Only there was no key.
I’d dropped it. Probably with all that wiggling on the dance floor. Stupid dress. Stupid useless boobs.
I grumbled some choice words about Mr. Gropey under my breath and examined the lock. A keyhole above an ornately carved door handle. If this were the movies, I’d whip a hairpin from my intricate updo and have this door open lickety-split.
I stared at the door some more, tapping my chin and cursing myself for never bothering to learn an unlocking rune.
Once, when I was seven, Josh had told on me for staying up late to watch The Craft, an old movie about teenage witches who turn evil. Scared the hex out of me and, thanks to Josh, got me grounded for a week. Bored, I taught myself a breaking rune and tested it on Josh’s Xbox. That got me another two weeks.
From down the hall came the sound of static-filled walkie-talkies spitting Korean. Guards, headed this way. If they caught me loitering outside the premier’s office, I was screwed.
I traced a rune into the glossy, lacquered wood where I guessed the locking mechanism should be. I whispered the invocation and added a quick pulse of magic. If I’d miscalculated where the locking mechanism was located or how much magic to put behind the rune, I could break the whole door. I’m sure that wouldn’t draw attention.
But the door didn’t explode, and my efforts were rewarded with a tinny clang of metal as the mechanism broke apart.
A smile tugged at my lips. James Bond could suck it.
I slipped inside the dark room and closed the door behind me just as footsteps echoed down the hall. I’d feel better if I could lock it but, well …
The room was steeped in darkness. I didn’t bother with the light switch in case it was visible from the hall. Luckily, my magic came equipped with a flashlight app.
I sketched a rune in the air and whispered the invocation. A glowy ball of light the size of a baseball sprang to life, hovering in the air. I stretched my fingers, directing it where to go without actually touching it.
The premier’s office was nearly as big as it was gaudy. Nearly. A massive wooden desk with intricately carved legs took up most of one side of the room, framed by windows draped with thick red curtains and gold braided tie-backs. Paintings in gilded frames hung against gold filigree wallpaper. On the other end of the office, a divan and three wing-back chairs circled a low coffee table.
I let my magic flow over the room and was immediately rewarded with a light tingling sensation. There was definitely magic in here.
I walked through the room, my glowy ball bobbing gently in the air ahead of me as I trailed magic-soaked fingertips over the divan, the bookshelves, the wall.
The wall.
My fingers stilled over a framed painting—a guy on horseback leading a charge against an Asian city—and magic swelled beneath my fingertips.
Bingo.
Maybe the necklace was taped to the back of the painting. I lifted the heavy painting from the wall and set it on the floor to get a closer look, but the magic dissolved by the time I set it down. I frowned at the painting and then looked back at the wall.
A wall safe.
I could have smacked myself. Of course there was a wall safe. It was almost like all those years watching Bond films had been a waste of time or something.
I considered the safe—black, with a keypad. This was the point in the movies when the spy would bust out the fingerprint powder, brush some over the keys, and discover the sixteen-digit code. Alas, I didn’t have any fingerprint powder.
But I did have magic.
The breaking rune wasn’t perfect though, and safes were built specifically to withstand people like me attempting to break into them.
Well, maybe not people exactly like me.
Still, I went to the premier’s desk first, hoping I wasn’t the only one who wrote their passcodes on old receipts and stuffed them inside junk drawers for safekeeping.
The top drawers were a bust. I tried the bottom ones too, just to be thorough. The right bottom drawer yielded a condom, a roll of duct tape and a jar filled with ketchup packets. I wrinkled my nose and tried the left one. Locked. I yanked on it anyway and was rewarded with a tiny grunt.
I blinked at the drawer.
I’d probably misheard it. Something inside had shifted and fallen, or maybe the desk was in desperate need of some tender love and WD-40. Because drawers don’t grunt. To convince myself of this, I tapped the drawer.
Something inside tapped back.
I scrambled back and then stared suspiciously at the drawer. I needed to crack the safe, steal the necklace, and get the hex out of here. Every second wasted was another second they could find me.
I tapped the drawer again. Tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap, came the drawer.
I knit my eyebrows and tapped the beat to Mission Impossible. Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap Tap, replied the drawer.
I didn’t realize I was humming the rest of the song under my breath until the drawer mimicked me, followed by the sound of what I swore was tiny hands clapping.
A quick pulse of power told me what I already knew—there was magic inside that drawer, and a lot of it. But necklaces, even magic ones, don’t grunt or hum or clap.
Stop messing around and get back to work, said the voice of reason that sometimes lived in my head, a voice that was starting to sound suspiciously like Dahlia. With one last look at the drawer, I went back to the safe.
If the premier knew what he had, there would be wards protecting the safe. But I didn’t feel any wards. Just raw power. Which meant the premier had no idea what the necklace could do.
I drew the breaking rune over the keypad and invoked it. The keypad sizzled and sparked, but the safe remained stubbornly locked. Okay then. I re-drew the rune over each of the hinges and pushed magic into them. The hinges exploded outward. I yelped and dove out of the way as the safe door crashed to the floor with a deafening thump.
I tensed, waiting for guards to storm the room. When that didn’t happen, I pushed to my feet and hurried back to the safe. Which was now more of a smoking hole in the wall. Cash. Documents. Necklace.
Gotcha.
The necklace dripped with diamonds, rubies, and magic. I traced a quick rune over the biggest stone. Then, with nowhere else to put it, I draped it over my neck, tucked it inside my dress and headed for the door.
“Help.”
Halfway across the room, I paused and glanced at the desk. At that locked bottom drawer where the soft, pleading voice had seemed to come from. I waited.
Silence.
I shook my head and kept walking.
“Help.”
Curse it. I hurried behind the desk and knelt in front of the drawer.
Dictators probably don’t lock adorable magic puppies in their desk drawers, that little voice of reason reminded me. It’s probably one of those Harry Potter snakes that blinds you if you look them in the eye. Or a possessed doll. Or a videotape that if you watch it you’ll die in seven hours. Or a spider.
Okay, so sometimes my voice of reason is a little paranoid. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
Something threw itself at the drawer and whimpered.
Oh, hex it.
My breaking rune wouldn’t work on the drawer. Magic isn’t all that adept at discerning one’s intentions, and the drawer was shallow. I didn’t want to risk hurting whatever was inside it. I didn’t have a hairpin, and even if the premier had a drawer full of paperclips, I still didn’t know how to pick a lock.
Hmm. I might not to be able to break the drawer, but I could break the one above it. I rested my hands on the desk and did my thing. Just as I began to push magic into the rune, there was a commotion in the hallway. Booted feet slapping tile. My attention slipped and too late, I realized I’d pushed too much magic into the rune. The desk rumbled and shook. I dove behind the desk chair as the expensive desk exploded into a zillion splinters that rained down over the room.
No way the guards hadn’t heard that.
I scrambled out from behind the chair, which was now impaled with dozens of tiny wooden stakes, and swallowed hard.
“Boom,” said a small voice.
I looked down. There, where the desk used to be, sat a single drawer. Inside the drawer, blinking up at me with black button eyes, was a tiny golem.
I’d never met a golem, but Aunt Belinda had told me stories about them. Creatures molded from clay, animated with Jewish magic, and used to house a human soul.
I always thought they’d be taller.
I stared down at the tiny creature. It was maybe six inches tall and looked an awful lot like a mud-colored Gumby doll. Whose soul was trapped inside it? And why did the premier have it locked in his desk drawer?
“Boom,” it said again and threw its tiny hands into the air for emphasis.
“Yes, boom,” I agreed. “Sorry about that. I’m Ainsley. And I kind of have to go. You see, I’m on a secret mission and I have to escape …” It occurred to me spies probably didn’t tell golems they met on secret missions that they were on secret missions. “Well, never mind about that. The point is I have to run.” I eyed the drawer, and then added, “You can come with me if you want, or you can stay here. It’s up to you.”
The golem seemed to consider this. He didn’t have eyebrows, but the clay above his black button eyes furrowed as he weighed his options.
The guards would surely be here any moment.
“Tick tock,” I said softly.
The golem scrambled out of the drawer. I offered him a hand and he climbed into it. I didn’t know where to put him. Jinx liked to hang out on my shoulder, so I tried that. The tiny golem grabbed my hair to hold himself in place.
Ryerson was going to kill me.
I headed for the door. It burst open before I reached it, and palace guards spilled into the room.
“Jungji!” the guards yelled. I may not understand Korean, but it turns out “stop” sounds pretty much the same in all languages.
Nope.
Heart pounding, I backpedaled, searching frantically for another way out. The window. How high were we? I tried to remember. Two stories? Three? My magic sensed my panic and tried to dive back inside me. Oh no you don’t. I grabbed it and ran for the window, my fingers dancing in the shape of a rune. I flicked it at the window and said the last word as I threw myself at the wall of glass and hit … nothing. The glass exploded outward a second before we crashed into it. For a moment we were flying through the air, and then we were falling.
Turns out, it was more like six stories.
Enough time to imagine what it would feel like to splat against the pavement as we tumbled through the air and I desperately grabbed for magic that had burrowed too deep inside me to reach. Then the air shifted and suddenly I was no longer holding the golem, he was holding me.
And he was suddenly eight feet tall.
He shifted, putting himself between me and the concrete sidewalk below. We hit the ground hard. I bounced off the golem’s surprisingly squishy stomach and tumbled head over heels into the grass. I sat up, dazed, my heart thundering in my ears.
The golem pushed to his feet. He towered over me, looking pleased with himself.
“Golem save.”
I stared up at him and swallowed hard. “Er, yes. Good golem.”
His grin widened, and then he disappeared. Like, just bloody vanished. At least, I thought he did until something scampered up my foot. I screamed and then realized it was the golem, the action-figure-size version once more. He climbed to my shoulder and perched there, clinging to my hair.
“Run,” the golem suggested.
“What?”
Gunshots peppered the grass at my feet.
I ran.
My heels sank into the grass, so I kicked them off and ran barefoot, ducking through the trees. Where had Alec said to meet him? Something about a river. My ribs cramped and my legs and lungs burned, but shouts and the sounds of men running behind me pushed me faster.
I burst through a cluster of trees and there was the river, fifty yards ahead. A man leaned against the rail separating the sidewalk from the churning waters below, arms folded, watching me. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but it had to be Alec. And he was alone. My heart clenched. I wanted to run to him. To find out what happened to Ryerson.
But the guards were close now. Too close.
I wasn’t going to make it.
“Jungji!”
I stopped. Turned. A dozen palace guards fanned out around me in a semicircle, guns trained on me.
“Necklace,” the golem said in my ear.
Without thinking, I touched the necklace at my throat. And then a funny thing happened. The necklace’s magic dove inside me, filling me with pain that drove me to one knee.
“Lookie,” said the golem.
The pain had subsided a little, and I glanced up. The guardsmen were looking around wildly, aiming their guns at shadows. Their expressions were an equal mix of shock and confusion. It was almost like they couldn’t see me.
The necklace.
Merrick needed the necklace for a cloaking spell. No wonder: the darn thing held invisibility magic. And apparently, this magic had a mind of its own.
I stood slowly. I might be invisible, but I doubted that meant soundproof. The guards had fanned out, shouting orders at each other. Some of them ran back toward the palace. The others split up: half going left, half going right. That was just fine with me. I was headed straight.
The face of the man by the river was hidden by darkness and shadows, more silhouette than person. I slowed as I neared him. There was something off about him. The way he held himself. The way his head was cocked. I walked closer, and the hair along my arms stood up as more and more features distinguished themselves from the night. Dark, curly hair. Lanky build. Blood-red dress shirt and black pants. The man raised his head and smiled.
I froze.
Merrick.
“How lovely to see you again, Ms. Winters,” he said.
Apparently, the invisibility had worn off. I tried to call my magic to my fingertips, but Merrick shook his head and tsked.
“I wouldn’t, my dear. Now the necklace, if you please.”
“Why would I give it to you?”
Merrick grinned and snapped his fingers. A dozen men stepped from the thick trees lining the other side of the street.
Two of Merrick’s men flanked a bruised and bleeding Ryerson. His hands were tied behind his back. He barely looked able to stand. As if to prove the point, one of the men shoved him, and he fell to his knees in the thick grass. My stomach clenched and I took a reflexive step toward him. From down the row of men came a deep growl. Alec looked in better shape, except for the strange silver collar around his neck. He was flanked by four men, all of whom watched him warily.
I looked from Merrick to Ryerson to Alec.
How in the …
“You’ll give me the necklace,” Merrick said, dragging my attention back to him, “because I have something you want more.”
21
Ryerson met my gaze.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, which earned him a head shake from me (even half-dead he was bossy) and a boot to the ribs from the thug on his left. I glared at the thug, anger overtaking the fear I felt, and magic sparked from my fingertips. No one messed with Ryerson except me.
“Now, now,” said Merrick. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m here to offer you a trade. Your partner for the necklace.”
“Ainsley,” Ryerson growled a warning.
Merrick flicked his fingers and an arc of blue light leapt from his fingertips, across the street, and into Ryerson’s chest. Ryerson tensed, then slumped to the ground.
“He’ll be fine,” Merrick said before I could snap my jaw closed and sprint across the street. “Think of it like a magical Taser. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. Join me and I’d be happy to teach it to you.”
I w
renched my attention back to the mage. “That’s your pitch? Join your evil doomsday terrorist cult and you’ll teach me how to tase Ryerson? Tempting, but no.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I think you’d find there’s a lot I could teach a witch with your raw power.”
With my power? Right. I was average at best. I added a mental checkmark next to “delusional” in my estimation of him. “Pass.”
He shrugged. “Worth a try. Now about my offer …”
Right. His offer. An impossible choice. Ryerson’s life or protect the key to a weapon that could wipe out whole cities, if the CIA was right about what the necklace could help him do. And after what I’d seen it do a few minutes ago, I tended to believe them.
Despite what Ryerson thought, I didn’t need him to tell me the right thing to do. Protect the necklace. It was the obvious choice. The right one. My gaze slipped to where he lay in the grass. The side of his face was streaked with blood, a string of bruises already blossoming along his jaw. My stomach clenched.
“Tick, tock, my dear,” Merrick said.
I pulled in a deep breath. Maybe it was a good thing Ryerson wouldn’t see what I was about to do. “The necklace for Ryerson and Alec, and you have a deal.”
Merrick’s eyes widened fractionally. He glanced from me to Alec and back again. “You two know each other?” He snorted and shook his head. “I suppose that explains why he betrayed me in Portugal. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, of course. No my dear, Alexander betrayed me and killed my men. He is not a part of this deal. We have some unfinished business, he and I.”
Unfinished business, my sweet broomstick. He was going to kill him.
There was no freaking way I was going to let that happen.
Merrick sighed and gestured to his men. “I’m bored. One of you bring me the necklace.”
Three of Merrick’s thugs broke away from the group and started across the street. Alec growled and strained against the men holding him, one of whom pulled a gun and pressed the barrel into Alec’s temple. Apparently they weren’t taking any chances with him. Alec didn’t seem to care. In fact, he barely seemed to notice. An otherworldly gold ringed his irises, but he didn’t change into the wolf. Why not?
License to Spell: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Undercover Witch Book 1) Page 14