by Nalini Singh
Jim turned alert, like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. “Did they say on whose behalf?”
“No.” Komang frowned. “I think the client remained anonymous.”
“Do you remember which law firm?” I asked.
“Abbot and something,” Komang said.
“Abbot, Sadlowski, and Shirley!” Iluh said, her face lighting up. “I remember because if you put all the capitals together you get—”
I giggled. Iluh giggled back.
Komang gave Iluh a disappointed mother look.
“They should’ve rearranged their names,” Iluh said.
“It’s a place to start,” Jim said.
I drove through the quiet streets to Eyang Ida’s salon. It was the best place to start. We could go after the law firm, but no lawyer worth his or her salt would divulge the name of their client if the client wished to remain anonymous. Right now, with the attempt on Eyang Ida’s life having failed, was the best time to snoop around and see if anyone was unsettled by it.
Jim sat in the seat next to me. It was the strangest thing. His face was relaxed, his pose lazy. Jim had only two modes: menacing and waiting to menace. He usually worked so hard on being scary, he intimidated people while he was asleep.
I slowed down, just to keep him languid a little longer. The way he sat now, draped over the seat, made me think of him lying on a blanket on the grass under the peach trees. Just lying there, quietly napping, with the sun on his face. I could lie next to him, read a book, and bring us some iced tea when we got thirsty . . . In another universe.
“What was the plan, telling Komang that we’re dating?” I demanded.
“Just keeping the record straight,” Jim said.
“You just told my mother’s BFF that I have a boyfriend. I’m going to get a call from her.”
“You can handle one phone call,” he said.
“And then the phone calls from my uncle and my aunt, and my cousin and my other cousin, and my once-removed cousin’s second daughter, and my roommate from college whom I haven’t seen in four years . . .”
Jim smiled.
“It’s not funny.”
“If you called them all together and made one big announcement, it would save you some trouble,” he said.
Ha. Ha. Oh so funny. “Is that why you’re inviting me to the barbeque? So you can knock it out?”
“They already know,” he said.
Great. Magic alone knew what he told them about me.
We pulled up in front of a long rectangular building. Built with sturdy red brick, it faired the magic well—the walls seemed mostly intact and the roof was in good repair. Five businesses occupied the building. First, Ida’s Hair Place, closed and dark, the door intact; then Vasil’s European Deli; followed by Family Chiropractic and Wellness Center; F&R Courier Service; and Eleventh Planet, a comic book store.
“Why offer to buy just one business?” I thought out loud. “That would make no sense.”
“Exactly,” Jim said.
“There is nothing super great about this location. The street has some traffic but it’s not really busy.”
“And the parking lot is more than half empty,” Jim added.
That was true. Two cars waited by the comic book shop, a horse tied to the chiropractor’s pole shifted from foot to foot, a large truck sat by Vasil’s Deli, and a bunch of bicycles rested in the bike racks by the courier service. I concentrated. I felt nothing mystical or magical about this location. It was thoroughly . . . average.
“Whoever this person is would have to either make the offer for all of the businesses—” Jim started.
“Or be one of the business owners in the building looking to expand,” I finished. “I feel an urge to shop.”
“As an attentive boyfriend and your caring alpha, I fully support you in it.”
Every time he said he was my boyfriend, I had to fight the need to go, “Wheeeee! He said he was my boyfriend!”
We got out of the car and walked toward Eyang Ida’s salon. Walking next to him always made me notice how large he was. He loomed above me, almost a foot taller than I was. He was walking next to me, wasn’t he? How did that even happen?
“Jim, why are you here?” I asked.
“Do you want me to be somewhere else?” he asked.
“No!” Poor half-blind Dali, sounding so desperate. “I meant that you have the Pack to run and here you are with me. You’re almost never with me.” Okay, now I’d gone from desperate to pathetic.
“I know,” he said. “But you are Pack. This is Pack business. The rest of the Pack will hold on for one weekend. They know where to find me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
We were almost to the door.
Jim stopped. I looked at his face. His eyes were warm and I stopped with my foot up in the air. His eyes were never warm. Merciless, guarded, hard, yes, but not warm. Not like this.
“I want to know what you do,” he said quietly. “I want to hang out with you and spend time with you. I like us being together.”
I almost melted right there. And then guilt mugged me. I’ve been avoiding the Keep. I could’ve gone and spent time with him. He was busy and probably miserable and I’ve been selfish and worrying about who would think what. That wasn’t me.
I reached over, ducked under his arm, rubbed my head against him, and smiled. He squeezed me to him, the tips of his fingers lightly sliding over my skin. Oh my gods, he did the cat thing. It made me want to pull his clothes off just so I could touch more of him.
We stopped by the door and sniffed in unison.
Hmm, let’s see, Eyang Ida, car fumes, a half dozen scents of soaps and shampoos, five different people scents, all about a day old—must’ve been her customers . . . Nothing fresh except Iluh’s scent deposited a few hours ago. She must’ve came to the salon to check on Eyang Ida.
“You think she could’ve done it?” Jim asked.
“Iluh?” I turned it over in my head. “No. I think she loves her grandmother. But also Iluh doesn’t have strong ties to the community. Jenglots don’t exactly slither around in the street. They are unique to Indonesia. She might have known of them but not where to get them or who could summon them.”
“Do you know who could summon them?” he asked.
“And that right there is the thing.” I frowned at him. “Most people from Bali do a little bit of magic. Every time you make an offering, you do magic. It’s not uncommon for people to occasionally sacrifice things. But jenglots are tied to black magic. A typical witch doctor might make a jenglot like a voodoo doll, and then feed it magic and blood and hope it would come to life and do his bidding. Or they might buy an aborted fetus, embalm it, and make a tuyul out of it.”
Jim blinked.
“It’s a thing,” I told him. “But anyway, I would know. I am the chosen of Barong. I’m the White Tiger, a force for good, and I guard the balance. When a black magician does something like create a jenglot or unleash a tuyul, it creates an imbalance and I correct it. It would be the same if I tried to use my power for something unnatural, like stave off a normal illness in my relative. I could save them for a time, but a chosen of Rangda, the Demon Queen, would appear and undo what I had done. The balance must be maintained. Right now there is no champion of Rangda in the community. He went to live with his daughter in Orlando, because he is elderly and she is worried about his health. And if there was a new one, he or she would come and talk to me. It would be my business to know about them and their business to know about me.”
“You would talk?” Jim asked.
I nodded. “We would both be guardians of balance. Do you remember that Russian, the one who is the priest of the God of All Evil?”
“Roman?” Jim asked. “Yes. Nice guy.”
I spread my arms. “It’s like that. I could have a nice, civil meal with the chosen of Rangda. Not that we would like each other and some of them do go nuts and become aggressive in her name, but it’s about balance. Summ
oning fifty jenglots, that’s not balance. That’s some crazy shit, that’s what that is.”
We stopped by the deli. It looked dark. The paper sign read: CLOSED. I tried the handle. Locked. Hmm. If Vasil was being eaten by jenglots, too, there was something seriously bad going on.
We moved on to the Family Chiropractic and Wellness Center.
“Are you going to menace them?” I asked. “Because if you are, they won’t talk to me, so you can just wait outside.”
Jim gave me a flat look and held the door open for me. I walked into a quiet reception area. The walls were painted a soothing mint green and large metal flowers decorated the wall. The air smeller faintly of rose geranium and lavender. Someone must’ve been warming some oils. A man in his thirties smiled at me from behind the counter. “May I help you?”
“Hi.” Jim approached the counter, his hand out. I looked at his face and my jaw dropped. Jim, the “punch through solid wall to get to the bad guy” Alpha, was gone. He looked . . . friendly. Concerned but friendly. Like he lived in a suburb and invited neighbors over for cookouts friendly.
Jim was shaking the man’s hand. “My name is Jim Shrapshire. This is my colleague, Dali. Her relative owns a salon two doors down from you.”
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Cole Waller. We noticed Ms. Indrayani wasn’t here today. Is she alright?”
I picked my jaw off the floor and made my mouth move. “She isn’t feeling good this morning.”
Concern touched his face. It seemed genuine. “Sorry to hear that. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
To tell him or not to tell him? If I didn’t tell them, and this was connected to the property, they could be in danger.
“I’m afraid it is. Someone used magic to target her.”
“Seriously?” The man turned back and yelled, “Amanda!”
A blond woman emerged from the depths of the office. “Yes?”
“This is my wife, Amanda. She’s the chiropractor.” The man came out from behind the counter and stood next to his wife. “Someone tried to hurt that nice lady who owns the salon.”
Amanda blinked. “Ms. Indrayani? Oh my God, what happened? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine for now,” Jim said, his face concerned. “We believe someone targeted her because they want this property. Have you received any buyout offers?”
Cole frowned. “Yes. Yes, we have.”
He walked back behind the desk, opened a filing cabinet, riffled through the files hanging on the metal racks, and produced a piece of paper. I glanced at it. Abbot, Sadlowski, and Shirley letterhead, letter, enclosed offer to purchase. Dated two months ago.
“Did you agree to sell?” Jim asked.
“We thought about it,” Cole said. “The price was generous.”
“But this place is our own. It’s about five minutes from our house. We have an established client list,” Amanda said. “And our son’s school is only ten minutes from here. The bus drops him off two hundred feet down the street. It’s so nice. He walks here, gets a snack, does his homework and then we go home together. If we moved, he would have to be dropped off near our home and with the phones not working during magic, we wouldn’t even know if he made it or not. My older brother died on his way from school. He was run over . . .”
“We said no,” Cole finished for her and hugged her gently.
“Do you have any idea who the buyer is?” Jim asked.
Cole shook his head. “Got to be someone in the building. I’ve talked to some people, but nobody admitted it. The thing is, they’re offering two hundred and fifty grand. If it’s one of the owners and the other four got the same offer that makes it a cool million for the building. I can’t imagine any of us pulling together that kind of money. There is Vasil, who runs the deli. He works six days a week and half day on Sunday. Then there is the courier place next door. Never see more than three couriers there. The guy who runs it, Steve Graham, is some sort of fitness nut. Runs marathons and complains about how in the future magic is going to make everyone fat. Makes his couriers ride bicycles.”
“Dotes on his daughter,” Amanda said.
“Yes, he talks about her all the time.”
“The Eleventh Planet is run by two college kids,” Amanda said. “They host card games and have a tip jar on the counter. I’d be surprised if they have two nickels to rub together.”
“The thing I don’t understand is why,” Cole said. “The building’s kind of old and the location is great for us, but it’s not exactly Central Market Lane.”
“Have you noticed anything unusual?” I asked. “Strange behavior from the other owners, odd magic?”
“Unusual?” Amanda shook her head. “Well, Vasil isn’t here today. I suppose that’s unusual. He’s usually here like clockwork. A very nice man.”
“Do you think they’ll come after us?” Cole asked.
“It’s a possibility,” Jim said.
Amanda sighed. Her shoulders drooped. “God, if it’s not one thing, it’s the other. You know, even with all of the things that go on, I never worried about magic. I mostly worry about traffic accidents.”
Cole put his arm around his wife again.
I handed him a card with my name and phone number. “If something strange does happen, please call me.”
STEVEN Graham turned out to be a spare man in his forties. He looked like a bicycle enthusiast, his body toned, his frame narrow, and his movements economical, as he stood behind a counter, the wall behind him lined with sample box sizes and price stickers. The lone courier remaining in the office, on other hand, looked more like a doorman in some nightclub. Big, broad shoulders, chest slabbed with muscle. He gave Jim an I’m-a-bigger-man stare. Jim looked at him for a moment. The courier crossed his arms on his chest. Ha-ha.
When we were young, we could hide behind tables and chairs when threatened. But once we reached five, that behavior wasn’t acceptable anymore, so we folded our arms on our chest, forming a barrier and protecting vital organs. Judging by the courier’s clenched teeth and fists, he was building one hell of a barrier between himself and Jim. That’s right. My Jim is scary. It won’t help you, anyway.
“Shipping or notice?” Steven Graham asked.
“Neither,” I said, while the courier and Jim looked at each other. The place smelled like packing supplies: cardboard and glue. Plastic tape had become too expensive a while ago and now the boxes were sealed with homemade paper tape dipped in glue made by blending cornstarch with boiling water. That’s exactly what I smelled, and tons of it.
“I’m a relative of Ida Indrayani, who owns the salon in this building. She was magically attacked, and we’re looking into who might be responsible.”
Steve took a step back. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine for now,” Jim said.
“What the hell is this world coming to?” Steve shook his head. “Was it a sexual assault?”
What? “No,” I said. “It was a magical assault.”
“I keep telling my daughter, you have got to carry Mace. There are perverts and murderers in this world, but what are you going to do? You can’t send children to school in a tank. What happened to basic human kindness? You know, the good things.” Steve waved at the courier. “You can stop scowling, Robbie. Excuse him. We got robbed a year ago. He’s my security. He’s here to look scary.”
“And if things get serious?” Jim asked.
Robbie flexed his chest at him. Oh you silly, silly man.
“Stop that.” Steve waved at him.
“We’re were wondering if you received any offers to sell this property,” I said.
“As a matter of fact, I have. Some lunatic offered me a lot of money for it.” Steve shrugged. “I would’ve taken it, too. My kid wants to go to TCU. Forty grand per year. For-ty. I wrote them back, but I never got a reply. I think it was a bogus offer. The amount of money was outrageous for these premises.”
“If you received a notice, you may be a target as well,” Jim said.
> “Well, that’s just great. Fantastic.” Steve shook his head. “Because it’s not enough my people get assaulted on the street, now this, too. One of my guys was riding by a fence last month and it sprouted teeth and tried to eat him. Ruined his back wheel.”
“Do you have any idea who might be wanting this building or why?”
Steve shrugged. “Who knows? Sicko idiots are everywhere. This is what happens when people stop living right. You know, you’ve got to be eating clean. You’ve got to take care of your body. It’s about your carbon and magical footprint. I’ve been here eight years. I’m the oldest business in the building and I’ve got to tell you, it’s nothing special.”
“Thank you for your time.”
“Sure, sure.” Steve pulled a card from the holder and offered it to us. “Think of us if you need to ship something.”
We went outside. “Sexual assault?” I raised my eyebrows.
“He has a daughter. He’s probably constantly worried she’ll get assaulted,” Jim said.
We strolled down to Eleventh Planet.
“You’ve made a weird face,” Jim said.
“I was picturing that guy inside the shop on a bicycle. I can’t do it. But I can picture him with a club in his hand just fine.”
“Imagine that,” Jim said.
“Speaking of weird faces, you smiled in the chiropractor’s office!”
Jim shook his head. “I don’t remember that.”
“I saw it! I was there. It happened, Jim.”
His eyebrows furrowed. His face turned so grim, that if he attempted to smile, it would probably crack and shatter into pieces. “You must be mistaken.”
“Jim!”
He smiled at me. It was a brilliant, dazzling smile. It almost knocked me off my feet. Usually when Jim showed his teeth to people, he did it because he was about to kill them.
“Before I became Chief of Security, I worked for Wendelin. You remember her?”
I did. Wendelin wasn’t someone you’d forget. When she joined the Pack, she decided to call herself Wendelin Fuchs, which stood for Wendelin Fox, just like I chose to call myself Harimau. With my eyesight and aversion for blood, I knew I would be in for a rough road, so I chose my last name because every time I said it, it reminded me that I was a tiger. Wendelin chose hers because she wanted to mislead people. She turned into a wolf, ruthless, cunning, and so scary, even Mahon, the alpha of Clan Heavy who turned into a giant Kodiak, made the effort to avoid her. I had no idea Jim had worked for her. When I met him, he was beta of Clan Cat and as far as I knew, that was all he did. When Curran made him the Chief of Security after Wendelin retired, everyone, including me, was surprised.