“I’ll make it up to you.” Aviere flashed her bank card. “We’ll get some drinks at the liquor store. My treat. Get whatever you like within a reasonable price range.”
Cel smiled. “Thanks, but I’ll take a raincheck. Lim’s got a nasty headache and it’s no fun drinking alone.”
“Headache?” His sister’s judgmental stare returned. “When?”
“A few minutes ago.” Lim tapped on his watch. “Take her out for a bit. Grab me a six-pack of Cherry Smirnoff. Better hurry. The store closes in a few minutes.”
After a few grumbles from Cel, she followed Aviere out of the apartment.
Thank God. Now, he could explain more about the demoness to Maurice.
Well, if she let him.
“All right.” Maurice turned to Lim. “I suppose I believe your story. It’s strange enough. It legitimately scares the dickens out of Cel. So, while they’re gone, we’ll make a plan, but I have one condition. You’ll tell Aviere about this demonic business when you’ve recovered. Do we have a deal?”
He’s lying. He’ll sell you out.
Maurice held out his hand, but his expression never turned stern. It stayed warm and trusting, then wavered at the last second when Lim didn’t shake his hand.
Oh, Lord. Not the kicked kitten expression with the sad, feline eyes.
He couldn’t resist that face.
“Deal, bruh.” Lim clasped his hand and some of the invisible weight he carried lifted off his shoulders. “Now, let’s get this cleaned up before Sis interrogates us like she’s become part of the Inquisition. Well, unless the girls drink in the car, but—”
“Oh, please. She’s hid a forty inside a paper bag so her father could down it and drive. He taught us all those tricks.”
Lim grinned. He forgot about his demons for a little while and enjoyed his brother’s company. For once, they got along, but the magic would end once his sister walked back through the door.
Anxiety built up in his chest again. Somehow, Aviere had to forgive him before the demoness claimed him for herself.
He was almost out of time.
6
The next morning, Mye swore she’d strangle Peters with barbed wire as she slouched in her borrowed bus seat.
She didn’t use the bus often, but Jet’s gas tank was almost empty. Payday didn’t come until next week. While Charm City’s commuters kept to themselves and shuffled along the streets, they could hear themselves think wherever they walked.
Unlike her. She got stuck with an infernal earpiece she couldn’t remove.
No. Agent Neuro never answered his goddamn phone. He never returned her phone calls, either. He paged her using an antiquated device meant for the 90’s. For movies. For the preppy office worker of shitty secret spy missions.
Shifters didn’t need earpieces. They were worse than wearing her boss’s tracking bracelet.
At least her bracelet didn’t whine or bitch when she missed a deadline. It beeped. She could handle beeps and countdown timers. At least she understood the consequences if she failed a mission. Not that Captain Neuroticism would know the difference. He kept himself so hyped on coffee and energy drinks he’d die of a heart attack one day.
Mye bit her cheek.
His death couldn’t come soon enough.
Their only buffer finally returned to work—Travis. He helped. Of course, his snide quips about her recklessness left something to be desired, but he listened to her. He didn’t treat her like the devil’s hell spawn. He respected her.
Shawn Peters couldn’t be a human.
The whiny weasel complained about everything.
She leaned against the window and sighed when the bus stopped and let off more passengers. Only one more stop. Then she’d arrive at her shop. Once she arrived, she’d interrogate Lim. His behavior—along with his migraine—didn’t add up last night.
Peters started on a new tirade.
Once again, she wrapped her hands around the plastic handle of the seat as if she could strangle him. Christ. Why did the deities pair them together? They had nothing in common. Nothing. That pencil-pusher manipulated everyone to get his way. He sold out his partners while she protected them.
She couldn’t use someone like him. He was unreliable—even with his unique skillset.
She’d arrange an accident soon enough.
“Mye, did you hear me?”
Of course, she did. How couldn’t she hear the miserable cretin? The man lived to hear his own voice. God bless whoever married that poor bastard.
At some point, Travis made coffee, but then he stayed silent.
Her partner had the right idea.
“Yes.” She clenched her teeth and kept her voice low. “If I didn’t lower the volume, I think everyone on the goddamn bus could hear your pubescent whining. I can’t really talk if you get my drift.”
Peters paused for a few blissful seconds. Then his indignant tone returned. “Since when do you take public transportation?”
When? Since he demanded she keep a low profile. Perhaps His Royal Highness forgot that small detail. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he asked to get a rise out of her.
“You asked me to.” She grabbed the plastic handle behind a seat and squeezed it until it cracked. “I try to listen sometimes, you know.”
“Since when?” His tone projected boredom. “You thrive on disobeying orders.”
No. She gave orders.
Mye straightened in her seat.
This little scumbag would learn his place.
“Then what happened last night?” Her voice rose with each sentence. “You both did a fine job with your grand investigation and pissed off my crew. I had to placate Karyn’s sister-in-law with booze because you guys ruined her birthday.”
A young passenger eyeballed her, then raised his eyebrow.
Mye pointed to the earpiece. “Phone call. Bluetooth keeps cutting out. Sorry.”
The man returned to his cell.
This was why she never discussed business over the phone.
She rose and headed to the front of the bus. She’d walk the three blocks to her shop. Their conversation would attract every weirdo on the bus. Besides, she hated phone calls. These earpieces were like miniature phones—annoying and loud.
She’d arrange more than one accident by this afternoon.
“Mye, let’s be honest.” Travis’s gruff, half-asleep voice interrupted their argument while he poured his coffee. “You called your brother there with his girlfriend. Either way, she wouldn’t have stayed for her own party. As for Karyn Greene, well, it was a lead. I had to try. You would have done the same thing.”
Probably. But these fools played with brimstone and fire.
More than one enemy pulled the strings.
Mye walked off the bus, then blended into the crowd of commuters. A downpour would suit her sour attitude. Any hope of a cheery disposition disappeared the moment Peters bitched about something trivial. He reminded her of a horrible version of the Big Bad Wolf mixed with the Boy Who Cried Wolf—always huffing and puffing, but never blowing someone’s house down.
Maybe he told the truth, but his complaints blocked out key information.
She’d never listen to him at this rate.
“Gentlemen, I have three blocks before I reach my destination.” Her tone stayed clipped. “I’m with commuters because I attracted attention on the bus. So, give me the details before I reach work. Useful details. We’re conducting an investigation.”
Travis’s chuckle almost became overshadowed by the sound of rustling paper. “Well, we’re waiting on you for toxicology results about the dead woman at the Tethered Mistress.”
Her nemesis growled over their shared connection. “She still hasn’t—”
“It was late.” Scorn emanated from her voice. “My father pissed me off. Also, I had an impromptu family obligation. It may have involved copious amounts of alcohol. And babysitting.”
Another daiquiri wasn’t a bad idea.
Oh wait
. Scratch that.
A hangover would make Peters’s whining unbearable.
“Well, stay put.” Travis took a sip of coffee. “I’d like to read my morning newspaper before work. Your escapades through the city ruined my morning routine.”
She stopped. “You read newspapers?”
“Hey, you can’t blame me.” Another page rustled in the background. “I got tired of replacing televisions. Even radios blow up around me.”
Oh, yeah. She still had to replace Jemina’s television after Travis accidentally blew it up during their last investigation.
“Anyway, promise me you won’t explore the city before nine.” Travis almost had a pleading tone to his voice. “That way, I’ll have enough coffee to deal with your shenanigans. Two cups should do me.”
She walked with the commuters again. “Haven’t you worked without coffee before?”
“Yes. It’s unpleasant.”
Mye smirked. “You’re a coffee snob.”
“No. That would be Peters. I don’t buy overpriced burnt coffee on a whim or drink it with whipped cream. That’s a woman’s way to top off her coffee.”
The sun peeked out from the overcast sky and beamed down on her. She fanned her face as she warmed from the natural light. The humidity increased as the sun became more prominent in the sky. It’d be a scorcher today.
Again.
“Keith, I’m not a woman.” Peters grounded her back to her harsh reality of non-stop resentment. “Fraps aren’t a woman’s drink. Plenty of men drink them.”
“Who drinks those at work?”
“Reese drinks them at home.” Mye weaved through people until she got to her street, turned left, and grabbed her keys. “Also, before you say anything, fraps aren’t just for men, either. Some of us like buying them at the store instead of waiting in long lines or cannot have the ones made inside the stores because of food allergies.”
Travis chuckled. “Not you, I hope.”
Not her. Someone else.
By the time she arrived at her shop, Lim waited for her.
Thank God. She didn’t have to make pointless small talk anymore.
“Well, as fun as arguing about feminine coffee drinks sounds, I have work to do. I’ll catch you two later.”
Peters scoffed. “Uneducated swine. You wouldn’t know an expensive drink if it bit you on the ass.”
Lim pointed at her earpiece. “That’s what your bonehead men do all day? Argue about dumb shit and pretend they’re important?”
She smiled. “Just Agent Dickhead. Travis isn’t so bad.”
“That’s the guy I met, right?”
The agent’s whining took a backseat. “Yeah. The personable one. He returned from medical leave yesterday.”
“Good.” Lim opened the door. “Maybe you can focus on work.”
“Speaking of work…” She grabbed his arm. “Why did you hide last night?”
He tilted his head toward her. “What do you mean?”
“You know.” She pointed to his back pocket. “You showed up with the bag of drugs, then went to bed early. You let me handle your girlfriend last night.”
“Jesus Christ, Sis.” His foot tapped against the concrete stairs. “I had a migraine last night. I thought we moved past drug tests every month now.”
“You waltzed into our apartment with a goddamn syringe of heroin, Lim.” Her hands slammed against the metal railing beside the stairs. “What the hell else—”
“We found it there.” His voice remained calm. “Cel brought it home because she knew about your damn case. She figured it’d be useful. But think what you want. You do anyway.”
She stumbled backward. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t bullshit me.” He closed the gap between them and towered over her shorter form. “You knew exactly where this conversation led. Like always, you backpedaled. At least Reese never minces his words when he’s pissed off.”
Mye shuffled her feet and folded her hands behind her back. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” Lim backed away. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t appreciate what we did. You never do.”
“I was worried about you.” She took his hand while tears stung her eyes. “Just because you made a mistake doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
Those icy eyes mirrored her own judgmental slits. “Okay.”
“I—”
“Look, I get it.” He opened the door. “It’s the same song and dance routine with you. You always—shit.”
She cocked her head. “What?”
Lim grabbed her hand before pulling her inside. “Ah, you might wanna see this. Then file a claim with the insurance company.”
He wasn’t kidding.
Their shop resembled a war zone.
If Charm City needed a poster child for one of their war posters, their shop qualified. Everything they knew—no, collected—ended up as piles of scraps. One bookshelf of rare herbs burned in the corner of the room. Several pages were torn out of handwritten grimoires Lim kept hidden inside thick tomes of books. Hell, the bloody ceiling looked ready to cave in above the stairwell.
She sniffed and her nose twitched.
These intruders were familiar.
Mye moved past Lim, then went toward the stairwell. Chelsea and her crew crossed the line this time. If they destroyed everything on the first floor, they wanted access to her secret laboratory. Maybe they knew about the evidence her father gave her.
Shit. They might.
She took another step toward the stairwell.
“Sis, no.” Lim grabbed her shoulder. “Get on the phone with the insurance company. I’ll head downstairs and grab whatever we need.”
Before she could argue, he disappeared.
Damn mages.
“Mye.” Travis’s voice turned into a warning drawl. “What’s going on over there?”
Her voice wavered. “The usual shenanigans.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that involves breaking, entering, arson, and destruction of private property.” She went toward one of the bookshelves, dropped books on the floor, and uncovered a safe hidden inside the wall. “I mean, I’m okay … but—”
“Stay there.” Paper rustled in the background. “Don’t leave. Whatever you do, don’t trigger anything, either.”
Easy for him to say.
The entire place resembled a boobytrap.
Her mind went to autopilot while her fingers worked through the number lock. Chelsea would pay for this. Her crew destroyed the only heirloom their mother gifted them upon her death. Now, most of her knowledge—and her prized possessions—lay in tatters, ruins, or ash along the floor.
They had to abandon ship.
Mye popped the lock, holding her breath at the full safe. She grabbed the contents and shoved them into her handbag. Her myriad of notebooks weighed her down, but she couldn’t risk leaving them behind.
No one could learn about her secret.
Something creaked above her. Crumbles of debris fell into her hair.
She sidestepped in mid-grab.
The ceiling collapsed around her.
Peters cried in her ear, but his concern took a back seat while she bolted toward the stairwell. Her heaving breaths echoed the panic she swallowed when she entered the building.
The powdered drywall didn’t help. It made it hard to breathe.
Still, she ran.
She had to get Lim.
As she got to the stairwell, another chunk of ceiling dropped inside it. Soon, the entire section caved and blocked off the entrance.
Shit, shit, and triple shit.
Mye ran back toward the door.
She should have called the fire department, but then she’d have to explain her shop to them. Then they would call the authorities. Dealing with them had its own problems—even with her father inside law enforcement.
“Mye!”
Travis’s sharp voice broke through her repetitive loop of anxiety-ridden thoughts. �
��Yeah, I’m here.”
“Listen, you’ve got a problem.”
Oh, great.
Just the words she wanted to hear.
“I can’t teleport to you. Something… Well, you have a barrier ward around the building. Your brother probably just figured that out, though.”
Her heart sank.
He was trapped underneath the rubble covering the stairwell.
“I can get within a mile of your building.” Travis’s words didn’t hold his normal tone of disapproval. “Just stay put until I arrive.”
“I’m stuck inside a half-burned building.” Her tone turned numb as she moved debris away from the stairs. “My brother’s trapped downstairs because the ceiling fell into the stairwell. Everything I owned is practically destroyed.”
Peters’s sharp voice interjected. “Don’t play the hero. Leave. Now.”
Screw him.
She didn’t leave her men behind.
Especially her brother.
Mye pulled away debris, coughing the longer she stayed inside the building. She had to free her brother from this hellish prison.
After a minute, his hand poked up from the rubble.
She pulled him to safety.
“Damn it.” Lim shook plaster and drywall out of his hair, then covered his nose with his arm. “They stole everything from the safe. Then they totaled the entire basement. We’ll have to rebuild from scratch.”
No. They couldn’t rebuild this holy sanctuary.
Not without money.
“Come on.” Her other persona replaced the normal bookwormish, panicky girl who wanted to hide in a corner. “We’ve got to escape.”
“Better hurry.” His expression turned grim. “There’s a bomb downstairs.”
Mye lifted him over her shoulder.
Under normal circumstances, she’d risk the motion sickness teleportation brought her, but something canceled out Lim’s magic. Otherwise, she wouldn’t pretend to run the Indy 500 on shaky legs. Or allow her adrenaline rush to give her unbridled strength.
Someone said something, but she blocked them out.
She had to outrun a fucking bomb.
Somehow, Mye jumped from the stairs onto the sidewalk. She wrapped her arms around her brother’s scrawny legs while she ran.
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