by A. L. Tyler
I slammed my door shut as Nick slid into the driver’s seat.
“Bench seat,” I said, nodding. I looked back over my shoulder and compulsively slid my hand along the seam. “And no seat belts. Nice death trap, Nick.”
“Immortal.” Nick slammed his door shut. “Your point is moot.”
I cocked my head, licking my lips as he turned the ignition. I tried to brace myself on the door and the dash. “You only work with other immortals, I’m guessing?”
Nick shrugged and shook his head. “Mostly criminals. As you know, the Bleak doesn’t really care what happens to them prior to delivery.”
He floored the car into reverse and it squealed out of the parking spot as I slammed off my seat and into the footwell. It smelled like mud, mold, and flat soda.
Nick was smirking.
I had to wait for him to hit a highway before his sharp turns and fast stops ceased, and I could finally get my balance and climb back into my seat.
I glared at him. “You’re an asshole.”
“And everyone who rides in that seat is either immortal or a practitioner of magic,” he said. “If you had a handle on yours, you might have found a way to keep yourself from slapping around like—”
“All the shit in your back seat?” Maybe I was spending too much time around Marge. “I could be dead now. Get some damn seat belts.”
“Learn a spell that will make you less susceptible to the laws of physics.” He frowned. “Or one to fix yourself on the seat. Actually, I’m not sure how the others manage.”
I raised my eyebrows. Nick was still firmly seated behind the wheel despite the carnival ride he’d manufactured. “You don’t use magic?”
“Too tedious. I glued some of those anti-slip shower floor things to my side years ago.”
SARGASSO WAS ABOUT twenty minutes away on the highway. More, during the commute hours. It was a big town whose town council liked to pretend it was still a small town. The narrow roads and lack of traffic signals combined with a lot of tech cubicle workers made it a nightmare to drive through most days.
The town council must have been doing their jobs, though, because it certainly was a charming place with no traffic at three in the morning.
Old, tall trees lined the roads, and many of the residences in Sargasso were old brick and mortar constructs with wavy glass windows and climbing vines on their sides that made me think of fairy tales. For all of their energy inefficiency, the houses were some of the priciest in the area, and the town council made it a pain to update anything on the claim that they wanted to preserve Sargasso’s historical character.
When we pulled up in front of one of the newer cubicle farms, I looked at Nick and raised my eyebrows. “This is where we’re getting the guy? Is he a night janitor?”
Someone tapped on my window. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“No, but Joe is.” Nick reached across me to pop open the door. “I’ve known him a long time. He’s going to be taking custody of our suspect, as I already have my hands full.”
Joe’s gray eyes searched me as mine searched him. He was a little on the short side, younger than I would have bet for a handler, and the janitorial uniform he wore did nothing for his toned physique.
“And you’re a janitor?” I asked in disbelief.
“A lot of us do janitor work,” Nick grumbled.
“People overlook janitors,” Joe added. “Talk in front of them. Throw things in the trash or on the ground. Makes my life a hell of a lot easier and more interesting some days.”
“Right.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Joe waved his hand at me to scoot over, and I hesitantly glanced into the back seat, but it was full of garbage.
“I don’t bite,” Nick said impatiently. He gave me a wink and an amused smile. His fangs were all too apparent now that I was looking for them.
I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily as I allowed myself to be sandwiched between two Bleak handlers.
“This is her?” Joe asked, twisting to look at me. His hand twitched and I heard the subtle buzz of a spell that went straight into the seat. He must have ridden with Nick before.
I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. I wasn’t interested in discussing my past again, and especially not with another handler. I noted with some chagrin that Nick was a little gentler on the accelerator as we started moving this time.
“Yes,” Nick said. “Hands off. She’s mine.”
Joe raised his eyebrows and held up both hands. “Hey, man. What’s fair is fair. Your jurisdiction, and you got the assignment. And if you actually cornered a murderer before the Bleak put a price on him, I owe you one. You know I need this.”
I shook my head and muttered under my breath. “I gave you a murderer, and of course, you’re giving the money away...”
“Money is for bills, and my bills are paid,” Nick said. “In this business, having colleagues you trust is worth more than any one job. And you don’t owe me anything. Consider it payback for that changeling case all those years ago.”
My eyes wandered down to Joe’s side as something dug at me uncomfortably. Joe grabbed his pistol immediately.
I gave him a sarcastic look. “Worried I was dumb enough to try and outdraw a handler?”
“Nah. Cross for good luck.” Joe waved the pistol in front of me, pointing at the cross carved into the handle. “But one can never be too safe around the criminal element.”
I went back to glaring out the windshield.
Joe laughed a little and tucked the gun against his far hip. “Where are we off to, then?”
“Just a few blocks,” Nick said, his eyes scanning the street signs. “We’re checking in on Farrow.”
“Farrow?” Joe made a face. “Are you shitting me, Warren? That guy couldn’t kill a mosquito if it bit him in the ass. He’s too clumsy. Besides, his racket’s been pretty quiet since he turned snitch. Everyone knows. He’s broke and sad.”
“Clumsy murderer, wants his power back,” Nick said. “Fits our bill.”
The car fell silent as we drove on. I could feel Joe’s eyes on me again.
“Are you sure you’re Jette Driftwood?” he asked. “Damn. Somehow, I had this image in my head of someone taller, you know? Manly, almost. You look like you’re twelve.”
I didn’t look like I was twelve. Twelve-year-olds didn’t conjure shit storms of fire.
Joe leaned away from me in surprise when the fireball appeared in my hand. I grinned at the sound of his own magic straining to keep his butt on the chair.
Nick clapped his magic handcuff on me.
“Hey!”
“This interior was made in the sixties, and as you pointed out, it’s a rolling deathtrap.” He shot me a disappointed look. “Please try not to set all of the very flammable things in here on fire.”
We pulled up in front of a house that looked like a small castle. Crashing business or not, the Bleak appeared to be compensating Farrow Danvers well for whatever information he provided to them. I got out of the car with Nick and Joe. Joe gave Nick a look as he removed the cuff on my left hand.
“You’re sure she’s safe?” he asked.
Nick didn’t blink. “She’s practically twelve. Don’t sweat it.”
I rubbed my wrist as the magic around us hummed back to life.
I could hear it. It whistled like light wind from the house and across the lawn to where we stood. The crackle of a protective spell climbed up and down the wrought-iron partition between us and the residence like an electric fence.
When we entered, Farrow would know, and Nick either didn’t know or didn’t care. But when I closed my eyes and focused on the river of sound that poured out around us, I knew something was wrong.
“He lives here alone?” I asked, cocking my head.
When I opened my eyes, Nick was staring at me uncertainly. “To my knowledge.”
“No parents, and no children?”
“Is she touched?” Joe asked.
“She’s right
here,” I said.
“She’s got this thing that she does...” Nick waved a hand in dismissal. “What’s your point, Driftwood?”
I shook my head, staring up at the house. The magic here was all flat, simple melodies. Single sources, and no harmony, and no layers. It was like listening to a trumpet. A triangle. A drum.
The athame had layers and notes of overlapping origin, like a piano or a harp. More, even, owing to its many former owners—a veritable orchestra of spells and history all playing in harmony together.
But how to explain what I could so clearly hear to someone who only saw magic as magic?
“This isn’t our guy.”
Chapter 19
“ALL OF THE SPELL WORK here is too simple,” I explained.
“Simple?” Joe raised his eyebrows. “I’ve seen some of the forgeries and spells this guy has dreamed up, and I pride myself on being an expert. His work is anything but—”
“No,” I shook my head. “I didn’t mean the spells were simple. The magic is simple, like it has no nuance. No overlay. No imperfections from people coming through and renewing things, like the way stuff gets refurbed over the years and you see missed edges in walls that have been painted five times over the years...”
Both Nick and Joe were staring at me like I was insane. I was used to it. Synesthesia was about as common among witches as it was among humans, and my brand was even less common. No one heard our world—the magic world—the way I did.
“It doesn’t sound anything like the knife,” I said. They weren’t going to understand me. No one ever did. “You’re wasting your time.”
Well, one guy had understood me. But Alex Mordley wanted to kill me now.
“Right,” Joe said. He turned back to Nick. “So, how do you want to do this? He’s going to run if we set off his wards. They’re the best I’ve ever seen, and I haven’t ever found a cloak that gets past them. He knows whenever a magic user tries to get to the front door, and he’s slippery once he runs. Took me a week to catch him last time.”
I raised a hand and hovered it over the gate, listening to the music that grew to a predictable tune and rhythm as I settled my hand just outside the trigger point. The tune made my fingers dance in rhythm. I smiled.
This, at least, was magic that I could do. I had only done it a thousand times under the employ of the Bleak.
I focused on the note that strained and went sharp as my palm approached. I made it go quiet in my mind, making my fingers skip that beat as a mental aid, careful to leave the rest of the music intact to leave the illusion that the spell was still working. I drew my hand away.
“Wards are down,” I said with a satisfied look at Joe. “Go and question him. You’re not going to find anything.”
Joe stared at me. He drew his hand up and hesitated before he set it on the gate. His eyes flashed to Nick, and then he swung the gate open.
Nothing happened.
“Who are you?” Joe asked in amazement.
“Jette Driftwood.” Nick pushed past him and into the dark yard. “The Bleak’s finest and most wanted.”
He strode up toward the door, and I was still grinning to myself as I followed. I got cocky, and that was how I missed it.
The sound was like nails on a chalkboard when Nick’s knuckles rapped on the front door.
I raised my hands to my ears in alarm, gasping as an electric shock ran down my wrists.
Not now, I prayed. There’s no water around here, not now...
Nick turned and saw me stagger sideways as I balled my fists and clenched my jaw. “Everything okay?”
I groaned. “Nope.”
His eyes shifted uncertainly. “Mana burn?”
Joe took a step away from me like I was contagious. When my hands started to glow, he stepped behind Nick.
“She’s burning?” he asked. “You didn’t mention that on the phone. Damn, Nick, you’re walking around with a burner? You do know what happens when she hits critical capacity?”
“She’s fine,” Nick said dismissively. “She just needs to purge it. Are there any ponds around here? Swimming pools?”
They were so busy talking that they didn’t hear the window opening on the wall around the side of the house, or the magic that poured out in a rushed effort to silence it. Or maybe they couldn’t hear it—I heard the wards stutter as the window slid open, and the sound of enchanted objects inside the house grew louder. Sometimes, and especially when I was stressed, it was hard for me to decipher the sounds in the real world from the ones only in my head.
Farrow was sliding out the window while Joe was arguing whether or not he’d be getting back in the car with me. Farrow started to run toward the back of the house as Nick started bickering about whether or not he was ever again going to throw Joe a bone when a sure thing came up.
I could hear it coming, like it was far off in the distance even though I knew it was emerging from inside me. It rumbled like the thunder of drums and I knew a crescendo was at the end. And as it got louder, steadier, and faster, it drowned out the argument in front of me and my ears started to throb. I could feel it shaking in my chest.
And I seriously considered letting the man running down the alley get away just to spite the assholes arguing next to me. Nick’s eyes flashed to me briefly, a question on his lips as he noted my odd posture.
“Backup wards,” I said in a strained voice.
I twisted around and set my hands on the ground. The jolt of power came out as a bolt of electricity, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than the heat and cold when I had water. It crashed so loud and wild around me that I thought my ears would bleed from the sound no one else could hear. It shot out of my wrists and my hands went completely numb.
CRACK.
A tree in the back yard, directly in Farrow’s escape route, broke in half as my magic hit it. He leapt nearly five feet in the air and fell into the garbage cans by the fence as Nick and Joe darted down the alley after him.
I collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving and sucking a breath into my aching lungs. My wrists felt like they were broken and my fingers were flopping and useless.
Nick dragged a cuffed Farrow back toward me.
“What’d I do this time?” Farrow tried to shake Nick off. “Come on, Warren, you know I have a deal!”
I rolled onto my back and stared at the sky, starless thanks to all the city light pollution. My hands lay spent on my chest.
Nick cast me a glance as he walked by, pushing Farrow in front of him. “Good work, Driftwood.”
Farrow twisted back. “That Driftwood? You’re telling me she cut a deal? Management must be going soft at the top...”
Joe only paused a moment as he passed me. He shook his head in pity.
I could taste copper in my mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was blood or magic or leftover electric current from my episode. In my mind, I imagined the bones in my forearms might have cracked like the tree, because it certainly felt like they had been hit by a sledge hammer when the magic jolted out.
What would it feel like when it finally ripped me in half?
Nick came back for me.
“Are you going to get up on your own?”
I didn’t like his implied assistance. I sat up on my own.
He looked away, swallowing. “Can I help?”
I wanted to laugh. The pain laughed instead.
Nick held his hand out, but I didn’t take it. I braced myself on the side of the house and tried to claw my way up. I slipped and face-planted into the bricks.
Nick cursed under his breath. “Just take my hand.”
“I’m fine.” I fixed my hands and tried again. This time, I slid all the way to the ground.
Nick moved. I flinched away, sure that his impatience had won out and I was about to be hauled to my feet. My heart was racing—I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.
When he took a knee by my side, looking me sternly in the eye, I didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t like
forcing people around,” he said in a quiet growl. “But there is a missing child, and I don’t have time for this. Are you getting up on your own or not?”
I was afraid of what would happen if I became useless to him. I nodded, summoning every ounce of self-discipline I had.
I got to my feet. Nick rose next to me, still stern, but I could swear I saw a hint of a smile before he turned away from the streetlight.
“We have to go inside the house,” he said.
“What?” I asked, rubbing the backs of my hands inconspicuously against my jeans and hoping sensation would return to them. “Why?”
Nick’s eyes flashed. “Because he might have the kid.”
“I get that. I meant why do I have to go?” I swayed as I fought gravity. When did basic balance become such a challenge?
Nick sighed in exasperation. “Because I need to know if anything is booby-trapped.”
I straightened my jacket and followed him to the stoop with as much swagger as I could muster. He nodded at me before he opened the door and gestured for me to enter.
What a gentleman, to make me go first into a house he suspected was booby-trapped.
I took great care as I stepped over the threshold. The thresholds of residences were very sacred, and one never knew what awaited a visitor who did not have permission to enter. I had seen some nasty stuff in my years as a breaker for the Bleak.
Instantaneous heart attacks. Shattered bones. Loss of teeth and hair.
Loss of bowel control.
But all I sensed from entering Farrow’s residence was the trigger of another alarm and the quiet readying of some curses meant to disarm any unwanted visitors. They waited for their master’s permission to take aim and fire, but Farrow was safely restrained outside.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of the spells, looking for any breaks or chinks in the armor that I could slowly widen to ease in my own enchantments. When I found it, the slow end of one note as another took over, I set to work taking it apart.
It took me about ten minutes to undo all of them. Farrow was very thorough in the way that he had set up his protections, and I had to appreciate his meticulous nature even where his style was lacking. Layer after layer, all of them were generated by Farrow. He had his own tendencies and preferences, and once I figured them all out, it was easy enough to sense them in the music and take them apart. When I was done, all that remained was a few discordant notes—the static buzz of magic undone.