Black Magic Sanction Part 2

Famous and shunned didn't go together as much as one might think, and I sighed. My first thought that she was a black witch seemed to be correct. Hefting my bag, I dropped a potato into it and felt my arm stiffen against the extra weight. "Not interested," I said tightly, hoping she'd do the smart thing and go away.

But I was never that lucky, and she leaned over the potatoes, eyes mocking. "Black magic doesn't scare me, and neither do you. Come with me."

Like h.e.l.l I will. Disgusted, I set another potato in my bag and opened my second sight to take a look at the more nebulous view of the situation, managing to keep my reaction to a mild "mmmm." The woman's aura was spotless. That didn't mean she wasn't a black witch. She could be sloughing her s.m.u.t onto someone. Disgusted, I set another potato in my bag and opened my second sight to take a look at the more nebulous view of the situation, managing to keep my reaction to a mild "mmmm." The woman's aura was spotless. That didn't mean she wasn't a black witch. She could be sloughing her s.m.u.t onto someone.

"According to the press," I said as I dropped my second sight, "Rachel Morgan dresses in skintight leather and has orgies with demons. Do I look to you like I'm wearing skintight leather?" A third potato went in with the rest. Almost heavy enough to knock you on your a.s.s. Almost heavy enough to knock you on your a.s.s.

Angular face smug, the woman tucked her clutch bag under her arm. Her hands were free now, and my smile vanished. "It's the demon part I'm interested in," she said.

d.a.m.n it, she was was a black witch. All I wanted to do now was leave before I got banned from another store. "Not interested," I said tersely. "I don't do black magic. I don't care what the papers print." a black witch. All I wanted to do now was leave before I got banned from another store. "Not interested," I said tersely. "I don't do black magic. I don't care what the papers print."

"Tell me your name," she insisted, fingers twitching in what I hoped wasn't a ley-line charm. "Maybe I'll go away."

She wanted a positive ID. c.r.a.p, was there a warrant out on me again? Maybe she wasn't from a black coven at all, but from the I.S., fishing for an excuse to bring me in. I took a quick breath, a new worry filling me. I didn't want to be tagged with resisting arrest. "Okay, that's me," I admitted. "Who are you? Inderland Security? Where's your ID? If you have a warrant, let me see it. Otherwise, we don't have anything to talk about."

"I.S.?" she said, the skin around her eyes tightening. "You should be so lucky."

d.a.m.n it. Ivy, get your a.s.s out here! I backed up, and she moved with me. "I wouldn't," I threatened, stumbling to a halt when my b.u.t.t hit the produce shelf. "I really wouldn't." I backed up, and she moved with me. "I wouldn't," I threatened, stumbling to a halt when my b.u.t.t hit the produce shelf. "I really wouldn't."

But she reached into her pocket, her free hand up in a laughable display of asking for trust, and came out with a zip strip. "Put this on and come with me. Everything will be fine."

Oh yeah. Like I believed that. I didn't even know who she was. Head hurting, I eyed the thin band of plastic-coated charmed silver, then flicked my attention to Ivy, who finally breezed back into the produce area, coming to a wide-footed stop beside the strawberries to take in the situation. The zip strip was basically a cheap but effective version of Pierce's leash that would prevent me from doing any ley-line magic.

My heart pounded. "Everyone see this?" I shouted, and the whispers at the front grew louder. "I don't want to go with this woman, and she's forcing me to!" It was a thin attempt at CYA for the c.r.a.p that was about to hit the fan, but I had to try.

Sure enough, she smiled-and then she reached for me.

I jerked back, but her fingers brushed mine. A twinge of ley-line energy threatened to equalize between us, strong and tingly. Hand pressed to my chest, I stared, shocked. She had a whopping big chunk of ever-after energy in her chi. Tons more than the average person could hold. Who in h.e.l.l is this woman? Who in h.e.l.l is this woman?

"Ivy?" I called out. "She's hot! Watch it!"

Taking that as fear, the woman reached for me again. Bad idea. My breath came in smoothly. I jumped backward and up-which is a lot harder than it sounds-my heels landing on the low produce shelf. Lettuce squished under my boots.

Ivy grabbed the woman by the shoulder and spun her around.

"You first, vamp," the small woman snarled, her blue eyes squinting in threat.

Grunting, I swung my potato-heavy bag, aiming at the back of the woman's head. Shock reverberated up my arms when it hit and she stumbled, one hand reaching for the floor before she went down. Ivy danced back when the woman rolled, finding her feet and looking p.i.s.sed as she brushed at the grime on her nice white coat. From the front a frantic high-pitched masculine voice called for security.

d.a.m.n it, I'm running out of places to shop, I thought as I dropped the bag and jumped to the floor. The woman had fallen into a defensive stance. Breathing fast, I looked at Ivy. "Mind if I finish this?" I asked. I thought as I dropped the bag and jumped to the floor. The woman had fallen into a defensive stance. Breathing fast, I looked at Ivy. "Mind if I finish this?" I asked.

Ivy shrugged. "Go for it."

I was sure I was already banned, so, smiling, I went for it. The woman's eyes widened, and she retreated. Crescent kick, side, side, side... I backed her up to the broccoli without ever touching her. I could use magic, sure, but this way when the I.S. showed up-and they would-I could stand under a truth amulet and say I hadn't used magic. Which was exactly why my splat gun was safely at home in my nested bowls. Prudence sucked dishwater.

Expression hard, the small woman fell back into a produce shelf, and I landed a side kick square in her middle to push the air from her and maybe bruise a rib. "I said I wasn't interested!" I shouted as she wheezed, and I grabbed her coat and hauled her up. "You shoulda just walked." I thumped her head gently into the broccoli, then let go, leaving her dazed but not incapacitated. I didn't want a lawsuit, just for her to go away.

Still muddled, the woman darted her hand out and gripped my wrist. Fearing an influx of raw power I yanked back, but the sound of plastic ratcheting closed accompanied the sudden wash of ever-after spilling out of me. Like squeezing a tube of toothpaste, I felt my untapped strength vanish as I fell back, dizzy with the sudden absence in my chi. Dazed, I looked to see a zip strip around my wrist. She'd let me hammer at her just so she could get it on me? Ah, s.h.i.t. Jenks is going to laugh his wings off. Ah, s.h.i.t. Jenks is going to laugh his wings off.

I stared at the woman as she reclined against the display, smiling grimly at me, though her chest had to hurt. "Got you, Morgan," she said breathily as she held her middle, bits of lettuce in her hair. "You're not such a bada.s.s. We got you."

And who is we? "I don't work for black-arts witches," I said, not liking the tight feel of the strip against my skin. "I don't care what you heard." "I don't work for black-arts witches," I said, not liking the tight feel of the strip against my skin. "I don't care what you heard."

"Black witch?" she panted, shoving me back so she could get up. "That's a laugh. Let's go."

"You just don't get it," I said, disbelieving. "Zip strip or not, I'm not going!"

The woman's eyes darted behind me at Ivy's soft scuff. Fingers dipping into her pocket, she flung out her hand and threw what was probably a splat ball.

"Ivy, no!" I shouted, spinning, but I was too late. True to form, Ivy had caught it, breaking the thin skin and soaking her hand. For an instant I thought it might be okay, but then Ivy gasped. Fear slid through me on seeing her fist covered in a black goo that crawled up her arm, growing as it went. What in h.e.l.l? What in h.e.l.l?

"Dunk it!" I shouted, pointing to the lobster tank. "Ivy, douse it in salt.w.a.ter!"

The watching employees shouted their approval as the living vampire ran to the meat department. Ripping the top off the tank, she shoved her arm in up to her elbow. Water sloshed out, and the fear etched on her face eased. Turning, she looked at the small woman-and smiled to show her pointed teeth. It was about to get nasty.

Skirt swaying and hair mussed, the woman backed up, but the eager look on her face as she mumbled Latin told me she wasn't afraid. Her hands were moving in ancient ley-line gestures. I had seconds to keep her spell from completion.

"That was a mistake, b.i.t.c.h," I said softly. Scooping up a melon, I threw it at her, trying to break her charm before it was set. She ducked, flinging a glowing ball of reddish ever-after as she fumbled for her footing. I dove to escape her charm, spinning to see it hit the tile with a hissing sound. My eyes widened at the sight of a putrid-looking ma.s.s of seething bubbles growing larger by the second, bubbling evilly. What is she throwing? That cant he legal! What is she throwing? That cant he legal! But by the look of savage eagerness on her face, I didn't think she cared. But by the look of savage eagerness on her face, I didn't think she cared.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you!" I shouted.

"Dilatarel" she shouted, invoking her next curse right before she slipped on the squished lettuce and went down with a pained-sounding grunt. Her magic, though, had been loosed. she shouted, invoking her next curse right before she slipped on the squished lettuce and went down with a pained-sounding grunt. Her magic, though, had been loosed.

"Fire in the hold, Ivy!" I shouted when the woman frantically scrabbled away from the glowing ball of unfocused magic, diving behind an apple display. Her magic drifted like a ball of lightning until it rolled under the strawberries, where it exploded.

Employees screamed. Red stuff went everywhere. I ducked as sodden splats and thumps of containers rained down.

"What is wrong wrong with you!" I shouted as I got to my feet and flicked away the sticky goo. Not only was this woman better than me at magic, she didn't mind getting dirty. Though bruised and covered in grime and strawberries, she was still smiling. She had the look of someone who didn't care, someone who knew no one would make her accountable for what she did. The b.i.t.c.h was above the law, or thought she was. with you!" I shouted as I got to my feet and flicked away the sticky goo. Not only was this woman better than me at magic, she didn't mind getting dirty. Though bruised and covered in grime and strawberries, she was still smiling. She had the look of someone who didn't care, someone who knew no one would make her accountable for what she did. The b.i.t.c.h was above the law, or thought she was.

I glanced at Ivy, standing nearby and casually going through the woman's bag. Finding her ID, she held it up between two fingers and nodded. Taking that as a good sign, I ran for the woman. Shunned or not, we were going to settle this now. Just because I couldn't do magic didn't mean I was helpless.

White coat furling, she ducked out of my swing and I shifted away from her kick. It was sloppy. You know just enough to get yourself in trouble, You know just enough to get yourself in trouble, I thought, then whipped my scarf off, tangling her wrist as she punched again. She pulled away, and I yanked her forward and down into my raised knee. Her breath came out in a whoosh and she bent double. I thought, then whipped my scarf off, tangling her wrist as she punched again. She pulled away, and I yanked her forward and down into my raised knee. Her breath came out in a whoosh and she bent double.

I let go of the scarf and shifted behind her, jabbing my heel at the back of her knee. Her leg collapsed, and she went down, still trying to breathe. "Oooooh, sorry," I said, then untangled my scarf, wincing at the sticky strawberry mess it now was.

Energized, I gave the woman the once-over to see if she'd had enough. Her tailored coat was a mess, and her hair had lost its perfect symmetry, lying in lank blond strands where there had once been perfection. Seeing her stare up at me, finally able to take a breath, I fell into a ready stance with my hands in fists. "Still think you're tougher than me, Strawberry Shortcake?" I said, not moving as Ivy settled in beside me. Hands on her hips, she breathed deep-and smiled. I knew Ivy had too much control and cla.s.s to go for her, but it was unnerving as she somehow grew sleeker and s.e.xier, eyes dilating to a full, hungry black.

From nowhere, a quiver rose through me at the memory of her teeth sliding into my neck, and the exquisite feeling of rising pleasure mixed with the blood-boiling sensation of coming ecstasy. Closing my eyes briefly, I pushed the feeling away. Beside me, I felt Ivy quiver, scenting my reaction. No, Rachel. Everlastingly no. No, Rachel. Everlastingly no.

The kneeling woman watched as Ivy flicked first her bag, then her ID at her, both sliding to a stop before her. Motions unsteady, she got to her feet. She wasn't afraid, she was angry.

"It would have been easier had you come with me," she said, and Ivy cleared her throat in challenge. Lips pressed, the woman brushed off her skirt, picked up her handbag, and, leaving her ID, walked to the door, her head high and looking tiny next to the overweight manager in a white shirt and blue tie yelling at her.

Ivy slid up to me, and I held my breath. "You want me to stop her?"

I shivered, remembering how much she had held in her chi. My gaze slid from the subsiding ma.s.s of toxic bubbles to Ivy's arm, damp from the lobster tank. "No. You okay?"

"Yeah. It went numb is all. Like zombie p.r.i.c.kles. How about you?"

The automatic doors slid open and she was gone. "Okay," I said, then picked up her ID. Vivian Smith, from California. It had to be fake, and I shoved it in my pocket. my pocket.

A nervous patter rose from the watching employees. It was all over but the lawsuits, and I edged away from Ivy, slipping on strawberries as I gave her some distance to allow her a chance to get a handle on her instincts. The manager was at the service counter, fuming. He was working up his courage, though, and it wouldn't be long before he'd bring his high-pitched voice to me, a convenient scapegoat in heels and stringy, strawberry hair. This wasn't my fault!

The goo covering the floor looked like a bloodbath. A glint of silver among the red caught my eye, and I searched the produce section until I found my bag. The manager's complaints grew louder as I dug out my lethal-spell detector and my heavy-magic ley-line charm. I wouldn't put it past Vivian Vivian to leave a b.o.o.by trap, but both spells stayed a nice healthy green. The silver was just plain metal with no charms attached. At least, no lethal ones. to leave a b.o.o.by trap, but both spells stayed a nice healthy green. The silver was just plain metal with no charms attached. At least, no lethal ones.

"What is it?" Ivy asked as I picked it up. Wiping the goo off, I felt myself go cold and my knees go wobbly.

It was an exquisitely tooled silver brooch in the shape of a Mobius strip, and I swallowed hard, my shaking fingers curving to hide it. My gaze went to the floor, seeing the tile unmarked as the bubbles subsided, then to Ivy's arm-numbed, she said-and then to the broken strawberry display, realizing that that, too, could have been white magic. Extremely strong, but technically white magic, not black. I am such an idiot. I am such an idiot.

Over the last year or so, I'd been attacked by militant Weres, run down by elves on horseback, smacked around by angry demons, bitten by political vampires, eluded a.s.sa.s.sin fairies, and fought off angry banshees, deluded humans, and black-arts witches. But never had I made an error of judgment this bad.

I'd just publicly embarra.s.sed a member of the coven of moral and ethical standards, the same group that had legalized my shunning.

Holy freaking hallelujah.

The stuffed rat was pointed at the wall, staring at nothing as it crouched atop an overfilled file on the five-foot-tall cabinet in Glenn's office. The FIB detective was currently downstairs. As I'd figured, the grocery store had called the human-run FIB, not Inderland Security. Lucky for me, the I.S. hadn't even shown up. Long story short, I'd been asked to accompany an FIB officer downtown to file a report. They'd even let me sit in the front, sticky as I was. Ivy had followed in my car and was waiting downstairs. It was good to have friends.

It had been a quiet ride through Cincy to the FIB building, my thoughts circling. Had the coven been trying to talk to me, and I'd just flushed my chance at getting my shunning removed? But why not just tell me what was going on? Those charms Vivian had been flinging around hadn't been peace offerings. Had it been a test? If so, had I failed or pa.s.sed?

I'd worked myself up into a very bad mood by the time we'd gotten here, but it had eased once Glenn had pulled me aside and snipped my charmed silver off even before I'd crossed the FIB emblem downstairs. Glenn was a good guy, complex in his thoughts and smart. His office, though... I looked at the mess, trying not to grimace.

A new flat-screen monitor was perched on his desk, a stack of files piled high beside it. The in-box was full, and the out-box held a couple of books on nineteenth-century serial killers. We were too deep into the FIB building for a window, but a bulletin board across from the desk gave the illusion of one, the clippings and sticky notes so old they needed thumbtacks. A new pressboard bookcase held a few textbooks, but mostly it was stacks of files and photos. Glenn was meticulous in his dress, and that usually carried over to his car and office. This mess was scary and not like him at all.

The floor was cold tile; the walls were an ugly, scuffed white; and the keyboard was old and stained with dust and coffee. Glenn had been Cincinnati's FIB Inderland specialist for almost a year now, and I wondered if I was seeing him trying to do everything himself. Even the phone cord was still draped across the floor in what had to be an OSHA violation.

My roving gaze settled on a gleaming gla.s.s-and-gold clock serving as a bookend. It didn't match the rest of the no-frills office, and I got up to read the inscription, grimacing when my coat pulled from the metal chair with the sticky sound of strawberries. The marble was cold on my fingers as I read, MATHEW GLENN, OUTSTANDING SERVICE, 2005. The clock was stopped, stuck at three minutes to midnight.

I set it down and checked my phone. Nine thirty. The sun had been down for hours. I wanted to go home, get cleaned up, eat something. What was taking so long?

Impatient, I went to the rat and turned it to face the room. Glenn had bought it with me at a charm shop last year, and I frowned when I realized the file it was sitting on was Nick's. Nick as in my former boyfriend Nick. Ex-rat, ex-boyfriend, ex-alive if I ever got hold of him Nick.

My shoulders tensed and I forced my jaw to not clench. Nick had been a rat when I met him. A real rat, with whiskers and a tail, transformed with witch magic by a peeved vampire who'd caught Nick stealing from him. I couldn't say much about that, though, since I'd been a mink at the time, thrown into Cincinnati's illegal rat fights for having been caught trying to pilfer evidence of illegal bio-drug activity from beloved city son Trent Kalamack.

Nick and I had helped each other escape, which might sound romantic but should have been a warning. He turned out to be a real gem when all was said and done, selling information about me to demons to help his career as a thief. A not very lucrative but nevertheless busy one, according to the file Glenn had on him. The FIB detective was still trying to track him down, not believing that he'd died going off the Mackinac Bridge last summer. The case had gone cold if the dust was any indication-but the file was still out.

I took a deep breath to wash the reminder of Nick away, and the faint scent of vampire tickled my nose. "Huh," I whispered and, sniffing, I made a circuit of the cluttered office, ending at Glenn's short, fashionable coat hung up on a wooden hanger behind the door. Eyebrows raised, I fingered the supple leather. Had Glenn been investigating something that put him in contact with vampires? He knew how risky that was. Why hadn't he come to us? He knew I needed the work.

Curious, I brought the sleeve to my nose to get a better sniff. I loved leather, and it was a nice coat, cut to show off the man's small waist and wide shoulders. I pulled the air deep into me to find under the expected smell of masculine aftershave a mellow tang of honey and hot metal. Deeper was a familiar scent of vampiric incense. A very very familiar scent. familiar scent. Ivy? Ivy?

Blinking, I dropped the coat's sleeve as footsteps approached in the hall. Why does Glenn s coat smell like Ivy? Why does Glenn s coat smell like Ivy?

Glenn strode into his office, almost shoving me into the wall when he pushed the door open. He slowed, making a surprised sound when he found my chair empty, then started when he found me behind him, pressed into the wall. His brown eyes were wide, and I blinked at the tall, clean-shaven man. "What are you doing behind my door?" he asked, planting his feet. There was a red file under his arm and a ceramic mug with rainbows on it in his hand.

I gave myself a mental shake to get the thoughts moving. "Uh, admiring your coat," I said, giving the brown leather a last touch. I wanted to sit down, but he was standing next to my chair. "I, uh, like the no-hair thing."

"Thanks," he said suspiciously as he moved his compact frame behind his desk. When we'd first met, he had short hair and a goatee, but this smooth-shaven nothing was nice. The coffee went on the corner nearest me, and the file was dropped beside the keyboard. He saw me eye the clutter, and I think he blushed through his dark, beautifully mahogany complexion.

I went to ask him about Ivy, then reconsidered. He and Ivy? No way. Though if they were, they'd look great together. His height was just a shade more than hers, and with his trendy clothes and attention to detail, he could play the part of a living vampire's boyfriend without missing a beat. Glenn was ex-military and worked at keeping his trim look. Right now, he'd gone no hair, and it made his stud earring stand out all the more, the glint giving him a hint of bad boy. The story he gave his dad was that he'd gotten it pierced so he could blend into the darker elements of Cincinnati, but I think he liked the small bit of bling.

Glenn looked up at my silence, his eyebrows raised as he indicated the rainbow mug. "I thought you'd want some coffee. This might take a while."

"Okay... " He brought me coffee and rainbows, He brought me coffee and rainbows, I thought as I reached for it and sat down, feeling the b.u.mp my phone made in my back pocket. "They're pressing charges? For what? Killing a strawberry display? That wasn't even my charm. I told you, I didn't use magic. I know better. Get an I.S. team in there. None of the magic will have my aura on it." I thought as I reached for it and sat down, feeling the b.u.mp my phone made in my back pocket. "They're pressing charges? For what? Killing a strawberry display? That wasn't even my charm. I told you, I didn't use magic. I know better. Get an I.S. team in there. None of the magic will have my aura on it."

He chuckled, irritating me even more. The painfully slow sounds of him typing clicked key by key as he worked off the open file beside him. "The I.S. is ignoring the incident completely, so sending a team to ascertain it wasn't your magic? You're going to take the hit for this," he said, his resonant voice dark and s.e.xy. "Nice bit of pa.s.sive hara.s.sment."

My eyes flicked to my strawberry-covered bag and the little silver broach tucked inside. Pa.s.sive hara.s.sment was a good story, but I think the reason the I.S. didn't show was because the coven told them to back off while they brought me in themselves. Guilt and fear kept my mouth shut. c.r.a.p on toast, what if I'd ruined my only chance to rescind my shunning?

"I got the store to agree to disorderly conduct if you pay for the damages," Glenn said, starting as he noticed the rat looking at him. "Unless you know who did it?" he added, gaze alternating between me and the critter.

I thought about the ID in my bag, and I shrugged. "Vivian Smith from California?" I volunteered. G.o.d, I'd called her Strawberry Shortcake. Could I dig my grave, or what? G.o.d, I'd called her Strawberry Shortcake. Could I dig my grave, or what?

Glenn made a sound of both amus.e.m.e.nt and sympathy, his eyes on the screen. "I hope you make more than I do. I had no idea strawberries were that expensive out of season."

"Swell," I said, then sipped my coffee. It wasn't bad, but nothing tasted good since having that raspberry-mocha-whatever-it-had-been Al had ordered me last winter. I set the coffee aside and leaned over to get a look at Glenn's neck. He might not know that he smelled like vampire, but any Inderlander could tell.

Glenn felt my gaze and looked up from his slow excuse for typing. "What?"

I pulled back, worried. "Nothing."

Clearly suspicious, he pulled a paper from under the stack in the red folder and handed it to me. "Damages."

Taking the paper, I sighed. How come my file is red? How come my file is red? Everyone else had a normal-colored one. "Hey!" I exclaimed, seeing the total. "They're charging me retail. Glenn!" I complained. "They can't do that." I shook it at him. "I shouldn't have to pay retail!" Everyone else had a normal-colored one. "Hey!" I exclaimed, seeing the total. "They're charging me retail. Glenn!" I complained. "They can't do that." I shook it at him. "I shouldn't have to pay retail!"

"What did you expect? You can keep that. It's your copy."

I sat back in a huff and shoved it in my bag with my sticky scarf as he typed his slow, painful way through my report. "Where's this human compa.s.sion I keep hearing about?"

"That's it, baby doll," he said, voice smoother than usual. He was laughing at me.

"Mmmm. Can I go now?" I said dryly, not liking the "baby doll" tag but letting it go.

Glenn searched out a key and hit it with a sound of finality. Leaning back, he laced his dark fingers over his middle like I'd seen his dad do. "Not until Jenks posts your bail."

I groaned. d.a.m.n it, Ivy must have stopped at home first. One more thing to owe the pixy.

"He seemed proud to do it," Glenn said. "You can wait here, or go to the bas.e.m.e.nt with the rest of the felons." His smile widened. "I vouched for you," he added, then leaned forward to answer his phone, now humming on the interoffice line.

"Thanks," I said sourly, slouching down as he took the call. How was I going to pay Jenks back? My share of the sale of my mom's house had been keeping me afloat lately, but I didn't want to tap into that to post bail. Robbie's half had gone to his upcoming wedding, and I was living on mine. It was hardly the statement of independence I'd wanted, but things would pick up. They always did around spring.

"Who?" Glenn said into the phone, his voice rising in disbelief, and then both Glenn and I looked toward the attention-getting tap on his door frame.

"Trent Kalamack," the feminine voice on the phone said clearly over the faint office noise, naming the trim figure in his two-thousand-dollar suit now silhouetted in the doorway, his arm slowly slipping behind him from where he'd confidently tapped on the door. Suave and self-a.s.sured, the man smiled faintly at the woman's awe.

"Next time, call before before you send someone up," Glenn said as he stood. you send someone up," Glenn said as he stood.

"But it's Trent Kalamack!" the voice said, and Glenn hung up on her.