Dime Store Magic (3 page)
"Ummm, do you think you could back your car up a little?" he said.
"Please?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this better?"
The patrol car pitched forward, pinning him. The air flew from his lungs. He opened his mouth to yell for her to put it into reverse, then realized she was still standing beside the car… which wasn't running. He grabbed the limo's bumper and pushed. The smell of burning rubber filled the air.
"Oh, come on," the woman said, leaning over him. "You can do better than that. Put some real firepower into it."
When he swiped at her, she backpedaled out of reach and laughed. He tried to speak, but could only get enough air to grunt. Again he pushed against the bumper. The rubber stripping melted against his fingers, but the car didn't budge.
"Only an Igneus?" she said. "The Cabals must really be hard up for half-demons. Maybe there's an opening for me after all. Sit tight now, and I'll be right back."
Leah opened the driver's door and climbed into the limo's front seat.
She looked across the rows of buttons on the dash. Talk about electronic overkill. Now, which one—
The shield between the seats whirred. Well, that saved her the trouble.
"Did everything go—" Nast began.
He saw her and stopped. His hand lifted, just off his lap, fingers moving as his lips parted.
"Now, now," Leah said. "No spell-casting."
Nast's seat belt jerked tight, taking up the slack so fast he gasped.
"Hands out where I can see them," Leah said.
Nast's eyes blazed. His fingers flicked and Leah shot backward, hitting the dash.
"Okay, I deserved that," she said, grinning as she righted herself. She looked at the seat belt. It loosened. "Better?"
"I'd suggest you seriously consider what you're doing," Nast said. He adjusted his suit jacket and eased back into his seat. "I doubt this is a road you wish to take."
"Hey, I'm not stupid or suicidal. I didn't come here to hurt you. Didn't even hurt your bodyguard. Well, nothing a few weeks of bed rest won't cure. I came here to make you a deal, Kristof—oops, sorry. Mr. Nast, I mean. It's about your daughter."
His chin jerked up, eyes meeting hers for the first time.
"And now that I have your attention…"
"What about Savannah?"
"Been looking for her, haven't you? Now that Eve's gone, there's no one to stop you from taking what's yours. And I'm just the person to help you do it. I know exactly where she is."
Nast shot his sleeve up and checked his watch, then looked at Leah.
"Is my driver in any shape to resume his duties?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Questionable."
"Then let's hope you can talk and drive at the same time."
Bewitched. Bothered and Bewildered
I WAS IN TROUBLE WITH THE ELDERS. AGAIN.
I'd been a trial to them all my life and now, at twenty-three—no longer a precocious child or a rebellious youth—they were running out of excuses for me.
"Something must be done about Savannah." The speaker phone added a not-inappropriate whine to Victoria Alden's voice.
"Uh-huh." My fingers flew across the keyboard, hammering out the next line of code.
"I hear typing," Victoria said. "Are you typing, Paige?"
"Deadline," I said. "Enhancements to the Springfield Legal Services Web site. Due in two days. And counting. Look, can we discuss this later?
I'll be at the Coven meeting next week, and—"
"Next week? I don't think you're taking this seriously, Paige. Pick up the telephone, stop working, and talk to me. Where did you ever learn such manners? Not from your mother, rest her soul."
I lifted the receiver, gripped it between my shoulder and ear and tried to type quietly.
"It's about Savannah," Victoria said.
Wasn't it always? One of the few perks of having custody of thirteen-year-old Savannah Levine was that my rebellions paled in comparison.
"What's she done now?" I asked. I flipped to my file list of JavaScript functions. I was sure I'd written a function for this last year. Damned if I could find it now.
"Well, I was talking to Grace last night and she expressed concern over something Savannah told Brittany. Now, Grace admits Brittany may have misunderstood the details, which I can certainly see. We don't expose Coven neophytes to this sort of thing, so I'd be shocked if Brittany did understand what Savannah was talking about. It seems—" Victoria paused and inhaled sharply, as if it pained her to go on. "It seems Brittany is having trouble with a few girls at school and Savannah offered to… to
help her make a potion that would result in these girls being unable to attend the school dance."
"Uh-huh." Ah, there was that function. A few hours of coding saved.
"Then what?"
"What do you mean, 'then what'? Savannah offered to show Brittany how to make these girls sick!"
"She's thirteen. At her age, I would have liked to make a lot of people sick."
"But you didn't, did you?"
"Only because I didn't know the spells. Which was probably a good thing or there'd have been some serious epidemics going on."
"See?" Victoria said. "This is exactly what I've been talking about. This attitude of yours—"
"I thought we were talking about Savannah's attitude."
"That's it exactly. I'm trying to bring a serious matter to your attention and you brush it off with quips. This flippant attitude will never make you Coven Leader."
I stifled the urge to remind her that, as of my mother's death, I
was
Coven Leader. If I did, she'd "remind" me that I was Leader in name only, and this discussion would turn from irritating to ugly in a heartbeat.
"Savannah is my responsibility," I said. "You Elders have made that very clear."
"For good reason."
"Because her mother practiced dark magic. Oooh. Scary. Well, you know what? The only scary thing about Savannah is how fast she's outgrowing her clothes. She's a kid. A normal, rebellious teenager. Not a black witch. She told Brit she could make her a potion. Big deal. Ten to one she can't even do it. She was either showing off or trying to shock us.
That's what adolescents do."
"You're defending her."
"Of course I'm defending her. No one else will. The poor kid went through hell last summer. Before my mother died, she asked me to take care of Savannah—"
"Or so that woman told you."
"That woman is a friend of mine. You don't think my mother would have asked me to take Savannah? Of course she would. That's our job. To protect our sisters."
"Not at the risk of endangering ourselves."
"Since when is it more important—"
"I don't have time to argue with you, Paige. Talk to Savannah or I will."
Click.
I slammed down the phone and stalked from my office, muttering everything I wished I'd said to Victoria. I knew when to hold my tongue, though sometimes knowing and doing were very different things. My mother was the political one. She'd spend years working to effect one small change to Coven Law, soothing every rumpled feather and arguing her point with a smile.
Now she was gone. Murdered nine months ago. Nine months, three weeks, and two days. My mind performed the calculation unbidden, springing open the stoppered well of grief. I slammed it shut. She wouldn't have wanted that.
I was brought into this world for one reason. At fifty-two, after a life too busy for children, my mother looked around the Coven and saw no worthy successor, so she found a suitable "genetic donor" and, using magic, conceived me. A daughter born and raised to lead the Coven. Now that she was gone, I had to honor her memory by fulfilling that purpose.
And I would, whether the Elders wanted it or not.
I abandoned my computer. Victoria's call had chased all interest in programming from my brain. When I got like this, I needed to do something that reminded me of who I was, and what I wanted to accomplish. That meant practicing my spells—not Coven-sanctioned spells, but the magic they forbade.
In my bedroom, I pulled back the area rug, unlocked the crawl space hatch, and tugged out a knapsack. Then, bending down and reaching farther into the hole, I undid a secret latch, opened a second compartment, and pulled out two books. My secret grimoires. After putting the books into my bag, I headed for the back door.
I was slipping on my sandals when the front doorknob turned. I checked my watch. Three P.M. Savannah didn't get out of school until three forty-five, which is why I figured I had nearly an hour to practice before making her after-school snack. Yes, Savannah was too old for the milk-and-cookies routine, but I did it every day without fail. Let's be honest, at twenty-three I was ill equipped to parent a teenager. Being home for her after school was one thing I could manage.
"What happened?" I asked, hurrying into the hall. "Is everything okay?"
Savannah backpedaled, as if fearing I might do something rash, like hug her. "Teacher's meeting today. Early dismissal. Remember?"
"Did you tell
me
?"
She rubbed her nose, trying to decide whether she could get away with a lie. "I forgot. But I would have called if I had a cell phone."
"You'll get a cell phone when you can pay for the air-time."
"But I'm too young to get a job!"
"Then you're too young for a cell phone."
Old argument. We knew our lines, and never wavered from them. That was one advantage to being a mere decade older than Savannah—I remembered pulling the same crap with my mom, so I knew how to handle it. Maintain the routine. Give no sign of wearing down. Eventually she'd give up… not that I ever did.
Savannah peered over my shoulder to look down at my backpack, a feat she could easily manage, being two inches taller than my five feet two. Two inches taller and about thirty pounds lighter. I could have explained the weight difference by pointing out that Savannah was very slender, but to be truthful, I was about fifteen pounds over what most women's magazines listed as the ideal weight for my height.
Savannah, by contrast, was very tall for her age: tall, thin, and coltish, all awkward angles and jutting limbs. I told her she'd grow into her body, as she'd grow into her oversized blue eyes. She didn't believe me. Like she didn't believe me when I'd advised her that cutting off her waist-length black hair would be a mistake. Now she had a straight, wispy bob that only made the angles of her face even more prominent. Naturally, she blamed me, because I didn't forbid her to cut her hair, instead of just cautioning against it.