Dirty Magic

by Jaye Wells

  “Like hell,” I hissed. “Is this some sort of sick revenge for leaving you?”

  He tilted his head and shot me a disappointed look. “Kate, please, we’re not children. I understand your anger. I know you must hate me.”

  I nodded eagerly, which earned me another censoring grimace.

  “But the ends will eventually justify these unavoidable means. I’m sure of it.” He smiled reassuringly, as one would to a child who didn’t know how to see through the bullshit. “In the meantime, I just need you to warn me if the MEA decides to dig in my sandbox.”

  “This isn’t a fucking game.” The words were delivered in a diamond-hard tone I’d never heard come from my mouth before. Guess I’d been saving it for a special occasion.

  John chuckled. “When are you going to learn? Magic is always a game. What was it Uncle Abe used to say?” He cocked his head and quoted the man he’d just threatened a couple of minutes earlier: “You either cook or you get burned.”

  Considering the rage smoldering in the center of my chest, I had a pretty good idea which category I fell into.

  My left hand lifted before I made a conscious decision to slap him. His hand caught my palm before it made contact. “I’m sorry.” Raised my fingertips to his mouth. Planted a kiss there while he stared into my angry gaze.

  I ripped my hand away and cradled it to my chest. “Get the fuck away from me.”

  He smiled tightly. Paused and regarded me with a look I couldn’t identify. I just knew it scared me a little. But finally, he nodded. “All right, I’ll go.” He glanced down at his watch. “But I’ll be talking to you real soon, Kate.”

  In shock, I watched him walk away. But before I’d taken two breaths, I realized I couldn’t sit on that bench and wait for Morales and Danny to come find me in that state.

  I stood and walked away on wooden legs. Away from the grating racket of the carnival. Past the clearing where the community center would stand next year. Toward the gate that used to lead down into the Arteries.

  Since the raid, the mayor had had every entrance to the tunnels sealed shut with cinder blocks. I placed a hand over the red paint that spelled the words KEEP OUT. Behind me, the screams of joy from the carnival-goers mixed with the noise from the freeway and the melancholy horns of the riverboats.

  I climbed up a grassy rise to the top of the road that ran over the old tunnels. From this higher vantage point, I could see most of the Cauldron.

  I looked around. Really looked. The sun was setting in the distance over Lake Erie. That massive body of water was filled with mutated fish, dumped chemicals, and more bodies than the Babylon Eternal Rest Cemetery on Highway 52.

  Closer, a tenement down the road was lit up like a faerie dwelling, but no mythical faerie-tale creatures lived in there. Instead, its walls were thin prisons that barely contained the despair of its residents. Magic was the least of their worries. Instead, poverty, addiction, and abuse were more abundant than clean water, fresh produce, and a decent education.

  I wasn’t sure how long I looked around at the fetid landscape before the sounds of sirens echoed in the distance. Before the mom walking by with her toddler screamed and knocked the kid upside the head because he tripped. Before the gaunt, blond junkie stumbled out of the alley and offered the teenaged Adept who worked that corner a blow job in exchange for a diet potion.

  Eventually I watched the immorality play long enough that my shoulders slumped and what was left of my optimism seeped out like a leaky balloon.

  The future John Volos had promised the citizens of the Cauldron was a mirage. All those families who gathered to listen to his pretty words wanted to believe he was offering them a dream come true. Instead it was more like a hallucination fueled by dirty magic and his own ambitions. Ambitions he’d see realized no matter whom he had to fuck over in the process.

  I pulled my gaze from the urban landscape to see Morales climbing the hill toward me.

  “Where’s Danny?” I asked, suddenly afraid for him to be alone.

  “He’s throwing baseballs at a clown with Pen and Shadi.”

  I nodded and sighed, my gaze on the lights of the midway.

  “What did Volos have to say?” He fell in next to me, his eyes scanning the horizon.

  I shrugged but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just wanted to know how Danny was doing.”

  He turned to look at me, a brow raised in challenge. “Sure that’s all? You didn’t look too happy.” I could tell by the tightness of his tone and the anger in his eyes that he’d seen me try to hit Volos and what happened after.

  But telling Morales about the conversation wasn’t an option. So I just shrugged.

  Morales let me have my silence for a few moments. When he finally spoke again, it was on the heels of a sigh. “You know, I didn’t really like this town when I first got here.”

  I glanced at him. Wondering at the pensive tone and the rapid change in subject. “Oh yeah?”

  He nodded and looked at me from the corner of his eyes. “But now I’m glad I’ll be sticking around for a while. This place is a mess. All sorts of fucked-up history and complicated issues to navigate.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, sounds like you’re thrilled.”

  He laughed. “But the Cauldron’s also got lots of secrets. Makes me want to understand what makes it tick.” He turned toward me fully. “And there’s good here, too.” He nodded toward the carnival. “Those people? Their dreams are worth fighting for.”

  “You think?” I swallowed.

  “Yeah, I do.” He nodded. “Even if it means we’re the ones who have to take on the bad guys to make it happen.”

  I sucked a deep breath into my lungs. It smelled like ozone and car exhaust, but there was also the smell of fried fair foods and the crisp, smoky promise of autumn. I blinked and instead of looking at the bad, I tried to focus on the good. The lights of the carnival. The children skipping through the midway. The tired, indulgent smiles of the parents. The way the sunset’s reds and oranges and purples shifted over the surface of the lake like a kaleidoscope’s colors. The pale crescent moon overhead cupping the evening’s first stars in its embrace.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “You’ve only just begun to see the resources the MEA can bring down on the bad guys. Now that we’ve taken down Bane and gotten the mayor some positive press, the ASAC will throw funds our way. Plus we’re getting some more warm bodies for the team. The covens won’t know what hit ’em.”

  Across the field, past the stage, I saw a group of four people headed toward us. I recognized Mez’s dreads immediately, tonight back to their dark brown color. Pen picked her way gracefully over the ruts and grass. Shadi strutted with her arm around Danny’s shoulders.

  Danny. Seeing him smile and laugh was like a balm to soothe my ragged edges.

  “Here comes trouble,” Drew said, sounding amused.

  I looked up at him. “You really believe we can make a difference?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “You bet your ass, Cupcake.”

  I just prayed I’d have a chance to prove him right before Volos made good on his threats. Because one thing was sure, I’d quit the team before I helped him slither his way out of an investigation. I might not be a saint, but I sure as hell wasn’t a traitor to the badge like Mike Hanson.

  By that time, the others finally reached our perch high on the hill. I looked around at the faces of my team and my little family. Morales was right. There were lots of things worth fighting for in the Cauldron.

  Across the clearing, at the edge of the carnival, I spied a long, black limousine with taillights that glowed like a blood fiend’s eyes in the Arteries. John Volos emerged from a tent and walked purposefully toward the waiting car. He reached the door but paused before ducking inside. Turning to look over his shoulder, his eyes scanned the carnival, the busy lot, the street. But his gaze never landed on the source of his discomfort.

  Get u
sed to looking over your shoulder, I said silently as I imagined an invisible target on his forehead. Because I’ll be watching you.

  Finally, he gave up his search and ducked into the car. A few seconds later, the limo pulled away, and Babylon’s favorite son disappeared into the Cauldron’s protective embrace.

  “Kate?” Danny called. “You okay?”

  I forced a smile and put an arm around my kid brother. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Or I will be, I silently amended. A quickening began in my middle and expanded outward, heating my limbs and hardening my resolve.

  Volos may have won this battle, but I would win the war.

  Acknowledgments

  The writing experts say you should write what you know. As it happens, Dirty Magic is about some things I knew all too well, but also a lot of technical things I hadn’t a clue about when the idea knocked me upside the head. But I do now, thanks to the following people.

  The Plano, Texas, Police Department and the Plano Citizens’ Police Academy were invaluable resources. During the twelve-week crash course in being a cop, I got to handle illicit substances, learn how to defuse bombs, and drive police cars at high speeds. Thanks especially to Sergeant Lindy Privet and Officer Mark Dawson for your senses of humor and patience.

  A special shout-out to Officer Chris “Laser” Turner, who hosted me for an eight-hour ride-along. He answered all my ridiculous questions honestly and with a great sense of humor. When I told him I was a writer, his immediate response was to request that if he appeared in the book he get a cool nickname, “Like ‘Laser,’” he said. Done. I also owe him for the idea of “tactical wizards.” Awesome.

  Thanks to Lee Lofland and all the officers, agents, and experts who taught at the 2012 Writers’ Police Academy in Guilford County, North Carolina. I will definitely be back, and I recommend this event to anyone who wants to write about characters in law enforcement.

  I have huge gratitude, as always, for Devi Pillai at Orbit for pushing me to take my writing further. Thank you, Lauren Panepinto, for the gorgeous cover. The rest of the Orbit team is pretty amazing as well, including Tim Holman, Alex Lencicki, Ellen Wright, Susan Barnes, and all the unsung heroes in sales and marketing.

  Thanks to my fabulous agent, Rebecca Strauss, who makes sure I don’t set my hair on fire and also seems to like my writing despite the fact it freaks her out (don’t mention Little Man to her). You rock, lady!

  No author makes it very far without a gang of fellow writers with whom to commiserate, gossip, and laugh. Huge thanks to Liliana Hart, Mark Henry, Nicole Peeler, Suzanne McLeod, and the League of Reluctant Adults.

  When I was young, my mother was a bookstore manager by day and a cop at night. When she wasn’t driving me to playdates, she was winning shooting competitions. Needless to say, her input, advice, and encouragement were invaluable as I wrote this book. Thanks for being my first superhero, Mom.

  Speaking of my mom, I am lucky enough to come from families filled with uppity broads. Thank you, ladies, for inspiring me to live with passion, love fiercely, and laugh loudly and often.

  Thanks to Spawn for making me laugh every day and reminding me not to take anything too seriously, except for how much I love him.

  My husband is pretty much the most patient man on earth, as well as my biggest supporter. Without his reminding me that I always threaten to quit writing when I’m on deadline, I would have given up a long time ago. Or worse, never tried to begin with. ILYNTB.

  Thank you to the makers of fine coffee, dark chocolate, good bourbon, and delicious cheeses. Your creations are the fuel this writer uses to turn ideas into words.

  But most of all, thank you, gentle reader, for spending time in this made-up world with these crazy characters. All I ever wanted was to tell stories, and because you’re willing to listen, I’m living out my dream. Infinite thanks for that blessing and privilege.