I'd probably be scruffed and squeezed between two overly fragrant spell dogs by now.

  Glad to be appreciated, O'Meara mentally winked at me. Our bond was wide open now; we inhabited each other's bodies as well as our own.

  I puffed out my chest. "We're the Freelance Familiars. Death wants to talk, we're interested in what he's got to say, but we'll do so under our own power and time. If you insist on insisting, Rudy will show you the door the hard way."

  Rudy helpfully supplied the smile he gets right before setting off a large explosive. It made
the big man step back. He glanced over his shoulder. None of his fellows were radiating confidence.

  "Word of advice, then. Don't run from Death. It never works," he said before backing off back to his fellows.

  I crunched another taco.

  19

  Face to Face with Death

  The seat of Death's throne resided within the MGM Grand, which, like everything on the Vegas strip, was linked to the taco joint location by a series of air-conditioned walkways and a tram. After lunch, we meandered our way there. The goon squad followed us from a not-so-polite distance, the scent of their anxiety growing by the step. Stopping for ice cream was probably needlessly inflammatory, but I really wasn't in a hurry to hear what their boss had to say. If he had wanted to hire us, then we had an email address and a text number.

  If Freelance Familiars was going to work, we couldn't allow big magi to push us around. The big question was whether Oric had his talons in Death or if the universe had just decided to put an entirely new wrinkle in my life.

  Our lives, O'Meara corrected me as she inhaled her waffle cone laden with mint chocolate chip. When you're a fire magus, ice cream does not stay frozen for long.

  The goon squad closed as we approached the entryway. The head goon appeared in front of us as the automatic doors swung open, bidding us follow. Unlike the Luxor, which is more of a mall/casino hybrid with Starbucks nearly as common as slot machines, the Grand is steeped in the traditional trappings of Vegas. Everywhere the sounds of chips and laughter sounded. People crowded around the green-felted game tables, oblivious to the spells that spun beneath each of the games.