Dangerous Hexes

by A. L. Tyler

  My heart sank. I knew what that boy had been through, and as awful as it was, I felt jealousy twisting in my chest. I would have given anything to have my father back.

  I would have taken those jobs. Witnessed that hit.

  Hell, I would have performed the hit myself.

  Scared and alone on the streets at fifteen, where was the extortionist who could have done me that small favor?

  ...But then, it was probably better I hadn’t had the opportunity.

  I would have walked down alleys much darker than I cared to imagine to get my father back. I was still walking those alleys, and I wasn’t sure if I would ever see the light of day again.

  “What happened to Grift?”

  Lou inhaled a rattling breath and sat back, crossing his arms. “I never saw the bastard again. He took his money and left. I heard he moved up the chain. He got in deep with a guy named Jackson Coffing, ran his business out of the Cork Tree Bar. Coffing’s been in prison a few years now to avoid getting picked up by the Bleak, but he’s still running his business out of the Cork the same as always. A lot of people got screwed by Grift, but Coffing wasn’t someone to bend over and take it. Trust me, if Grift is missing, Coffing knows where the body is.”

  I nodded. I felt numb, inside and out. I started to get up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Irvine—”

  “You’re very welcome, Ms. Driftwood,” he said gratingly.

  I started to walk. I felt sick.

  “Oh, and Ms. Driftwood.”

  I stopped and turned back to Lou.

  “Given our mutual history, I keep tabs on Nicholas Warren. You should know that Coffing doesn’t keep people around who he doesn’t count as loyal. Warren is still around.” He lowered his chin, glowering at me. “As someone who my kid could have been, you’ve been warned. Your questions might not be welcome around the Cork Tree. And if Coffing finds you sniffing around, you might want to watch out for that bloodsucker Warren.”

  On my way out, I sent a quick text to Marge.

  Need a location on an inmate: Jackson Coffing.

  I WAS IN NO STATE TO drive that night. I’d been burning the candle at both ends for too long and sleeping in strange places in the between hours. I found a cheap motel just far enough away from Louis Irvine and checked myself in.

  It was nicer than the place I’d been at with Nick, but as I stood inside the door, my whole being ached.

  I wanted to talk to him.

  I never wanted to see him again.

  It couldn’t be true, but I didn’t see why Lou would lie. He was a criminal and a stranger, but the only thing he had to gain by throwing Nick under the bus was a dangerous foe. Nick had openly admitted that his job with Grift had been one of the worst he’d ever been party to.

  If he’d been a witness to child trafficking, I didn’t know who I was dealing with anymore. It couldn’t be true, could it?

  And Jackson Coffing...

  My phone rang. I pulled it out and answered the call with numb fingers.

  “Driftwood.”

  I reached behind me to lock the door, just in case. “Hey, Nick.”

  “I’m calling to check in. You haven’t burned the place down, have you?”

  His tone was upbeat. Joking.

  “No, I’m doing okay. I’m just settling in for the evening. I’m... um, getting ready to get out of the tub.” That sounded about right for this time of night.

  “Good.” He paused. “You should get some rest. I don’t have any new leads on Millie or Alex yet, so as long as neither of them have shown up at your place, we’re in no rush.”

  I laughed nervously. “No, I haven’t seen either of them.”

  “I can come over if you’re worried,” he offered.

  “No!” I said in a high-pitched voice. I didn’t know why—my house was three hours away, and it wasn’t like I could beat him there if I tried—but I glanced at the clock anyway. “Look, I’m not a kid.”

  I cringed the moment the words were out of my mouth. All I very desperately wanted was to ask him about those kids.

  “I know you’re not a kid, Jette.” He laughed a little. “It’s not a big deal. I can bring food if you want, because I know you’re not great at taking care of yourself under stress.”

  “I do fine under stress,” I said a little testily.

  “You were living in an empty apartment and sleeping in a rat’s nest when I found you.”

  I nodded in defeat even as I rolled my eyes. “Touche. But really, Nick, I’m fine. Just tired. Save your gas. I’ll call you in the morning when I’m up.”

  He breathed into the phone. Even over the phone, I knew his eyes were narrowing. “Okay...”

  “What?”

  “That’s all?”

  I swallowed. I glanced at my phone and silently cursed the two meager minutes we’d been on the phone. Two lame, measly minutes compared to the twenty or longer we usually did.

  “I’m just really tired. That’s all.” I went to the bed and lay down. I was tired, and more than that, I was beat. I set the phone on the nightstand.

  “Jette.”

  “Nick?”

  “This is about the motel.”

  I raised both my eyebrows and nearly laughed as I looked over at the phone. “What about the motel?”

  “I walked in on you.”

  “I really didn’t care.”

  “And I said something the next morning. Something that crossed the line.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, smiling a little. “It’s fine, Nick. Let’s pretend it never happened. And seriously, I’m hanging up now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

  I hung up before he could protest. He tried to call back, but I didn’t answer. I almost didn’t read the text he sent, but I was too tired to think with a clear head, so I read it anyway.

  Goodnight.

  I was tired. Too tired, and road weary, and my emotions were clouding my judgment. I should have known that it was a bad idea to stop at a hotel.

  I shouldn’t have lain down on the bed.

  I should have taken a bath.

  Because when I woke up, the bed was on fire.

  Chapter 24

  SMOKE FILLED THE ROOM. Orange and blue flames surrounded me as I leapt to my feet.

  The magic was still howling in my ears as flames flowed like lava down my arms and to the carpet below. And even though it felt like I was breaking my own wrists, I forced the flames to run cold.

  It sounded like screaming—I’d never heard magic sound that way before. Then I realized that I was screaming.

  The lava turned to ice flowing out of me. The smoke mixed with steam and the flames slowly died.

  Someone kicked my door in, and someone else rushed in with a fire extinguisher and started firing at random.

  Good. That was good—it would cover the fact that my magic fire had been magically extinguished.

  My eyes were burning from the smoke and I couldn’t stop coughing. I let a stranger lead me outside as my arms flopped uselessly.

  I was pretty sure I’d broken them.

  At three in the morning, I found myself sitting in the back of an ambulance while a paramedic tried to force an oxygen mask on my face. The motel had evacuated, and all of my fellow co-habitants were milling around the building exterior in pajamas and blankets amidst the flashing red and blue emergency lights. The fire department was there, and the police were there, and I was pretty sure I saw a news van, too.

  I told the paramedic I wanted to decline all interviews.

  The mattress was a total loss. I’d managed to frost out the flames before they spread to the curtains, but the smoke probably meant the room was done.

  My touch spell—the exact kind of thing I hated to do in these situations—had the fire marshal under the impression that the fire had been caused by faulty wiring.

  The paramedic moved on to splinting my wrists—which I must have injured trying to beat down the door in my panic—and treating my superficial b
urns. I gave her a false memory and escaped when I could.

  Back in my car and five blocks away, I pulled off into an alley and sat in the light of a blue neon bar sign.

  With a heavy sigh, I pulled out my phone and dialed.

  “Hello?”

  I licked my lips, tasting the burning motel room still on them. “Angel? I’m ready.”

  I WAS BARELY BACK INSIDE my house, with Robert wrapping himself around my ankles and a Red Bull in one hand and a cat food dish in the other, when the knock came at my door.

  I glanced at the clock and realized it was well after seven. Fishing my phone from my pocket, I wasn’t able to turn it on.

  Shit. I must have forgotten to charge it in my exhaustion-induced stupor.

  I filled Robert’s dish, cracked open my drink, and tried to summon my cool as I went to the front door.

  “Nick. Hey.” I took a drink, hoping for inspiration.

  He was holding a bag from the burrito place. His eyes did a quick scan of my singed clothes and he flashed a glare.

  “Something you want to tell me?”

  I pursed my lips and leaned casually against the door frame, searching for a good lie. Something humorous. Anything, really.

  I emptied the can and set it on a table.

  “Jette.”

  Shaking my head in defeat, I stepped back and gestured him in. Nick wordlessly shut the door.

  He hooked his thumbs into his belt as he assessed me again. “That looks like it was bad.”

  I was only happy it wasn’t on the news. “Yeah.”

  “You’re supposed to call me if you need anything.”

  I shrugged. “I handled it.”

  His jaw twitched. “You could have died. You could have taken out the whole house—”

  I could almost see the flaming anger in his eyes. I nodded and looked away, knowing I deserved it.

  “Look at me.”

  I took a deep breath and turned back to him, determined to take it. He didn’t even know how right he was.

  “You could have taken out the whole block. I cannot let you go out this way, because when it happens, it won’t just be you. It’s anyone around you. I don’t know what else I can say to get your attention.”

  I nodded. “You’re right.”

  “You need help. And you’re not getting it. If I have to take you into custody—”

  The doorbell rang. I reached over and opened the door.

  Angel was wearing a bright yellow peasant top and skinny jeans.

  “Warren,” she said humorlessly.

  Nick took a slow breath in, standing a little taller. He glanced at me, and then back at Angel. He gestured at me as he spoke. “You’re here because she called you.”

  “She did.” Angel stepped inside. In her heels, she was almost as tall as Nick, and at least as intimidating. She set her bag on a chair, gave Nick a look, and then started walking back toward my kitchen. “I’ll give you a minute.”

  I turned my gaze back to Nick as Angel’s footsteps faded.

  He set the burrito in my hands and turned to go. I set one hand on the door to shut it behind him, but he stopped halfway and turned back to face me.

  He looked abashed. It might have been because we were standing intimately close, but then I saw his eyes look back into the house.

  His voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

  He left. Clutching my bagged breakfast, I tried to ready myself for the abrasive morning to come.

  Angel strolled into view, arms crossed and looking more at home than I felt most days. “Coming?”

  I swallowed every remark that came to mind and trudged to the kitchen, tossing the bag onto the table and taking a chair. Angel leaned against the kitchen island, head cocked and eyes narrow and focused as I started to eat.

  “Have you come clean to Nick yet?” she asked.

  I looked dolefully up at her. Robert leapt onto the table and started nibbling at a corner of my burrito. I didn’t even care.

  I had to force myself to swallow. “Come clean?”

  “Hmm. You know what I’m talking about.” She strode over and took the chair across from me. “I may not have all the details, but I know enough. And what you’re not telling him is the reason this keeps happening.” She ran her long, manicured fingers through her thick hair. “There’s a natural order to the world, and magic is never quite right with the natural order. It pushes boundaries. It breaks rules. But magic has its own rules, and if you want to restore order, you need to get right, spiritually speaking. Get right with yourself and your gods.”

  I set my burrito down and put the cat back on the floor. “You’re going to heal me with the power of prayer.”

  Angel cocked an eyebrow. “I’m going to heal you with the power of peace. I’ve seen enough cases like yours to know anxiety and guilt are the top reasons for severe burns. You do not strike me as someone who fears death, what with the way you’ve been avoiding any help for your condition, so that means you have guilt. And as the only person you are really close with is Nick, it’s probably something to do with him.”

  I leaned back, feeling slightly relieved. “You’re going to heal me with the power of a fake psychic.”

  Angel cracked a small smile and nodded. “Confess. It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

  I blinked, looking down at the table. I looked frankly back up at her. “What do you know about Nick?”

  “The truth,” she said without hesitation. “But what I know about Nick is between me and Nick.”

  “And whatever he said dies with you?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.” Angel looked impatient. “We cannot start treatment until you say it—whatever it is—out loud.”

  “To you.”

  “To me.” Angel nodded.

  “And what does treatment look like after I tell you?”

  She shook a finger at me, ebbing on anger. “That’s called starting treatment, and we don’t start until you tell. And after what you told me on the phone these last two times, I think you know you’re out on your next strike.”

  I didn’t like her tone or her attitude. I didn’t like her truth, and I especially didn’t like that her truth was the only truth.

  My life was in her hands. “Do you promise you can help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you?”

  She glared, leaning toward me. “Do you need a pinky promise or some shit? I do not give a fuck what you are about to say. This is for your benefit, not mine. Just spit it out.”

  I glared back at her, crossing my arms and hugging myself a little. “Nick can’t know.”

  “Girl—” Angel stopped, biting her lip and looking up as she shook her head. “No one cares, no one’s judging, so just say it already!”

  “Fine,” I growled. I took a steadying breath. “I am actively planning to break my dad out of the Bleak’s custody. It’s a long story, but I got a tip on who might have framed him, and I’ve been hunting these guys down so I can prove my dad’s innocence and get revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Angel did a double take. “You’re planning to kill people? Gods. Gods, Jette!”

  I felt my cheeks blush with heat. “You said no judgment.”

  “I thought you had a crush on Warren!” Angel got up and started pacing. “Gods! Damn. Premeditated murder.”

  “You said you wouldn’t care,” I almost pleaded. I made a face. “You thought I had a crush on Nick?”

  “Premeditated murder is a first for me.” She stopped and pointed at me. “And you’re going to have to shut up, because I’m trying to process.”

  I stood up. “Who the hell goes through this shit over something as dumb as a crush?”

  “You might be surprised!” Angel snapped.

  She looked me over again, and I was suddenly reminded that I was wearing toasted clothes.

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  Angel looked at me like I was crazy
. “Well, you’ve got to tell Nick!”

  “No,” I said flatly. “You said I had to tell you, and then we’d start treatment. I told you. And you said you would not tell him. And I am not telling him—”

  She squared her shoulders. “Oh, I’m not telling him. You’re a walking bomb, and the last thing you need is someone stirring the pot behind your back. What I said is that you should tell him.”

  “I’m not telling him,” I repeated. “What happens next?”

  Her lip curled. She took two steps toward me and I shied away.

  “I’m going to need your hand.” She reached.

  I recoiled. “You’re going to take it away? All of it?”

  Angel raised her chin. “Honey, there’s no take it all away for what you have. You’ll have it the rest of your life. Including when you need it to get your revenge. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?”

  Slowly, I gave her my hand.

  The magic melted away into a calm and quiet I hadn’t known in a long time.

  Chapter 25

  I DREW IN A SHARP BREATH and tried to take my hand back. It was like my muscles were frozen in place.

  The magic inside of me, usually bundled and knotted and locked away into a box I dared not open, was suddenly flowing and smooth as it poured down my arm and out of my wrist. Its typical discordant notes harmonized like a warming orchestra before falling to an obedient silence.

  Angel let go of my palm and I yanked it back to my chest.

  Now I knew why she was off the books. “You’re a leech.”

  “I prefer the term mageiotomist,” she said haughtily. “You’re a wannabe murderer. And you’re welcome.”

  Leeches. Ants. The terms the Bleak perpetuated for outsiders made it clear where they viewed themselves in the social order.

  Leeches were, by their very nature, some of the most threatening witches society had to offer. Born with a larger capacity for magic than the magic they naturally possessed, they were able to steal it from others as a raw resource. The Order of the Bleak didn’t like the potential challenge this posed to their authority, and children born with that particular quirk were often whisked away at a young age to receive special education.