by A. L. Tyler
“If I broke anything that shouldn’t be broken, I’ll fix it,” I mumbled.
“Where does Samson Grift fit into all of this? Did he know George Roost?”
I paused as she took the broom from me. I hadn’t realized that she’d seen the name when I typed it in.
“You said he was related to all of this.” Marge started to sweep. She was terribly good at ferreting out my lies.
I didn’t blink. “I’m still looking for the connection.”
“Jones!” The voice rang out from the office in the front.
“Shit!” Marge hissed under her breath. She turned and started running, slipping on a wayward bag of weed as she went. Her curses became a song as she disappeared astound the corner. “Shit, shit shit, shit shit!” Her voice resumed a professional tone. “Watkins, hey!”
I wasn’t far behind Marge. We weren’t supposed to leave the front office unattended.
Lieutenant Watkins held up a piece of paper. “I got your email about the digitals.”
“Yeah,” Marge assumed a more casual stance. “Your report said eighteen photographs of the building exterior, but the check-in only had sixteen. I checked the memory card and it looks like the last two were corrupted files. I just need you to sign off...”
I turned and went back to my mess in the back. Marge had it handled.
I put everything onto the cart. My weighing job was quicker and probably not as exact as it should have been, but as I was only disposing of marijuana that day, we’d never had drugs go missing before, and we hadn’t had a change in employees since the last audit, I wasn’t too concerned. I put all of the drugs in our portable carrier for destruction. Marge took a mallet to all of the paraphernalia that wasn’t already broken.
Just before noon, she left to do a routine check at our impound lot. I sat back down and logged in to the Bleak’s fledgling database.
It was a nondescript interface, not too different from the several human criminal databases I had access to, for which I was grateful. Having it open on my desktop wouldn’t draw any attention from the casual passerby, though Marge’s eyes were obviously too expert.
This database, though, wasn’t just for criminals. The Bleak kept tabs on everyone. Everyone. I had a file in this database. My father had a file. Nick had a file. Since my discovery, even my human coworkers had files.
The Bleak had eyes everywhere, and they were a paranoid circle of elder wizards. They liked their gossip. They liked to keep the rumors on tap in case they ever needed to prove their position on someone before putting them away.
Even when they couldn’t prove their position, it didn’t stop them. It was always better to keep people wondering.
I sat back in my chair, cracked open an energy drink from the fridge, and typed in the name.
There were no records for Samson Grift. I didn’t know why I kept looking. I had tried every spelling variation I could think of, and read a hundred files of people too old, young, incarcerated, or dead to be Grift, but I kept praying for straws to grasp at.
There was nothing. I had moved on to reading histories on anyone with the last name Grift, or anything similar, hoping that Samson was somehow a nickname, but I knew it was futile.
Samson Grift was a ghost. Nick had conceded that he’d existed when Robert mentioned him, but I was too gunshy to ask him anything more. Samson Grift had something to do with my father—a feeling in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t let me stop believing it—and Nick couldn’t know I was still obsessing about my father’s imprisonment. He couldn’t know that I was still trying to find a way to free him.
Nick was more than a good guy—he was good at his job. And if he knew, he would stop me.
I couldn’t let him slow me down again.
I was five pages deep into the account of a guy named Hansel Grafton who had apparently swindled half a dozen witches before murdering them and turning their bodies into fertilizer for his vineyard when Marge announced her presence by whispering in my ear.
“Find the Grift connection yet?”
My left palm flared to life and I sat bolt upright. I shook my flaming hand twice, lighting a stack of sticky notes and a city-issued wall calendar in the process, before forming a fist that smothered the flames. I slapped the calendar into submission while Marge scooped the notes into the metal trash bin and dumped my drink on top.
Her response time was getting a little too good.
I glared at Marge. “People die that way.”
Marge was still starting at my now-smothered fist. She nervously slurped her frozen coffee. “Yeah, but did you find it? How he’s connected to your case?” She glanced at her drink and then at my dumped can in the trash. “Sorry. I would have got you one, but you were supposed to be off an hour ago.”
My eyes darted to the clock at the bottom of my screen. I shot up out of my chair.
“I’m late.” I grabbed my coat off the hook on the wall and shouldered my bag. I gave Marge an apologetic look as I rushed out the door. “Drugs are done. Beech should be by for them shortly. No, I didn’t find the connection yet.”
I was half-running by the time I was in the parking lot, my eyes scanning for Nick’s blue Chevelle before I pulled my phone to check for messages.
Back of the lot. Meet at my place.
I looked back out at the lot, spying my blue Outback near the back edge. I walked quickly, but I was compulsively scanning the area. It wasn’t like Nick to get my car for me.
It wasn’t like him to let an hour’s absence go unmentioned. Wasn’t he worried?
I strained to hear anything, but the lot was silent except for the magic within me. I paused a few feet away from my car. It bore the faint traces of Nick’s presence—some residual sounds of having been unlocked and hot-wired by magic.
The wind combed my hair and sent a shiver up my back. The deepening gold rays of the fading sun over the mountains glinted off the hoods of cars cleaner than mine. Maybe I was getting paranoid, but I felt like my car was about to blow up.
I dialed Nick.
“Warren.”
His tone was a little more business-professional than I was used to. Who was he trying to impress? “Am I being watched?”
It was hardly perceptible, but his tone definitely changed. “Did you see someone?”
“No.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No.” I breathed in the cool night air. My palms were running hot as I did a slow circle around my vehicle. “It’s fine. You brought my car. That’s all. You did bring my car, right?”
He relaxed a little. “I brought your car.”
“With who?”
“A friend. I’ll order food if you’re on your way now. You’re sure everything is okay?”
I held the phone away a little so he wouldn’t hear my breathing. “Yeah. Everything is fine. I’ll see you in twenty.”
I hung up. I pulled my hidden key from its spot by the rear wheel and checked under the car while I was on the ground.
Nothing.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, I got behind the wheel. The fabric still smelled faintly of Nick, and I could hear the brush of his daywalker enchantments on the wheel and the shifter. It made me feel better and worse at the same time.
After his paranoia about Alex, it was hard to imagine he’d left me unsupervised after work. Stalking was second nature to him, and when he couldn’t be there personally, he had enough connections to call in help.
But I wasn’t a criminal anymore, and I wasn’t helpless, either. I felt like I was personally setting back feminism by expecting him to take care of me when I knew I was more than capable of doing it myself.
I felt angry at him for assuming I could do it. I was disappointed in myself for being angry. He was treating me as an equal—that was all.
And as I pulled out of the lot, I realized what I was actually feeling, and it chilled me to the bone.
Fear. Because Alex was coming for me.
I TRUDGED DOWN THE hall to Nick
’s apartment, stopping in front of his door. The lighting was the same. The air was just a little too cool, like usual.
But the sounds were different.
I spun around and brought up a shield, a softball-sized piece of hail forming in my hand. Cold vapors drifted down like a veil.
I swallowed the taste of adrenaline and fear. “You and Marge. Next time, I’m not waiting to see who it is.”
Angel crossed her arms, unimpressed. She was wearing a loose tie-dye purple dress and a brown shawl that hung all the way down to her knees. The strength and determination in her face was at odds with her soft hippie apparel. She was a much taller woman than I remembered. “Nick thought it might be best if we spoke alone. He thinks you’re more willing to be honest in his absence.”
Nick was wrong. He was also on my shit list, now. And he wasn’t any more able to be honest with Angel than I was if our earlier conversation was any indication.
That’s why he’d been weird on the phone. Angel thought that we were more than partners. He wasn’t going to be casual with me where she could hear it.
We were friends, but Angel’s unfounded accusations were driving us both to act more like unwilling work-related acquaintances.
“If I had a secret, I wouldn’t be sharing it with a stranger,” I said. “And I don’t have a secret. Ambushing me in the hallway isn’t really the best way to make a friend.”
She nodded toward the door. “He wants us to eat dinner together.”
Like hell we were. “No.”
“That’s what I told him you’d say.” She half-smiled.
I cocked an eyebrow in irritation.
She flicked her hand up between us and a card appeared in it, a perfect imitation of a street magician. “You’re lucky. I’ve decided to help you. This is my number. Call me when you’re ready.”
I didn’t take the card. Angel let it flutter to the floor before she turned to go, and I stepped back to keep it from touching me. One time, I’d read a case file where some half-fae warlock had managed to curse a guy using a contact spell transferred through a box of donuts. Seven years of aphasia.
But the card on the floor didn’t ring out. I knelt down, holding my breath and trying to tune out the wards that protected Nick’s apartment, but it was silent. Untouched by any spells.
Down the hall, the elevator dinged and I looked up to see Angel step on, frowning at me.
I picked up the card after the doors closed. It smelled like cinnamon.
I stared after Angel. Something about her presumptive nature was incredibly off-putting.
Chapter 7
NICK LOOKED UP EXPECTANTLY, but he didn’t say anything when I kicked the door shut behind me. He went back to reading something on his phone.
“Chinese on the counter,” he said without looking. “Hope you’re hungry. Apparently, there’s more than I thought we’d need.”
I let my bag fall with a thud. “Do not do that to me again. Today was stressful and I’m already...” I sighed. I really wanted to get in the bath, and he knew it, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “On edge.”
He set down his phone and brushed past me on his way to the fridge. He pulled out a clear glass bottle and took a drink. He knew that seeing the blood bothered me. “I’m trying to help you step away from that edge.”
“Do not bring Angel around here again,” I said firmly. “Not without asking me first.”
“You keep telling me you want help.”
“I do.”
“And you keep refusing all the help I’m giving you.” His voice was still calm, but I saw the spark of anger in his eyes as the bottle hovered for another drink. “Do you want to die, Driftwood?”
“No.”
“You just want me to have to watch you die?”
“No!”
“Then accept the help!” He twitched—that’s all my eyes saw—and he was standing in front of me. Too close, and I could smell the blood on him.
I staggered back, my hands landing on the counter for balance. I could feel the flames licking up my arms as we stared each other down.
He stepped forward. I had to look up to keep his gaze.
“I am not going to watch you die.”
I closed my eyes in regret. This was the reason I had avoided attachments like the plague the last several years. I wanted nothing less than to put him through more tragedy.
He reached around me to turn on the water, his arm brushing my hair. I turned and doused my hands, steam rising above us like a mushroom cloud. He was going to need new counter tops.
He was still standing behind me. I noticed the bottle of blood resting next to the sink, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver up my spine as I stared down at the scorch marks.
“When?” he demanded.
For a moment—one, fleeting moment—I imagined leaning back against him, and what he would do if I did. His face brushing against my hair. A hand resting on my waist. It had been a long time since anyone had cared so much about my well-being.
Marge had put the thought in my head, but that wasn’t me, and that wasn’t him. Being in our line of work, we knew how the Bleak broke people. We were broken. And once you’d been cut that deep, you prayed it never healed enough to be wounded anew.
The comfort of family had been ripped away from both of us. I would never allow myself to feel that pain again.
I pushed the thought firmly away and took some steadying breaths. Nick reached for the bottle and went for his phone again. When I glanced up at him, his stare seared into me.
I tried to collect my thoughts into a lie he would believe.
“It’s Millie,” I said quietly. I shut off the water. “And Alex. And I walked out of work, and I thought...” I shook my head, hoping I looked repentant. “I’m sorry. Angel wants me to talk about it, and right now it’s all a little too fresh. And there are things in my past that I wasn’t even ready to visit by myself, let alone having someone else judge me for it. I’m trying, Nick. I’ll call her when I’m ready.”
He continued to stare at me without blinking. I could practically hear the word on his lips: when. He wanted a commitment.
I hesitated. “Three days. Max.”
I’d figure something else out at that point. When Nick didn’t respond, I went to the bathroom and showered before putting on the change of clothes that I’d packed that morning.
Back in the kitchen, I shouldered my bag. My eyes wandered over the living room. Whoever Nick hired to clean up the ashes of the thousands of papers he’d burned the night before had done a good job.
“You’re not going to eat?”
Nick was freshly showered and dressed in his usual business casual. He turned down the collar on his coat and his hands wandered to his belt, making sure his button-down shirt was tucked.
I picked up a box of sesame chicken, a pair of chop sticks, and nodded at the door.
Somewhere, Millie Corm was waiting.
THE FIRST TWO DINERS were no-shows. As was our luck, the third time was the charm.
She didn’t even make it difficult. We could see her, drinking a cup of coffee, sitting in the warm yellow glow through the window that faced the parking lot. She stared straight ahead. A server came by and refilled her cup; she was a pretty young thing with short, curly hair. The thought that Alex would have had some fun with her made me frown. Millie responded to the server with a calculated, polite smile before using her signature black-gloved hands to lift the cup to her lips.
Then she turned and looked directly at me. Our eyes met. She flashed the exact same smile.
“Are young going to call for backup?” I asked Nick.
He exhaled a long, low breath. “I called last night. And yeah, of course you were being watched after work.”
He popped open his door and got out. My stomach twisted in a knot as I did the same.
I could still feel the heat coming off the pavement even though the sun was already down. I could hear the magic coming off of
Millie as we walked; the happy jingle of the spells that kept her makeup fixed and her hair in place. The soothing bells of the gloves that hid her pain.
The tremble of the curse that she had half-ready.
It sent dread spiraling in my mind. I stood a little straighter, hoping that Nick wouldn’t notice. “It’s a tracking curse. She’s wants to follow us, not kill us.”
“You mean Alex wants to follow us,” he mumbled. “Fantastic.” He started talking fast as he opened the restaurant door for me. “She might not know you’re back with the Bleak—”
“She knows.”
“—she might not, and that’s how we’re playing it until we know. You’re just two criminal ships passing in the night.”
“Two criminal ships who share an ex and might have reasons to kill each other.” I glanced warily at the gun in his shoulder holster. It emitted a low hum as he flashed his jacket open to check its presence. “And who are you?”
He put a hand on my back, his fingertips urging me forward at a confident pace. “Your partner. Stop looking terrified. People like her can smell fear.”
He was right. I fixed my posture and set my expression to neutral. I tried to remember the power I felt back when I was luring Alex into doing my bidding—before I’d betrayed him and drawn his more lethal attentions. What it felt like to assist him on his little criminal enterprises, finding and stealing objects of worth, breaking magical protections and pretending it was hard while he thought he was training me to compliance and obedience. Slowly building his confidence that he was in control, and then planting the seed of an idea to commit a much larger heist: the theft of the Jarvais Topaz, and all the magic that the elders of Ilamathes had stored there after their downfall in the sixteenth century...
I slid into the booth opposite Millie with a calm smile. Nick sat down next to me, letting his coat hang open just enough.
Millie’s smoky-eyed gaze wandered to the gun. She set down her coffee with a half-smile and sighed as she leaned back.
“Can I get you anything?”
I didn’t look at the server as I rattled off Alex’s usual order. “Two eggs, sunny side up. Two strips of bacon. One piece of toast with butter and grape jam. Water, no lemon.”