Women of the Otherworld 10.5 - Counterfeit Magic (2 page)

As Lucas’s star rose, mine tumbled, the effects rippling even back here to the agency.

“I want to speak to Lucas,” Ms. Cookson said as I handed her a coffee.

“You will.
When he gets here.
But we’ll be working your case together—”

“I want Lucas.”

“You’ll have him.” I forced a smile. “But it’s a package—”

“
Only
Lucas.”

I opened her file. “May I call you Ava?” I continued before she could protest. “Although Lucas and I are partners, there are tasks that only one of us handles.
Legal work, for example.
He’s a lawyer; I’m not. Technical work is my forte. I’m a computer programmer; he’s not. Beyond those obvious differences, there are tasks one of us does to reduce conflict and confusion.
Such as case intake.
While clients may—and often do—present a potential case to Lucas personally, I’m the one who decides which ones we take.”

“I bet you like that, don’t you?”

“The power of choosing the cases?
Hardly.
We usually evaluate them together and—”

“I mean the power to get rid of clients you don’t like.
Ones who might pose a threat to your… position.”

It took me a moment to get her meaning. When I did, I laughed. I didn’t mean to; I just couldn’t help it.
Her eyes slitted, her lips thinning to a scarlet line.

“Um, no,” I said.
“Sorry, but no.
I’m happy to consider your case, Ava. But I need to know what that case is, so I can present it to Lucas when he returns and give him my recommendation.”

She continued to eye me, like a cat that suspects it’s being teased. She shifted in her chair. Then, slowly, she began to talk.

Hedging
A
Bet

Ava Cookson was twenty-two.
Unmarried.
High school education.
Lived in Los Angeles.
Worked in a clothing store.
Had a brother two years her junior. She didn’t tell me any of this—it came from the intake form, including a little notation Savannah had made by the name of the store Ava worked at—“overpriced crap made in sweathouses and marketed as designer.”
All that was incidental… except the last fact.

One brother.
Two years her junior.
Attended San Francisco State.
Or he did, until his body washed up on the shore near Santa Cruz.

“He was murdered,” Ava said. “And it’s my fault.”

Ava was a half-demon, meaning her brother didn’t share her demonic father or her powers. He wouldn’t have known what she was. That’s the theory, anyway.

“He found out,” she said. “He caught me teleporting once. You can’t explain away something like that.”

Which is why you have to be very, very careful.

“You think that’s what got him killed,” I said.

Her eyes flashed.
“Of course not.
Don’t accuse me—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. We investigate cases involving the supernatural world, so I presume his entry into that world—through you—somehow resulted in his death.”

“Maybe.
But Jared was in other trouble, too. He made the wrong kind of friends in college. At first, it was just innocent stuff, like poker for cash pots. But then it was serious gambling. He owed money.”

That would seem a more obvious cause of death, but I only nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I told him I might know a way for him to make money fast. I’d heard of this fight club outside Santa Cruz.
For supernaturals.
They’re always looking for women, especially hot girls, so I figured I could help Jared win his money back. They don’t even ask what your power is. That’s part of the challenge. I can teleport—not far, but far enough to avoid getting hit. It seemed so easy.”

It always does.

“It would have been, too,” she continued. “Only they cheated. They set me up against this chick who actually knew how to fight.” Imagine that. “I did fine for the first few rounds, but then I started getting tired, and I couldn’t teleport as fast. So she won.”

I could have seen that one coming a mile away.

“So I’m talking to Jared afterwards and my mouth is bleeding and swelling up, and I’m telling him how sorry I am, and he’s saying it’s okay. Then this guy walks over, thumps him on the back and congratulates him. Says he didn’t get too much—the odds were bad—but winning his first bet is always a good sign.”

Ava looked up, eyes blazing. “My
brother
bet
against
me. I stormed out. He came running after me… to hand me the car keys. Tells me he’s going to watch a few more rounds, and I can drive the rental car back to the hotel. So I did drive it.
All the way back to L.A.
Three days later, the rental company calls. The car was in Jared’s name, but his credit card is being refused. I call to give him hell, and I can’t get hold of him. I figure he’s just avoiding me, so I pay the rental company. A month later, someone found his body.”

That was the summary. Now I needed details. I took her back to the beginning—when had she told him she was a half-demon? Could he have told anyone else? Had she introduced him to anyone?

We were going through this when I heard footsteps in the hall. Light ones, barely noticeable, but part of me had been listening for them since I sat down.

They stopped outside the meeting room. I turned my chair, as if getting comfortable, and carefully slid my gaze to the partly open door. Lucas peeked around it, finger to his lips,
then
motioned me out before withdrawing silently.

I waited for a suitable break in Ava’s narrative,
then
excused myself to “ask Savannah to compile a file on fight clubs.”

Lucas was in the hall, waiting. Silently, he backed up to the stock room and slipped inside. I was barely through the door before he caught me up in a breath-stopping kiss.

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back, reveling in the familiar tug of his hands entwined in my hair, the taste of breath mints hastily chewed on his way up the stairs, the faint citrus scent of his shaving lotion. Whatever problems I had with my husband, they weren’t problems
with
my husband. They were the issues that came with his world and the life he’d been thrust into. I was as crazy in love with the guy himself as I’d been when I married him.

When he began unbuttoning my blouse, though, I pulled back.
“Client.”

“Call Savannah.”
Lucas flicked open the top button. “She’ll cover for you.”

“Normally, yes, but this is a teleporting half-demon.
A very impatient one who’s liable to jump in here any second now.”

“We’ll move to our office, then.” He popped the front clasp on my bra. “It’s warded.”

“And involves sneaking past the open door of the meeting room.”

He cupped my breasts. “You’re arguing, but you’re not stopping me.”

“I’m enjoying it while I can. But maybe, there’s enough time to make
you
a little more presentable.” I pressed my hand to his crotch,
then
lowered myself to my knees. “You know I have a thing for storage rooms.”

He chuckled. I unzipped his pants.

“Where’d she go?” Ava’s voice rang down the hall. “Is that Lucas’s suitcase? Is he here?”

I sighed and zipped his pants as I rose.

“If he’s here, I want to talk to him,” Ava continued.

I opened the door and stepped out. Lucas followed. Savannah walked up behind Ava, who stared at us, nose crinkling.

“What were you doing in there?” Ava said.

“Duh,” Savannah muttered. She passed me a file. “The information on fight clubs you asked for, boss.” The meeting room was wired to her office and she eavesdropped at will. “Did you find a box of toner in there or are we out?”

“Out.”

“Told
ya
.”

While we’d been talking, Ava had managed to zip between Lucas and me, so fast she seemed to have teleported.

“Ava Cookson, sir.
So pleased to meet you.”

She stared up at him with the kind of adoration usually reserved for rock stars. Behind me, Savannah snickered, and I had to admit, it looked very odd. I love my husband dearly, but he’s no rock star. The word most often used to describe Lucas is “geek,” which I happen to think is completely unfair.

Lucas is comfortable with the term, though. He even propagates the image, refusing to wear contacts or more flattering suits, keeping his dark hair in a short, nondescript style any barber can manage. He likes to be unassuming, invisible even. While Ava gazed up at him in adoration, he inched backward, gaze sliding to Savannah and me, as if begging for rescue.

“I was just taking Ava’s case history,” I said. “If you’d care to join us…”

“Oh, we don’t need you.” Ava waved me away, her eyes never leaving Lucas. “He can take it from here.”

Lucas protested. When she insisted, he became visibly annoyed, which for Lucas meant she was seriously pissing him off.

Finally, I said, “Actually, that’s probably best. You can handle it, Lucas. I’ll start a file.”

Lucas asked Ava to excuse us. Savannah practically had to drag her away, but finally they went into the meeting room.

“She’s a twit,” I said. “And she’s got a serious crusader-crush on you. But I think you can handle it.”

Spots of color warmed his cheeks. “Of course I can. It’s not that. It’s—”

“—that you don’t like her insulting me.
I get that. But you arguing that I’m important
doesn’t
make me important.” I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed his chin. “All things considered, I’m just as happy not dealing with her. I’ll listen in on Savannah’s line and, when she’s gone, we can go look for more toner. I’m sure there’s a box in there somewhere.”

He gave me a long, delicious kiss that promised a very good night to come, and when we parted and I thought I caught a touch of sadness in his eyes, I told myself I was imagining it. I had to be. Everything was fine. Well,
we
were fine, and that was all that mattered.

Crusader-Crush

I found both Adam and Savannah listening to Lucas and Ava from Savannah’s desk. They didn’t try to hide it. If Savannah wanted to listen in, she did. Adam wouldn’t eavesdrop on his own, but if Savannah did, and the case sounded interesting, he’d be there, too.

Lucas and I didn’t care. If we did, we’d say so, and they’d stop. With such a small office, confidentiality just means we don’t discuss cases with outsiders. Having Savannah and Adam listen to intake sessions just saves us explaining the case later.