Bait & Switch (Driftwood Mystery Book 1)

by A. L. Tyler

  “You’re right. Someone was doing magic in that house. Murder weapon?”

  “You went in?” I asked, suddenly doubting my plan. “What’d you find?”

  “No,” he said. “They’re still processing, but I could tell. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve to read magic from a distance. What was the murder weapon?”

  “Do we have a deal?” I pressed.

  “Yeah, whatever. I’ll nail this guy first, and I’ll take you in second. Deal?”

  I gave him a charming smile. “I haven’t seen the murder weapon yet, but I’ll bet it’s there tomorrow. I could have it right in my cuffed hands. Remove the cuffs, and what I know is all yours.”

  He sat in the driver’s seat, breathing deeply. When he got out and squeezed in next to me in the back, he was so close that I could smell the leather of his jacket and his sharp, lingering aftershave. I leaned back to give him more room. His eyes bored into me as he analyzed my face. I tried to keep my expression fixed, but being alone with him in the dark intimacy of the car only made him all the more intimidating.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game by working with a handler. The Bleak doesn’t care much about what happens to the people they set us on before they get taken in. You should be afraid of me.”

  He was a big guy, athletically built, and he had a strong jaw and light brown hair. Younger than I would have guessed for his skill with spell craftsmanship. Maybe it was because of all the time staring at him in the rear-view mirror, but I couldn’t look away from his eyes.

  “You said it. I worked with Marcus Clark. You wouldn’t be the first degenerate I’ve worked with to try and pull some bullshit,” I said in disgust. “And if you touch me, I will try to kill you. And with what I’m packing now, I will probably do it. You should be afraid of me.”

  He snorted, pulling a key from his pocket. “You’re too trusting. Turn around.”

  “Not in a million years,” I said, staring at the key. “Leave it on the seat and I’ll do it myself. I don’t trust anyone.”

  His smile was forced, but he left the key on the seat as he backed out. He didn’t wait for me to get the cuffs off before he started driving again, and it took me a good five minutes to get them off with him swerving all over the road.

  He was doing it on purpose. I could see the amusement in his eyes. For the first time, I questioned if I had misjudged him—any man who enjoyed playing cat and mouse with someone’s life on the line might not be someone I wanted to deal with.

  When I finally turned the key and felt the click, the sounds of the car sang back to life. I could hear it all through his silencing ward. The bag of imbued supplies he had in his pocket chimed like sleigh bells. The wards lined his coat and played long and slow, like a lullaby. There were subtler hints of small, hidden spells, aimed at being secret, hiding between the notes of the others.

  He was a masterpiece, and I hated to admit it. Even as someone who worked at improving the spells of others, there was very little I could have done to improve what he already had.

  I sat back and put on my seat belt before rubbing my wrists.

  “Real criminals don’t wear seat belts,” he taunted.

  “Real criminals are idiots,” I retorted. “And you suck at driving. How did you hide your magic when we met?”

  “I’m a handler,” he said flatly. “Getting close to the mark is what I do. Admittedly, you made it pretty easy.”

  “I didn’t ask to get mugged,” I said testily.

  “Hmm,” he smiled lightly. “I was talking about the way you looked at me. But sure, we’ll go with the mugging.”

  “I was not checking you out,” I said quickly. But I couldn’t fight about it now. With the cuffs off, the power was starting to surge inside of me. The magic crawled into my hands unbidden, like ants come to attack me.

  Not now, I pleaded. I tried to quiet my fears and push the feeling back inside, but it was getting harder and harder with each passing week, and my gods did it hurt.

  It had been this way ever since the heist. Every book I’d ever read on the subject warned me not to steal magic: what you were born with, you could handle. Anything more, well...

  My hands burned and hummed like angry bees.

  Nick did a double-take when he saw my palms.

  “You okay?”

  I shook my head again. No, I wasn’t okay. It felt like my hands were swimming in acid.

  “Do they usually glow like that?”

  “Just drive. Please. I live a few blocks from here. Turn right on Cherry Street, I’m in the red brick apartments.”

  He drove straight through the intersection.

  “Hey!”

  “You think I’m going to trust you? You’re coming to my place.” He eyed my glowing hands again. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  I laughed through my tears. “Yeah, it hurts. Please, I need to stop now. How far do you live?”

  “Twenty minutes,” he replied.

  “Too far,” I groaned.

  One year since the heist that had landed me on the Bleak’s Most Wanted list. One year of unpredictable, unbearable pain. It was almost enough to make me turn myself in. But then it lessened, and softened, and for a while it was only one finger—the index finger on my left hand, and it would only smoke when the anxiety started to get me. Then it was sparks, and then fire. Intense heat that made me sleep with my hand wrapped in a gallon bag filled with water some nights for fear that I would set my bed on fire.

  One finger became two. Two became a fist. My other hand started to go, and I found a back-alley doctor who told me it would only get worse. This condition would end my life.

  Mana burn. Such was the fate of those who held more magic than nature intended. It was also the reason that few idiots ever tried to steal magic from the artifacts of the Bleak—let alone very powerful stores.

  I was one such idiot. I only had two or three years left.

  But hell, two or three years was all I needed. Working for the Bleak had taught me to be a good planner, and my father had taught me as much since the day I was born.

  The ants started to chew my fingertips as I wrung my hands, and sparks flew. I yelped in surprise.

  Nick flipped a u-turn in the middle of traffic and horns blared. We went back to Cherry Street.

  Chapter 6

  FIVE MINUTES LATER I was fumbling with my keys to get in. Just as I got the key to turn, Nick’s hand landed heavy on the doorknob to stop me.

  “I’m going to need to follow you in,” he said.

  There was no time to argue with him. “So then follow me in!”

  I shoved the door open and let it hit the wall in my urgency when I burst through.

  I bolted into the bathroom and attempted to slam the door shut behind me, but Nick was there, using his foot to jamb it open.

  “A little privacy?!”

  Nick laughed. “Not likely!”

  No time. I turned around and started the tub running. I didn’t even bother to remove my shoes before I climbed in.

  My whole body felt like it was on fire, and the cold water stabbed like knives. I submerged my hands with a sound like ice hitting hot oil in a fryer. The water immediately began to boil. I twisted my face to the side and bit my shirt as I tried to contain my scream, but a low, muffled moan still escaped me.

  I shut my eyes and counted. One...Two...Three...

  It came in pulses, with my heartbeat, but every time my heart would start to race. It banged in my ears like drums, so loud that they made me shake as the water quivered and steamed around me.

  ...Ten...Eleven...Twelve...

  And with each pulse becoming more painful and intense with every episode, there were hardly breaks between the pulses. Someday, the breaks wouldn’t be long enough, and I knew what would happen. The magic was tied to me—to my physical being.

  If it didn’t burn right out of me, it would grow strong enough to stop my heart for good.

  Forty-six...Forty-seven...Forty-eight...


  My longest spell had been well over sixty. Even though the pain was lessening now, I didn’t delude myself. On average, the episodes were growing longer. It was getting worse.

  I curled onto my side when the worst of it was done and opened my eyes.

  The look on Nick’s face went from alarm, to fear, to something like pity. When he realized I was in no state to fight or flee, he looked a little sheepish.

  “I’ll just...” He cleared his throat. “Take your time.”

  He turned his back. I kicked my leg until my foot connected with the drain, letting the water out so the tub didn’t overflow.

  I lay there until the tub was empty. Shivering in my wet clothes, I thought about going to sleep right there, because I knew another episode would come for me. Tonight, or maybe tomorrow, or the next day...

  But it was coming. And I was losing the will to recover each time.

  Get up. The plan.

  Fuck the plan.

  I tried to get up. I slipped and smacked my head hard on the edge of the tub.

  “Whoa!” Nick had a hand on my back, stopping me from trying again. “Whoa!”

  I went to slap him away, but my arm flopped numb and useless. My nerves were fried from too much magic.

  He wrapped an arm around me to pull me to a standing position. I soaked everything he was wearing, and I didn’t care for the way I fell against his well-toned physique.

  I slipped on the wet floor as I pushed away from and fell again. He carried me out of the bathroom and into the living room. I saw his jaw tense in disgust.

  “You’re a minimalist.”

  I didn’t have any furniture. I didn’t see the point anymore. I had to be ready to move on my plan, and my uncontrolled bouts eventually destroyed everything I touched.

  It was easier to just not have a couch than to constantly replace one. The same went for chairs. Televisions. Tables, lamps, books, dishes... Everything.

  He set me down just inside the door of my bedroom. The disapproval on his face at the sight of my bed—a stack of second-hand and slightly scorched blankets laid out in one corner—was clear.

  “Get dressed.” He turned and stalked away.

  I could hear him opening and closing doors. Checking my refrigerator. Opening the oven and microwave.

  I didn’t have anything to hide. The only weapon here was me, and I was out of commission.

  For now.

  I crawled to my bag of clothes and stripped out of the wet mess I’d made, pulling on new ones just in time for Nick to return.

  “You don’t have any food.”

  I stared at him. I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. He looked like he wanted an answer.

  I shrugged. “I eat out.”

  “You never order in.”

  “I don’t like having to carry garbage down to the dumpster. Some asshole might jump me and take me back to the Bleak.”

  He wasn’t fazed. “You don’t even have towels.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but it was a little awkward. The last of my towels were half-burned in my make-do bed. They didn’t last long, so I preferred to air dry.

  “You get paid for your work, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you own nothing?”

  I shrugged again, looking down at my hands and licking my lips. A good mana burn always left me thirsty.

  Nick pointed at my bag. “That’s everything you have.”

  I didn’t know where he was going with this. I nodded.

  He picked up the bag. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  In my shock, I watched as he started to walk away with everything I owned.

  “Seriously?!” I scrambled haphazardly to my feet.

  “You live with me now,” he said plainly. “You’re sick. You need help.”

  “You need to be sure your cash doesn’t skip town,” I said, meeting him at the front door. “Got it.”

  “You need to not be endangering unsuspecting humans with your condition,” he said, pointing around us. “Get in the car.”

  “I’m pretty sure I just got a lecture about not trusting handlers. And now you want me to move in with you?”

  “Funny,” he said without smiling. “I’m pretty sure I just got a lecture about how you could kill me. You failed to mention that you would be blowing yourself up in the process. I’ve seen mana burn before, Driftwood. Don’t let it come to that. I can help.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re going to help me? You’re the guy turning me over to the Bleak for execution.”

  He dropped my bag on the ground. “Or not. Mana burn is a cruel way to go. Your call.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. He kept changing the plan.

  Maybe escape was the better option. But if I went with him, it narrowed my opportunities for escape considerably.

  Get it back on track, Jette.

  Pain killers were no longer effective for me. I was taking everything I legally could to get to sleep, and even then, I had considered raiding the drug closet in the evidence room for prescription pills.

  Cursing, I picked my bag up, hearing the familiar rattle of too many medications in too many bottles. If I didn’t find a solution to my mana burn soon, I wasn’t going to be running very far anyway.

  I followed him back down to my car.

  Nick paused by the driver’s side door, staring at me. “Are you working tomorrow? I’m going to need the case file.”

  Back to business as usual.

  With everything going on, I had completely forgotten about work in the morning. But in the event that my plan held—and I could convince this guy I was a victim and not a criminal—I needed to cooperate. “Yes. Early. Half day, because I’m part time.”

  “Good girl.”

  The next time the pain hit, I was going to accidentally shoot his face off.

  I sat down in the passenger seat, flexing my fingers.

  Nick eyed me warily. “You’re still not done?”

  I glared out of the windshield.

  Chapter 7

  NICK LIVED IN FOWL Gulch, about twenty minutes away. He had an apartment on the fourth floor on Main Street. The drapes were drawn, but I imagined the view of the mountains from the living room couch was almost enough to make up for the drafty high ceiling and questionable, aging elevator.

  The place was covered in dated memorabilia. There were political posters from decades past, stacks of old books, an old record player, an ancient microwave, furniture from the ‘20s, a shag rug from the ‘60s, and a VHS player. Mixed in were various magical artifacts that I knew he must have been tasked with collecting, but the fact that they remained in his private residence told me he wasn’t as honest with the Bleak as he might be when it came to turning everything over to the authorities.

  An enchanted bowl sat on the kitchen bar, filling the air with a sweet little melody that reminded me of the holidays, and across the room I could hear a more programmed tune—almost like the toned hum of a computer starting up—coming from his curtains. They were warded to shield the space from voyeurs. And somewhere, there was something else that was falling sharp and flat on every note...

  My eyes landed on a child’s toy sword, laid inconspicuously atop the fireplace mantle, that bore some magic of refurbishing over the years.

  “Guest bath is down the hall,” Nick said. He cleared his throat. “You can take the room across the hall. Help yourself.”

  My fingers were growing hot at their tips with the nervous energy of this new place. I didn’t argue.

  I filled the tub and set to work. I wasn’t sure what time it was, or if Nick would really let me to go to work the next day, or how he intended to try and keep me restrained while he was looking for the murderer. In any case, I needed to be on top of my game to fulfill my plan, so I let the magic flow out of me and into the water.

  It took much longer than usual.

  “You’re lucky to have friends.”

  I startl
ed and looked over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure how long Nick had been there.

  I scoffed. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve got friends,” he said. “Every time you make a coffee run at work. You never come back with just one cup. Who cares about you, Driftwood?”

  “It’s for my boss and my coworker.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not friendship. It’s an act. You know that, right?”

  “You’re acting?”

  “We’re all acting,” I snapped. “I get that you don’t really have co-workers, but what I have with Marge is a working relationship. That means we work together, so we have a relationship to keep work going smoothly. Outside of work, I’m no one to her.”

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “That’s a sad state of affairs.”

  “That’s how I like it,” I said definitively. “When I go, no one’s going to get hurt.”

  “Go?” Nick asked. “Were you planning to leave?”

  I licked my lips and breathed a shallow breath. No, I hadn’t been planning on leaving before Nick. I liked it in Fallvale. But with a condition like mine, and my plan in the works, and my father waiting to be freed...

  And randomly setting shit on fire...

  Nick’s eyes wandered down to my hands. “I see.”

  I wasn’t a fan of pity. Not when it was directed at me, and not when it came from the guy who was choosing to turn me over to a corrupt government.

  “Do you do this this with all of your captives?” I demanded. “Are you some sort of amateur shrink or something?”

  “No,” he replied with a smile. “Why? Do you need a shrink?”

  “No.”

  “I like finding out what makes a criminal tick,” he said. “Most of them are just rambling idiots. The few smart ones have been interesting, though.”

  “So you find my tragedy interesting?” I said in disapproval.

  Nick stood up straight, shrugging. “I never said you were a smart one. From my objective point of view, you’re just a lonely, washed up has-been.”

  Smirking, he walked away.

  I pulled my hands from the water, because it wasn’t my palms that were boiling anymore.

  It was my blood.