by Sonya Clark
“Mind if I borrow Calla for just a sec?”
“’Course not.” Damned if he wanted to appear untrusting again. Calla gave him a curious look and stepped to the edge of the hall with Zinnia.
He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Calla’s body language was clear enough. Whatever Zinnia was telling her pissed her off. They spoke for maybe two minutes before Zinnia disappeared into the Garden and Calla returned to his side.
“Come on, let’s go.” She took his hand and pulled him back the other way.
“What about the show?”
“Screw the show and screw Vadim.”
“Hey!” He pulled her to the side of the aisle, out of the way of people streaming into the Garden. “What’s wrong?”
“Remember I told you the show’s different every night?” He nodded. “Zinnia saw part of the rehearsal earlier. Vadim ordered up a skit about a cop and a witch.”
“Are you sure it has something to do with us?”
“Vadim wants to make a point and he knew we had a table in the front tonight. The cocksucker is the one who gave me the damn tickets. Every Magic Born in there is going to know and half the show for them will be watching our reaction. Fuck him!”
As much hurt as anger showed on her face. Nate didn’t fully understand her relationship with Vadim, but he knew what betrayal felt like. “Then let’s go back to your place. I’ve had enough of the noise and the crowds anyway.”
Leaning closer, she tightened her grip on his hand. “I thought you wanted to go out.”
“Not if it’s going to upset you. Besides, it’s such a hardship, being alone with you.” He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, ignoring the stares from a passing couple.
Calla didn’t miss the look. She returned it with a hard glare. “Good. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Blue witchlight bathed the area around the bed in a soft, diffuse glow. Calla woke before dawn, content to snuggle next to Nate’s warmth. She refused to think of all the various crap from the night before. That would sort itself out sooner or later. As soon as she had the cash and bought a tablet from Vadim, she’d let him know exactly what she thought of him for trying to make a fool of her.
Making that cash would be a priority. She spent so much of her money, and her own rations, on supplies for the tunnels that she didn’t have much saved. Earrings in the bazaar were not going to get her what she needed. Since spending so much time with Nate she’d slacked off on her higher income stream, but it was time to get back to it.
But what to do about him? Lie? Tell the truth and hope it didn’t trigger his cop side? He’d covered for her before, something that made her want to trust him, but she still had doubts. On the other hand he’d never shown any fear on the rare occasions she let him see her use magic. If anything, he seemed to have an intense curiosity about it.
There was only one way to find out how he’d react.
She woke him with kisses and a promise of breakfast. While he was in the bathroom, she pulled some supplies from her hiding place in the kitchen and set them aside. After they ate, she led him to the couch and sat on the floor at his feet.
“Can I make you a present?”
“Another bracelet?” He tugged on his right earlobe. “I had a piercing here, but it grew back while I was in the Marines.”
Grinning, she said, “I could pierce it again if you want. I bet I’ve got a sharp enough needle around here somewhere.”
He wagged a finger at her. “You stay away from me with needles! So what’s this present?”
Steeling herself for the worst, she said, “I thought I’d make you a charm.”
Recognition flickered across his face. “A charm? I came across one of those once.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It...made someone look like someone else.”
Time to dive right in with it. “Maybe it was one of mine. I’m really good at glamour charms.”
He choked on his coffee. “You make... Those things are illegal. Black market. I checked.”
“A girl’s gotta make a living. It costs more to live here than in DMS housing.” That much was true. He didn’t need to know what else she spent her money on, like food and clothing for people who came through the tunnels, or cash for the fake documents needed to keep the operation going. That was way too much illegality to expect him to overlook.
“So who are you wanting to make me look like?”
“No one but yourself. No, I wanted to make you a protective charm.”
“How’s that work?”
“I make something you’d wear or at least keep on your person at all times, and I enchant it with a protective spell to keep you safe.” When he gave her a look, she shrugged and said, “What? You’re a cop. I figure it can’t hurt.”
“Do I get to watch the enchanting?”
“Yep, and I’ll need some hair too. I just do a generic sort of spell for the ones that get sold, but for this I want to personalize it.”
“Hair?” He ran a hand over his short-cropped head.
“Maybe blood would be better. Certainly stronger.”
He gaped at her. “You want my blood?”
“If it were a charm for sexual potency I’d need your semen.”
“I don’t need one of those charms.”
“No,” she said, grinning. “You certainly don’t. So what do you say? Can I do this for you?”
“You’re not gonna need a lot of blood, are you?”
“Just a little. Maybe a pint,” she said, snickering.
Leaving his cup on the end table, Nate joined her on the floor. She opened the box she’d retrieved from her hiding spot and started looking through the pieces. Most were of a feminine style since it was easier for her to make glamour charms for women. Finding nothing to her liking, she closed the box and tapped her fingers on the lid.
The best, most effective protective spell she knew had been taught to her by Vadim. She was the only person he trusted to help him craft spells for the burner phones the sojourners used—spells in the form of apps.
Before she could change her mind, she said, “Can I have your cell phone?”
“First my blood, now my phone.” He retrieved it from his overnight bag, handing it to her as he sat.
The electricity warmed her hand and called for her attention. “Do you keep this on you all the time? Even when you’re working?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because this will only work if you keep it on you. And you’ll have to charge it more often, like every night.”
“What are you going to do?”
Calla bit her lip, bracing herself. “How about an app instead of a charm?”
A slow, tentative smile spread across his face. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Relief flooded her. As long as Vadim didn’t find out about the risk she was taking, this might work out all right. She kissed him, a quick hard pressure of her lips on his. Then she scooted a couple of feet away and placed the phone on the carpet in front of her. “This takes a little time. You don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want to, but don’t disturb me. If you pull me out of trance it’ll mess up the spell.”
“I won’t mess you up, I promise.” He made no move to leave the floor, apparently intent on watching.
Pushing self-consciousness away, Calla took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She slipped into trance easily and reached for the electric energy of the phone. The device let her in without a password. She’d have to talk to Nate about that. Recalling the app that would grant him protection from harm, especially magical harm, she paused before starting. The apps created for use in the railway were designed for the Magic Born sojourners to be able to activate. Nate wouldn’t be able to do that. Calla would need to go further.
She floated in trance as she considered how best to tackle the problem. Weaving the spell into the phone’s operating system itself, so that it always worked as long as the device was charged, seemed the best route.
It took time and care to craft the spell, not unlike threading tiny seed beads of various colors into a pleasing pattern. It had to be strong though, like using wire or thin, flexible plastic spelled to be unbreakable as the hidden base of a piece of jewelry. Mostly art with a little bit of science—that’s what Vadim had told her years ago. He’d been speaking of their unusual shared abilities, but he could have been talking about any form of magic or creativity.
The form of the spell took shape as she poured her own energy into it. She checked her work as Vadim had taught her, then cast the spell with a final big push of will. The phone beeped as she opened her eyes. Slumping against the couch, she ran her hands through her hair and said, “There you go.” She coughed, then laid her head back on the couch cushions.
Nate slid closer, tucking her against his side. His warmth and solidity were very welcome after that kind of outlay of magical energy. App spells were complex, requiring meticulous concentration and a surprising amount of energy for something that might have seemed simple. Going further, into the phone’s operating system, had used up even more energy. It was draining work—one reason Vadim had finally recruited her to help him.
Calla didn’t realize she was dozing until the feel of Nate pressing a kiss to the top of her head woke her. In a voice not much more than a whisper, he said, “Do you always glow when you make magic?”
Covering her face with one hand, she said, “No, I don’t think so.” Only electric magic made her glow. “It’s different every time, with every witch.” Not exactly the truth but not really a lie either.
Nate drew her into his lap and turned her to face him. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful. From the moment I saw you, that day I came to FreakTown the first time. Seeing you like this, it’s like you’re letting me see this secret part of yourself. Maybe that’s arrogant of me, to think this is so special. Maybe to you it’s nothing. I just want you to know it means something to me.” He looked away, as if startled by his own admission.
With a finger she guided his jaw to make him look at her again. “This is not nothing.” Her breath caught as a sudden emotional overload threatened to spill over. She shook her head, fighting tears. “No matter what happens, don’t ever think this is nothing to me.”
Burying her face in his neck, she settled into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nate found an Indian restaurant halfway between the bazaar and his apartment without a No Magic Born sign on the door. After a couple of discreet inquiries to make sure there would be no problems, he talked Calla into meeting him there for dinner. Despite her initial trepidation things went really well, until two young off-duty officers came in with their dates and sat two tables over.
First it was just stares, then a few snickers and obvious whispers. Nate kept eating and talking, studiously ignoring them. Calla visibly stiffened at every sound of laughter, every pointed look.
“I just don’t see how any respectable guy could lower himself like that,” said one of the overly made-up dates, voice pitched loud enough to carry.
“I guess freaks are good for something,” said the other woman.
One of the young cops laughed. “Yeah, we all know what that is.”
Just slightly quieter, the fourth member of their group said, “She looks a little scrawny but I guess when it’s magic ass you don’t notice so much.” His friends burst into laughter.
Calla dropped her fork, cheeks flaring with color. Worse than that, faint blue-white light shimmered from her hands. Nate reached for her, pleading with his eyes for her to let him handle it. The glow subsided and he rose and stalked to the other table.
He placed his hands on the table and leaned over. Ignoring the women, he addressed the two cops. “I’ve seen you guys around the station. You’ve got nice cushy gigs at Central, right? Walking a beat in the nicest part of town, holding doors open for rich people and picking up their litter?”
One of the cops blanched under his presence, nerve lost. The other, the one who’d made the remark about magic ass, gave him a hard, unwavering look. “Come on, Detective. Can’t be anything you haven’t heard before.” He gave his date a smirk, eliciting a giggle from her.
Nate smiled. “I guess you’ve got to do something to impress these women, make them think you’ve got a big dick.” He leaned closer. “But I can promise you I’m the biggest dick. How’d you boys like a transfer to Riverside? Spend your nights rousting addicts out of puke-filled squat holes, getting shot at by dealers. Sound good?”
All the color drained out of the quiet one’s face. The mouthy one said, “You can’t make that happen.”
“You sure about that?” The hell of it was, Nate actually had a high level of confidence he could. He’d never considered throwing what little weight his badge gave him around for any reason, whether with other cops or civilians, but after the Forbes case and earning the goodwill of the police chief and a senator, he actually had some weight to throw. It was tempting to follow through on his threat just to shut people the fuck up.
Mouthy wasn’t so sure after all. Face puckered like he’d had a lemon shoved in his mouth, or maybe up his ass, he said, “Sorry if our comments got out of hand, Detective.”
Nate held his stance for a moment longer, then left without a word. His threat left hanging in the air, he didn’t need to say anything else. He would have to make a decision about whether to follow through, but right now he wanted to get Calla out of there and to his place. He paid the bill quickly and returned to their table to collect her. She took his hand without meeting his eyes and they left.
For two blocks they walked in silence. He didn’t want to push. Finally, she said, “I’m confused about something you said.”
“What’s that?”
“You are the biggest dick or you’ve got the biggest dick? Word choice is important, you know.”
He laughed, caught by surprise. The fact that she was willing to joke was a good sign. The tightness around her eyes wasn’t.
* * *
As Nate slept, Calla wandered his apartment. The ugly words of those people at the restaurant wouldn’t stop circling in her head no matter how hard she pushed against them. Mixed with the rumors, innuendo and snide looks from her own people, it made for a toxic brew. She wanted to be angry at someone—yell and scream and curse. The temptation to wake Nate and pick a fight was great, just to get the poison out of her system. It wasn’t his fault though. He’d never been anything but kind to her, always treating her like a person instead of—instead of a freak.
All of the anger of the past months had melted away in his strong arms. All of the frustration of realizing her time with Dev had been a waste. The shock of learning her parentage and the number it did on her head. The hard slog of daily life, cramped fingers from working with small jewelry pieces, risking arrest by making illegal charms, risking her life by helping in the tunnels, the poor quantity and quality of rations, the constant reminders of her low status. Nate was a respite from all that, but she had to remember that was all he could ever be—a brief holiday. They could have no future. They were allowed no future. Surely he knew that too. Every time some nasty comment was made to him about her, he would see it more and more clearly.
And then what? The downward spiral and a weekend drowning her sorrows in Vadim’s homemade booze, as he’d predicted? Feeling again like it was all wasted time? No, she could never think of time with Nate as wasted. Ending things with Dev had hurt, but this—this threatened to be too much. How could she walk away from the best man she’d ever known?
His discarded shirt lay draped over the back of the couch. Slipping it on, she lay down and tried to sle
ep.
Nate woke her early, offering no comment about finding her on the couch. She showered while he made breakfast. For once the better water pressure and temperature at his place didn’t make it a pleasure. Dressing quickly, she kept his shirt on over a clean tank and shoved her clothes from the day before in her bag.
The TV was playing morning news as Calla entered the living room. Ignoring it, she dropped her bag on the floor and sat, rubbing her temples. A corker of a tension headache stabbed ice picks into her brain. Nate carried in two plates from the kitchen and sat next to her. “Coffee’s brewing.”
“Good.” She set her plate on the side table, stomach rolling at the sight of eggs.
“You not hungry?”
“Not really.” Reaching for the remote, she said, “Mind if I turn this off?”
“Go ahead. Change it to music if you want.”
She was about to do just that when the newsreader switched to a story with video footage of John Beckwith playing in the background. Calla hesitated.
“The popular senator and his family made their usual appearance at the Central Hospital annual fundraiser, this time with the couple’s son Jason taking center stage.” The image changed from the newsreader to video of the Beckwith parents flanking their twenty-year-old son, who stood behind a microphone. They looked the same as they did in every image she’d seen of them. John, hale and hearty and the perfect politician. Isabelle was slight, a ghost of a woman in the shadow of her husband and now her son. Jason’s words were lost on Calla as she stared at his face. Of course she knew of his existence, but she’d never bothered to find out anything about him. He had the same blond hair, the same blue-gray eyes, the same slight dimple in one cheek. If they stood next to each other, would people be able to tell they were siblings?
The video changed to the senator speaking. “My wife and I are so very proud of Jason and all the hard work he’s done on this year’s fundraiser. It’s his first year to be so involved and, well, we might be a bit biased but we think he’s done a fantastic job. He’s growing into a fine young man and we’re excited about his future. His studies are going well and with his curiosity, there’s no telling what he’ll wind up doing!” Beckwith smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around his wife, who had the same blond hair and blue-gray eyes as her children.